Rise of the Red Harbinger (25 page)

The shores of Mireya appeared in the distance. One of the servants called him from the stern. They were leading the horses from the stern to the center of the deck. Garrison met the servants and the Taurani there and threw a pack over his shoulders. His horse had been saddled with the specialized saddle he’d brought to the tower. Garrison had volunteered to equip his horse with two packs, given Kavon’s injuries. One pack held some supplies they had taken from the Tower, and the other contained the inventions Garrison had taken from his workshop before leaving Alvadon. He and the Taurani mounted the horses, though Kavon needed help from two servants. Once they’d all mounted, Marika passed Garrison and Yorik each four spears, made from broomsticks with the ends honed down to points. She kept three for herself.

They’d reached as close to shore as they could and two servants dropped the anchor. A few others brought several long thick wooden planks to portside and stacked them over the boat so they became a ramp from the boat to the water.

“Is that thing going to hold us?”

One of the servants replied with a smile, “Of course it will, Garrison. You each simply must walk down one at a time.”

Garrison turned to the others and shrugged. Kavon spoke for the first time since leaving the Tower. “I’ll go first. At least if it breaks, I’m hurt anyway.” Garrison glanced over at Marika and she nodded in agreement. This was not the time for arguing. He held his palm out, signaling for Kavon to proceed.

Kavon rode his horse toward the plank and the horse gingerly stepped onto the stacked wooden plank. It placed one hoof at a time until it was walking down the long plank and into the water. The wood slightly bowed under the weight, but not as much as Garrison expected. One by one, they ventured down the plank and into the shallow water. Marika went second and Garrison followed as Yorik insisted on taking the rear.

The servants waited until they reached the shore to raise the anchor and turn back. Unlike the sandy shore at the north of the Eye, the southern shore was verdant and littered with rocks. Garrison and the Taurani navigated slowly; the last thing they needed was a horse turning its ankle and becoming lame.

Before their departure, the familiar Cerysian servant—Garrison hated that he had no name—informed them that the forest was a straight ride from the shore, no more than two hours once they reached land.

They swiftly rode on, side by side. Garrison had struggled to decide whether to ride this way or in single file. But none of their pursuers would know that he was with three Taurani, considering they’d killed everyone who’d seen them before sailing to the Tower. Hopefully the number of tracks would divert the King’s soldiers.

The four riders continued for over an hour and a half through high grass when a dark outline appeared in the distance. The forest was still a few miles away, but it filled Garrison with encouragement and hope. It wouldn’t be very long before he could let his guard down, if only for a few minutes.

Just as Garrison began to entertain thoughts of relaxation, something whistled in the air behind him. Before he could turn around, Yorik yelled out, “Arrows! They’re flanking us from the north! Ride faster and stay low!”

Garrison heeded Yorik’s advice and leaned forward, hugging the horse’s neck as he commanded it to go faster. With any luck, they could reach the forest in a few minutes. Looking to his right, the soldiers were still far off, but advancing quickly. What unnerved Garrison was that there was easily one hundred of them, if not more, all riding in an enormous silver-armored wave ready to crash down on Garrison and his three companions.

Ahead of him, Kavon’s horse shrieked as arrows pierced its neck and front leg. Both Kavon and the horse went crashing down after a few clumsy steps.
Why is he holding on? Let go!
“Let go!” Garrison tried to will Kavon into letting go of the reins, but the man clung tightly to them as the horse fell onto its side and crushed Kavon’s left leg. Garrison would need no inspection to know that Kavon would never walk again.

He slowed his horse and bounded to Kavon. Yorik joined him immediately and the two lifted Kavon’s horse enough for the injured Taurani to pull his leg free.

Fury contorted Garrison’s face and mouth. “Why did you hold onto the reins? Why didn’t you let go!”

Kavon yelled back at him, “There is no time for reconsidering! The three of you must ride on! Leave me here; I’ll only slow you down!”

Yorik cut off Garrison’s words before they could escape his throat. “He’s right boy. We have to reach the forest now or we’ll all die. Taurani understand when it is their time, and today Kavon will hear the Song. Let us go!” Yorik didn’t wait for Garrison to argue. The man mounted his horse and raced away with Marika on her horse matching stride.

Garrison considered a plan for a moment. “Quickly, can you sit up until they reach you?” Garrison only now truly realized that the tattooed stripes on the bald man’s eyes continued up his scalp and curved into horns at the side of his head. It was an incredibly intimidating sight, especially now with blood scraped across the man’s head.

Kavon nodded and sat up leaning against the dead horse. He grimaced and clutched his leg. “What is it you need me to do, Garrison?” A few more arrows thudded into the ground a few yards away. “Hurry!”

Garrison reached into a pocket and pulled out five pouches of yellow powder. He then ripped the waterskin hanging from his neck and handed it to Kavon. “When they are in your throwing range, wet the pouches and throw them into a crowd of riders. Each pouch should be enough to take down a score of men. By the Orijin, I hope you can stay alive long enough.”

“I will succeed with your plan. My injuries are not enough to kill me. Yorik knows I will hear the Song because the soldiers will send me to it. Now go!”

Garrison vaunted onto his horse, a tinge of guilt settling into the back of his mind. He spurred his horse to a gallop and shouted “Thank you!” to Kavon. Yorik and Marika had nearly reached the forest. Garrison repeatedly swiveled his head behind him to gauge when the soldiers would reach Kavon. If he judged correctly, he would reach the forest just around the same time. An arrow grazed Garrison’s left arm, just below his leather armor, and sliced through the flesh. Luckily for Garrison, the arrow was shot from his right; otherwise it would have likely pierced his horse between the shoulders. He urged the horse on until he reached the cover of the trees.

Garrison brought his horse to a halt behind a tree and dismounted. From behind the trunk, which was wide enough to protect the horse, Garrison peered out in time to see Kavon throw the first yellow pouch in the distance. The soldiers were coming from Kavon’s left and Garrison worried that the Taurani might not be able to reach all of them with the pouches.

The first pouch exploded in a flash of yellow light amidst a pack of riders. Garrison smiled. He knew that was only the beginning. The small explosion slammed a few soldiers and their horses to the ground. From the source of the flash came thin streaks of lightning spraying about in dozens of directions, which struck down nearly two dozen more men. They all convulsed at the shock, and though Garrison was too far away to see, he could still see wisps of smoke rising from their burnt bodies.

By the time other riders could react, Kavon had hurled a second pouch and then a third. Two more booms came and flashes of lightning shot out from them. Men and horses collapsed everywhere Garrison could see. Yorik and Marika joined him in watching from behind the tree. They had likely left their horses ahead to rest.

More soldiers advanced, confused and alert. Kavon threw another pouch, causing another score of soldiers to fall. Garrison imagined that Kavon probably enjoyed being able to cause such trouble before he died.

Ten soldiers rode through the sea of dead men and horses. They were too spread apart for Kavon to hit them all with the final pouch, but the man threw it anyway. Even if the pouch could eliminate half of them, Garrison, Marika, and Yorik could defeat the rest.

The pouch’s effects worked better than Garrison had hoped, killing eight of the men. Two soldiers rode on. One stopped in front of Kavon, stood over him and shot an arrow through the Taurani’s skull. The other soldier had waited for him to catch up and both rode toward Garrison and his companions.

By the time Garrison had turned to Marika and Yorik, they were already armed with spears. When the two soldiers were within twenty paces, the two Taurani strafed from behind the tree and launched their spears. Garrison shuddered at the accuracy as each spear impaled its target through the neck.

Marika and Yorik ran out to retrieve their spears and returned with the soldiers’ bows and arrows as well. Yorik smiled, “These will be of good use, no?” Garrison bit his lip and nodded. “You killed over one hundred men today within five minutes and without putting yourself in any danger. Do you have more pouches like that, boy?” Garrison continued to nod. “Good. We’ll need them if we’re going to have a chance. I won’t ask where you got them. I do not think I want to know.”

Marika started walking further into the forest. “Come. Garrison, knowing the type of man your father is, it is only a matter of time before more soldiers come to hunt us down.” Yorik and Garrison flanked her as they walked on.

Garrison clenched his fist. “No. From here on, we are the hunters. They will come to us, but Stones of Gideon, we will hunt them and kill them all.”

Marika and Yorik looked to the eastern sky simultaneously. “Smoke,” Yorik said gravely.

Marika studied the sky for a moment longer. “It is beyond the forest. But that is not the smoke of a burning house. Do you see how the wisps are thin and separated?”

Garrison voiced what all three had already known. “Campfires. Soldiers.”

Chapter 10

Grasping at Shadows

From
The Book of Orijin,
Verse Three Hundred Three

We have selected Harbingers from the ranks of Mankind because We trust in your goodness. You must learn to trust in the goodness of your brethren as well.

“Look at zem
down zere. They vill likely be ze best fighters ve have one day. Maybe even better zan you Taurani. Zen again, I suppose zey’ll have to be if ve stand any chance against Jahmash’s armies.”

Marshall should have taken offense to that, but the stocky man had no malice in his voice when he said it. The man had almost said it to himself, pondering with aloofness.

Marshall had been sitting at the side of the bed for several minutes while the man stood at the window with his hands clasped behind his back. He’d introduced himself as ‘Gunnar’ and hailed from Galicea. Marshall had been unfamiliar with Galicea, along with Gunnar’s accent. It bore no resemblance to the way Cerysians spoke, which was the dialect that the Taurani had adopted decades ago. Traditionally, Marshall should have been fluent in Imanol, the language of Taurean and the people of Taurean’s time, but Marshall had used it less and less growing up and now had little fluency with it, save a few phrases and words here and there.

Marshall stood with a grimace and walked next to Gunnar at the window. His stomach muscles ached with every movement. It had taken several minutes for him to embrace his surroundings. The last thing he’d remembered was a sword piercing his insides and then everything went black. He awoke in a bed half of an hour ago and saw Gunnar sitting to his right. Apparently he had been unconscious for several days.

“You see very well to be watching them. Why do they fight in the darkness? Is that part of their training?”

Gunnar pursed his lips, “It is ze order of Zin Marlowe. He is ze headmaster of ze House of Darian. It is his belief zat ve should not use our manifestations or lives for aggression. Marlowe believes ze House should be peaceful. So of course Descendants who come here are taught how to use zeir manifestations, but not aggressively.”

“That seems rather foolish. Every man should know how to attack.”

Gunnar nodded. “Zere are quite a few of us who agree viz you. And zat is vhy fighting is done in ze darkness. Zis type of training is clandestine. To defy ze Headmaster is grounds for excommunication.”

“I see. Is it you who trains them? If so, perhaps someone else should teach. That one with the staff. He only looks impressive because his attackers are slow. He has too much time to prepare.”

Gunnar shot Marshall a sharp glare. “Desmond is fast. Agile. Zat is vhy ze ozers look slow.”

“Put someone in there as fast as him. I guarantee you that Desmond will limp away covered in bruises.”

“I see. Zen once you are vell enough, I vill allow you to fight Desmond. And zen Badalao as vell.”

“Once I am well enough, I shall be leaving this place. I must return to my village to find other Taurani.”

Gunnar turned to him now, “Boy, vhy do you zink you are here?”

“What do you mean?”

“Ve sent a scout team to your village to find survivors. Zere’s a reason you’re ze only Taurani zat vas brought back.”

Marshall sat back down. Memories of his village’s destruction came back. He could once again picture the bodies strewn all over the ground, houses decimated into piles of rubbish, smoke and fire all around. “I remember. But I still believe that you are wrong. Perhaps you did not find survivors in the village, but there must be others who likely fled. I still must return there.”

“You can take zat up viz Zin Marlowe once you’re better. He vill definitely not allow you to leave until you fully recover. But rest easy. Zat boy Lincan healed you. He almost fell over in ze process viz how much vork you needed, but you should be fine in a few days. Until zen, accept ze fact zat you’re not going anyvhere.”

Marshall nodded. There was no use in arguing. Truthfully, he could use the recovery time, and he would be of no help to his kinsmen in his current state anyway.

Gunnar continued, “Zough I do have a question, boy. Descendants come from all over Ashur. I have seen every Ashurian race come to ze House, even combinations of races, in my fifteen years here. But you are ze first Taurani. Vhy is zat? How is it possible zat no Taurani has ever borne ze Mark of ze Descendant?”

Marshall responded hoarsely, “Taurani do not believe that people can or should create magic. We leave those foolish fantasies to the rest of the world. If you would like to think of yourself as a false Harbinger, that is your folly. We are not so brazen.”

The broad-shouldered man laughed heartily. “Look at my face. Eye of Orijin, look at ze face of everyone in zis place, boy. Including you. Ve all bear ze mark. Ve have all been chosen for something special. Even you had to have done somezing magical or miraculous to have zat line down your left eye. We’re no Harbingers, I agree. But zat doesn’t mean ve’re not chosen for somezing special.”

What is this fool talking about?
“Left eye? Now I know you are mad. My body is almost completely covered in tattoos. There are lines intersecting both of my eyes. That is the Taurani tradition.”

Gunnar laughed again. “Are you sure I am ze crazy one? I have been blessed viz ze manifestation of heightened eyesight. Like zat of a hawk. But even a Blind Man could see zat you bear only one mark on your body, ze Descendant’s Mark down your left eye. Look at yourself. Look in a mirror.”

Marshall pulled up the sleeves of his tunic. Nothing. His arms were bare. “What trickery is this?” The long-haired Cerysian looked at him as if he was crazy. “What did you people do to me?”

“Lincan told us zat it was an effect of ze healing process. You were so close to death zat ze healing was intense. It was probably too difficult for him to make exception to your skin. Now you understand vhy I told you zat ze only mark on you is ze Descendant’s Mark.”

Marshall refused to accept Gunnar’s explanation. His tattoos were too sacred to just be healed away. He would have rather died than lose them. Especially with what had happened to his people. “Is there a mirror in here? Show me a damn mirror! I need to see for myself!”

Gunnar pointed to the other end of the room. “Over zere. Next to ze cabinets.”

Marshall walked to the full length mirror on the other side of the room. As he stepped in front of it, he squinted with annoyance and then blinked a few times. “What magic are you people practicing?”

Gunnar’s brow furrowed, “Vhat magic do you mean?”

“My reflection! When I stepped before the mirror, my reflection turned and walked away! I see nothing now! What are you trying to do to me?”

Gunnar’s voice had grown devoid of patience. “Are you a fool? Truly? Eye of Orijin, look at ze damned zing. Do you not see yourself in it? Who vould…”

Marshall looked again. He could see what was behind him and the reflection of everything else, but Marshall bore no reflection. “NO. I do not see myself in it. Gunnar. Is this more of your cursed magic? More healing?” Gunnar stared at him. “Come and see for yourself. Step in front of the mirror.”

Marshall stepped aside as Gunnar stood at the mirror. “Hmm. Perhaps zis ordeal has affected your mind more zan your body, Marshall. I zink it’s best for you to lie down again. I vill have Marlowe come back viz Lincan to check on you.”

“What are you talking about?”

“Marshall, I see myself just fine in ze mirror. I believe zat all this might have caused a great deal of stress on your mind.”

Marshall had had enough. He stepped in front of Gunnar before the mirror.

Gunnar gasped. “Eye of Orijin, vhat is zis?”

Marshall turned to him. “That is what I would like to know. Is this part of Lincan’s healing as well?”

“I…zis is very strange. Marshall, listen. Vhen zey found you, Adria noticed zat you didn’t have a shadow. In ze time zat you have been viz us, ve have not seen one at all. Ve believed it to be connected to your manifestation, vhatever zat might be. But ze reflection…I cannot explain it.”

Only then did Marshall inspect his body and his surroundings. Gunnar was right. No shadow. Panic drowned everything else in his head and then shortened his breath. Marshall stumbled toward the bed but hit the floor head first and once again, everything faded into blackness.

***

When Marshall awoke a few hours later, he found relief that he was in the same room. However, instead of Gunnar sitting beside his bed, a young girl sat in the chair with her chin resting on her elevated knees. Behind her, a yellow-skinned boy leaned against the wall with his arms crossed.

The girl spoke first, her face still somewhat hidden behind her knees. “You are fine. You took the news about your reflection and shadow harshly, as would anyone, I suppose.” Her voice held a strange familiarity, as if Marshall had heard it before. Her accent was slightly similar to that of Taurani and Cerysian, though her olive skin tone marked her as something starkly different than a Cerysian.

“Your voice. I have heard it before, though I do not know how.”

“My name is Adria. I rescued you with Lincan,” she pointed behind her, “and Maven Savaiyon. You likely heard me talking while we brought you back here.”

The girl intrigued Marshall. She looked like she could be several years younger than he was, but she spoke with a formality that could have been several years older. After glancing at Lincan a few more times, Marshall deduced that he was likely of a similar age as Marshall. The few stubbly pieces of hair on Lincan’s chin were laughable, but his eyes gave away his age. Marshall shook off his ponderings. He had questions. “Then you can explain what happened to me?”

“What happened to you as far as…”

“I was stabbed through my core. I felt the steel of the blade slice right through me. I also felt the blood pour out of me. I am no stranger to injury or combat. I should be dead. Gunnar told me that Lincan can heal. And while I do not accept the practices of you ‘Descendants’, even if you can perform miracles, Lincan, do you regularly bring the dead back to life?”

Adria sternly cut in before Lincan could respond. “We found you because I heard your heartbeat. You would be a fool to not accept our abilities, because the only reason you are here speaking to us is due to the manifestations of me, Lincan, and Savaiyon. I do not expect gratitude, especially now that it is clear that such a thing is beyond you, but I do expect you to recognize and accept a truth when it is clear before your eyes.”

Lincan spoke without shifting his demeanor or position, “She’s right. Resurrection is beyond my abilities. But you were still breathing when we found you. We don’t know how there was any blood left in you. Your clothes, skin, and armor were caked in it, along with the ground beneath you. You only had one wound, yet I’ve never had to heal anyone so extensively as with you. I nearly passed out from overworking myself. Maybe it has to do with your missing shadow and reflection. Maybe there’s a connection between that and you being alive.”

Adria’s head shot up, “Brilliant! Linc, Savaiyon would be so proud of you! When did you realize that?”

“Hold on, Mouse. I just now thought there might be a connection. That doesn’t mean that it’s true.”

Marshall looked at Adria peculiarly. Lincan had called her ‘Mouse’ and she hadn’t even blinked. “Whether that is true or not, how do we go about testing such a theory? Do you propose we miraculously find my shadow and reflection, and then try to kill me? And to be sure, did he just call you ‘Mouse’?”

Adria smiled brightly, “It is a pet name. Only certain people are allowed to call me that, though. Think of it more as a term of endearment. I tend to have a great deal of…conflicts here. Too many of you
men
have an issue with my size. But do not think that you are deserving of calling me that; you have not earned the right.” Her smile faded as she spoke those last words.

Marshall nodded, “Understood. But seriously, what would you suggest we do about my dilemma? Now that I am well again, I would like to have a reflection…and a shadow.”

Adria answered excitedly, “Is it safe to assume that you never noticed your shadow was missing? Or your reflection?”

“Trust me; I would have remembered not seeing either. I had a shadow before I was attacked.”

“Very well. Then perhaps we should return to your village. I mean, it seems like this whole ordeal happened between that invasion and us finding you. However, I am curious of one thing. You bear the Mark. I hope I am not being intrusive, but what is your manifestation?”

Marshall rolled his eyes. “By manifestation, you mean magical power?”

Adria smirked, “If you want to call it a magical power, then fine. But it is widely accepted that what we can do is the Orijin’s will manifested through us. Hence, manifestation.”

“Give it whatever fancy name you want. It is magic. And I do not have one. Whatever mark is on my face is likely a remnant of a tattoo that did not disappear when Lincan healed me.”

“It wouldn’t work that way,” Lincan insisted.

Adria stood and held a hand up as if to cut Lincan off. “How can you be such a fool, Marshall? Are you so stubborn to refuse logic? The mark on your face is the same exact line that appears on every single man and woman in this place. But only yours is there by accident?” Adria’s voice continually got louder. “Tell me; are all Taurani as dense as you? If so, I can see why you were all defeated so easily!”