Tranquil Fury (9 page)

 The surprise and shock registered on Mirtza’s face; her eyes, voice, and words. It was as if he was talking to a different person. Trickster was a term he had heard before at school, had heard how the elves did not consider the magic students to have talent, that their magic was impure.
How would Lauren know that?
When Mirtza got to the wagon, everything was loaded, Eric was helping Ryan navigate the ditch, and the other three stood, looking at the dust cloud headed towards them. “They use magic, they travel too fast.” Mirtza reached into his cloak, pulled out the multi-horse amulet, added the fourth, threw it to the ground, and waved his cloak over it. Four horse-like creatures, each with eight legs in a wagon harness stood before them.

“Dude, do those horses have eight legs,” asked Zack?

As Mirtza hitched the harness to the wagon, he commanded, “Get in now, and hang on.” The boys got in the back, Lauren in the front, and Mirtza yelled to the team of horses, “To the Dark Forest.” He did not have to crack the reins—the horses bolted. “We will head to the Dark Forest, as we should be able to lose them there,” and the countryside was a blur, as the only thing that remained in focus was the dust cloud that followed them in the distance.

No one was sure how long they traveled—or how quickly. It was late in the afternoon when they saw another huge forest come into view. It was like watching a video on fast forward, becoming larger and closer by the second. As they approached, the horses slowed down, before coming to a dead stop just outside of the forest. Mirtza got out of the wagon, waved his cloak over the horses, and they then became a gold amulet. As he bent down to pick it up, he placed the oxen amulet on the ground, and made them materialize with his cloak. The image of appearing and disappearing livestock was quite unsettling to the six.

They had only gone a short distance into the forest when John said, “We’ll never get away from them this way. The wagon is leaving tracks that a blind man could follow.” Mirtza stopped the wagon, and went back to see what he was talking about. The ground was soft and John was right, a blind man could follow them.

John looked to the forest, “Cut down some small trees. Eric, Logan, and I can swish them back and forth from the wagon, to cover the tracks.” Before John had finished his sentence, Eric jumped out of the wagon, and started to cut down three trees. The branches displaced and moved enough dirt that most of their tracks were covered. Mirtza tied the branches to the back of the wagon, so they would not tire by holding on to them, and when he went to the front of the wagon, was surprised to see that Lauren was not on the bench. She was ahead of the wagon, several hundred feet down the dirt road, and as he pulled the wagon up beside her, his voice still excited, “Get in. We do not have time for this.” She gave him an odd look, and then climbed back in.

For about an hour, everybody was quiet, and then Lauren looked at Mirtza, once again, her pupils were large dark orbs, with only a thin iris circling them, “This does naught be called Dark Forest, its proper name does be Forest of Night. Small trees does only grow beside this road, as only here does enough light embrace their young struggle. Travel distance short into forest, dark as night thou would find it.”

Those eyes, the voice, more elfin words, I am sure this time. How would she know that? What have I gotten myself into?
Mirtza shifted his focus to the road in front of them, “John is your plan working?” All he heard was ‘yes’, and kept on going.

It was thirty minutes later, Lauren began to sing, but the song had no words, just sounds. Slowly over time, her volume increased, and it cautiously worked itself into their travel, but nobody said anything, and in fact, they did not realize that she was singing at all, at least not until she stopped two hours later.

“That was a lovely song. Was it from your childhood,” asked Mirtza?

“It does naught be from mine childhood, it does be an old elfin song. Wilt thou please stop and make camp at clearing next?”

Mirtza shook his head, “I would rather travel as far as we can tonight.” Then the words Lauren said registered, “What do you mean an old elfin song?”

 “Forest does be large, thou wilt naught get through it in one night. We does naught hath to worry about those who does follow us now.”

 Mirtza started to turn towards Lauren, thought of the eyes, turned his gaze back to the road, “What do you mean?”
There it is again, elfin words.

 “Please does stop at clearing next.” And with that, Lauren did not say anything else.

Mirtza thought about trying to travel longer, but was afraid that the eyes and voice might return, and pulled his wagon into the first clearing of sufficient size for them to spend the night, and the camp and meal preparation was uncomfortably quiet. At times like this, Mirtza would at least acknowledge them, despite his need to think, but tonight was different, he prepared the meal, but he did not partake. Lauren also refused to join the others—not even for tea.

Mirtza sat on one of the chests, and leaned against the wagon, deep in thought. He may have been quiet on the outside, but inside his mind was racing.
Lauren is acting different, knows things that she should not. Elfin words? That voice. Those eyes, it’s as if two people are looking through them. Something has changed. What happened in that forest? What happened to the riders? What have I gotten myself into?

Lauren just sat on the back of the wagon all night, occasionally retrieving something from her pouch to eat, but she never said a word. The five boys sat around the campfire trying to quietly speculate on what had happened, the mysterious healing, the riders, Lauren, and now Mirtza’s strange behavior.

It was about an hour into the conversation when Zack opened his cigarette pack, only to find it empty. “Guess I am going to give up smoking.” Mirtza walked over to Zack, and without saying anything, handed him a pipe and cloth bag. Zack’s eyes opened wide, “Mirtza my good man, you have been holding out on me.” Zack quickly opened the bag, inhaled, and sighed, “Well, at least it smells like tobacco.”

Mirtza then returned to the wagon, and delivered blankets to everybody, and from a pocket, he extracted a cloth bag, empting the contents into his hand. He waved his other hand over the small gold objects, bringing forth six small bats, whispered to them, “Warn of intruders,” then the bats took flight into the dark forest. He turned to the others, “They will protect us tonight. If anything makes its way to our camp, those bats will wake me. They will recognize you, so do not fear them.” With that, Mirtza took his blankets up to the oxen and went to bed.

The road they had traveled twisted and turned, the forest was thick, blocked distant sounds, so nobody was aware of the first battle fought, or the victory achieved.

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An hour before dark, the riders arrived at the great forest, knew that they were close. Those whom they pursued had tried to cover their wagon marks, but they were not tracking by sight or smell, magic guided them. They could taste the victory of the capture, knew the reward would be great, and spurred their mounts on. They came to a section of road covered by small trees that had fallen over, and their mounts could no longer race through the forest, had to carefully pick their way through the mess. Oddly, the trees showed no signs of an axe, rather, they looked as if they had simply given up, fallen over. The soil was still moist, and there were no signs of a drought or windstorms. The riders thought it odd, but there were also no signs of magic either. They were well into the middle of the mess, cursing at the wasted time when it happened.

Suddenly, large branches from the tallest trees started falling, crashing down, killing riders. Those that did not hit a target exploded, splintered, sending wooden projectiles into the riders. Their armor protected their bodies, but their helmets were open-faced. The large jagged splinters that flew through the air, were not of sufficient size, or velocity to pierce the metal helmets. Helmets only stopped the splinters from exiting the wounds they made, as they ripped through soft tissues, granted access through eyes, nose, and mouth. Mid-size trees toppled, crushed riders and horses alike. And in some cases, when trees fell on another, it would spare the rider’s life, and only trap him.

And then the wolves came.

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IT rushed through the woods
. Smell blood, fresh blood. Smell deer, fawn. No want deer. IT want fresh.
IT ran faster, the scent growing stronger.
Dead horses. Dead men. Fallen trees. Wolves gorging.
Wolves surrounded one lone survivor, his leg crushed under a tree, waving a torch in one hand, a sword in the other.
IT lunged at the smaller timid wolves, and they backed off. The last small surviving rider looked at the large snarling beast, watched his torch sputter out, and cursed aloud.
IT like fresh.

Chapter 8

Morning came, and everybody except Lauren and Zack got up quickly. Mirtza whistled, the six bats came back to his hand, and when he waved his other hand over them, they reverted back to six tiny gold objects, which he placed into the bag. No breakfast was prepared, and instead, the chests dispensed fresh fruits and buns, eaten as they traveled west. It was late in the day, without any word Lauren jumped off the wagon, her tri-wood staff in hand, and started walking up a small cart path, that traveled north into the dark forest.

Mirtza called to her, but she did not answer. He stopped the wagon and turned to Eric, “Go get her.”

Eric jumped out and began the chase, “Where are you going?”

“At paths end, thou wilt find a healing well. It does be required for Zack and Ryan. There we does need to travel.”

Eric grabbed Lauren’s shoulder to stop her, but he could not, and felt outsized by her, despite his imposing frame.

Lauren said, without turning, “Please does remove thine hand.”

Eric was shocked at the voice he heard, pulled his hand back. It sounded like Lauren, but she spoke with an authority that he had never heard before, and ran in front of her. “Look Lauren…” Eric gazed into the large dark orbs of Laurens eyes, forgot what he was going to say. She peered into his face, did not say anything, just waited, and then Eric stepped to the side, slightly dazed.

Mirtza turned the wagon up the road, and stopped it beside Eric, “Get in! Where is she going?”

 Eric was shaking his head, “She said something about a healing well… getting water for Ryan and Zack? Mirtza, her eyes, her voice?” 

Mirtza cast a quick glance to Eric, “I know.” He then smacked the reins on the oxen and the wagon, caught up with her, “Lauren, please get in. This place is not safe. We have to get out of here.”

She stopped and looked at him, “Please does naught tell me what actions I does require, as this does be necessary Impure Trickster.” Then she continued to walk down the trail, but everybody saw the eyes, heard the voice.

Logan summed it up best: “That is not my sister.”

A chill ran down Eric’s back, “Just follow her. I don’t think we have a choice.” For an hour, she walked down the trail until it ended in a twenty-foot wide clearing, where Lauren walked to the center. The six still in the wagon at the edge of the clearing, just looked at each other and shrugged their shoulders, as Lauren looked like she was trying to get her bearings.

It happened unexpectedly, nobody anticipating it. Two black-clad figures just over five feet tall stepped out of the forest, and ran towards Lauren, swords in hand, but she did not scream. The first was in front, swinging his sword from behind, with an overhead arc, and looked like it would cut her in half. Her friends watched, as if it was in slow motion, where both horrified and paralyzed at what they saw. She raised her staff, grasped it with both hands, and the sword deflected off it, hitting her arm as it flew out of the attacker's hands. As he moved to get the sword, Lauren brought her staff up behind her like a bat, swung, and root cluster caught the black-clad opponent on the side of his chest, breaking ribs clean through the skin. The second was moving even as the first one had swung, then in mid stride, several arrows mysteriously appeared in him, and in his twitching friend lying on the ground.

From the other side of the clearing, six equally odd-looking characters stepped out of the woods with bows in their hands, with arrows still nocked, though not pointed at anybody. As they approached Lauren, they started talking quietly to her.

Mirtza was shocked.
Elves.
He pulled the jar of translation ointment out, and passed it to Eric, “Quickly! Show Ryan and Zack how to apply it.”

Lauren walked over to the wagon with the lean strong looking elves. They were each about four feet six, maybe one hundred pounds, wearing multi-colored camouflaged coats, and pants. Oddly, they had ears like those of a deer, where they could point one forward and one back, at the same time. Lauren announced, “These are my friends: Mirtza, Eric, John, Ryan, Zack, and my brother Logan.” As she spoke each name, they would raise their hand or smile. Then she said, “I would like to introduce you to Alron Icefeather, Panry Moonshadow, Cethail Highbreeze, Erust Huntinghawk, Babartin, and Careel Dawnfalcon.” They in turn each removed the arrows from their bows, and placed them in their quivers.

Alron stepped forward, “I does welcome thou!”

Lauren asked Mirtza for two empty water skins which he quickly produced from under the wagon seat. She then turned, and started walking towards the forest, followed by both Dawnfalcons.

Eric got up to say something, but Alron interrupted him, “She shalt be fine.”

Eric turned to Mirtza, “Should we get their swords?”

Again Alron spoke, “Those weapons thou does not want.” He did not know if there was anything wrong with the swords that the strange black-clad opponents had used, but he liked the idea that those in the wagon were unarmed, and would prefer it if they stayed that way. He then signaled to Panry Moonshadow, who turned and went into the forest from where they had emerged.