Chapter 1
Jarek-Mulkavien was deep in thought while hunched forward with an elbow upon his knee as the buckboard wagon rolled north along Black Road through the thickest parts of Layil Forest toward Geesha Valley. The barrel-chested smuggler toyed with his long white goatee while his gray, squinting eyes roved his surroundings from beneath deep, creased eyelids. He shaved his head that morning and smoothed with a generous layer of hoof wax. Tattoos covered his bronzed, bare torso as he wore only a blue and green checkered kilt with a gold-handled rapier sheathed on his left hip. The road was uneven, though devoid of deep ruts. Hattie, the old black mare, maintained a calm, apprehensive pace, resisting the temptation to launch into a full gallop and separate herself from the oppressive darkness.
The thick overgrown ancient forest’s gnarled trees overhung the one-hundred-mile road which at one time had been a standard trade route between the massive, blackstone city of Zanai at the center of Ganden and the northern Horebian Mountain Ranges. Commerce between the two realms had become increasingly less common over the decades, leaving the road in disrepair.
Supply and demand had their part to play in it. The self-sufficient Horebians had little need for commerce, and the trader stopped sending their caravans north, shipping their products to the thriving realms of Mitolas and Havash to the east and west instead. Still, the most significant factor in the dwindling trade between Zanai and the Horebians were the bandits overrunning the forest, ambushing anyone who passed through. The route was saturated with villains, becoming far too great a hazard for any independent merchants to risk whatever marginal profits they would have made by shipping their products between the two realms. The lack of smaller competition may have been a boon to business for the larger corporations, but hiring mercenaries to protect the cargo along the treacherous route became too expensive to make the enterprise worthwhile even then. Often as not, the mercenaries found it much more profitable to steal the cargo they were hired to protect. Even the larger businesses eventually gave up on the trade route through Layil Forest.
The dense woodland became a favorite hideout for criminals dodging the law who were too lazy to make the trek across the Midbaros Desert to Arena. As a result, most people avoided Black Road through the forest altogether.
Jarek-Mulkavien was unconventional, neither a bandit, merchant, nor a trader. He was a smuggler, but not just any smuggler. He was the smuggler one would hire when subtlety was required and a successful delivery was necessary. The smuggler who found unfindable items, delivering them to undeliverable locations. He was the preferred smuggler for discretion when transporting items or people across guarded borders and fortified gates. Any wise bandit avoided him, and foolish bandits regretted ever confronting him if they survived Fiona’s fury.
While no one knew him by name, his face was universally recognized. He never wore disguises nor changed his appearance, yet the moment an individual no longer employed him, they would immediately forget who he was until his services were needed again. Even then, they could not recall his name or any pertinent details about him, but he had an uncanny ability to show up and provide whatever service was necessary.
Of course, no successful smuggler ever worked for free, and his services came at a premium price. One did not hire the best smuggler for the most challenging services without expecting to pay a commensurate fee.
Such was the conversation between the smuggler and his old black mare as they traversed north on Black Road. The old smuggler was not inclined to be silent, even when necessary. Even in a calm tone, his gravelly voice and thick, rolling accent projected through the trees as he prattled on.
“My old mum used to tell me, ‘Jarek-Mulkavien!’ She always called me by my full first name, ‘Jarek-Mulkavien! If you want to make some coin in Ganden, then you’d best be making coin doing the thing you do best, and if you enjoy doing what you do best while you’re making coin doing it, then you’ll never feel you’ve worked a day in your life!’”
He mimicked her voice in an over-the-top falsetto and exaggerated accent, making Hattie’s ears twitching from the surprising shrill tones his deep voice produced.
“Being the talented man my father was, he could do just about any job he put his hand to and do it well, but he never learned the art of being successful. That’s because he never found what he was passionate about. Well, except for my mum. He was so in love with her, I don’t know how he ever left the house to get work done. Maybe she was the reason he never got rich, always wanting to be with her. She was quite a sight, but only had eyes for my pa. It’s a wonder I was the only child they ever produced, if you know what I mean!”
The smuggler’s hearty laughter echoed down the road as the mare continued her deadpan stare down the winding Black Road. She longed to be free from the oppressive forest. The darkness felt more tangible than any previous times they traveled the route.
She was unconcerned about being watched. That was not of particular concern for her with Jarek-Mulkavien. He was more than capable of keeping her safe, but she felt an oppressive weight, a sense of foreboding looming over the forest, and would be relieved once free of it.
The rickety buckboard wagon continued rolling north as the midday sun sporadically penetrated the thick overhanging canopy, casting dust-filled shafts of light through wafting mists to the woodland floor below.
Hattie resisted the urge to quicken her pace as the smuggler’s oration continued.
“….and that was when I knew I’d found what I loved to do! Poor old Tangela never figured out how Despina and Feofan got those pies from the top shelf, but that was the happiest I’d ever seen those dogs!”
As he recalled the story, the affable smuggler erupted into another roar of laughter. It would have taken a keen observer to see that despite his continuing banter and echoing laughter, his eyes always scanned the shadows, his hand a hair’s breadth from Fiona’s handle.
He was aware of the ominous air in Layil Forest. Like the old mare, he was eager to be on Geesha Valley’s rolling green foothills.
He gave a soft cluck out the side of his mouth and a light shake of the reins, letting Hattie know she could add a little energy to her pace, and she eagerly complied while he continued sharing stories with the air.
************
The hot midsummer sun hung in a cloudless sky high over the Horebian Mountain Range’s green, rolling hills, causing the smaller wildlife to hide away from the oppressive heat. Grasshoppers were uninterested in weathering the heat, preferring to wait for the cooler parts of the day before beginning their disjointed journeys and chittering songs. The air was calm, with no breeze alleviating the stifling humidity. Even the flowers interspersed throughout the tall grasses had lost their luster, saving their vibrant colors for a more pleasant day.
Aleron and Ja’Ricksah walked east, parallel to the north border of Layil Forest, making their way toward the Geesha Valley, which sloped south from the base of Mount Horebia’s towering, snowcapped peak down toward the rest of Ganden. An independent, isolated people, the Horebians lived on farms and settlements spread all over the foothills, with Geesha Village as their communal center.
With long black dreadlocks pulled back into a dread knot, Aleron’s dark features glistened with sweat on such a hot day. His deep ebony eyes danced with excitement behind a weathered squint as they walked and continued talking. His smile pulled at the long scar running down the left side of his face and across his eye.
“We should be able to make it to Geesha Village before nightfall,” he said. “The Horebians are welcoming and Shoya Isao is always so kind. He wants to help people, and talking to him is like having an entire library read to you at once.”
“They sound like great people,” Ja’Ricksah said. “But I still promised Aapeli and Tiran that I would warn Zanai of the attack coming from Havash.”
“I know. I hope it all works out, but I’m nervous for Loé. She has been protecting the Horebians from the Night Wolf, and I’m concerned he will do something terrible. I think you and I can help them. Loé is like us…well, not really. Loé isn’t like anybody. She is her own person. Shoya Isao says it’s been a thousand years since Hadrek has been weaved in Ganden. I don’t know of anyone else who has ever done it. But she weaves her Hadrek through Karrá like you. The way I weave is called Massá.”
“So, we’re helping your friend fight a wolf?”
She stood five-foot-three, as tall as his chest, and squinted, somewhat perplexed at the severity of the situation. He realized he needed to explain better and chuckled, shaking his head.
“No,” he said. “The Night Wolf isn't a wolf. He calls himself that, but he is just a man…sort of. There is an unsettling darkness about him. His eyes are black orbs, and when he speaks, his voice sounds like two completely different voices speaking at once. But it’s not just him. The creatures with him are the biggest problem. They are the same creatures you and I fought in the stone passage. We call them Shadows, but he calls them Ra’tsach.”
She shuddered at the horrors she experienced two nights before.
“You know, I never thanked you.”
“For what?” Aleron looked at her, a quizzical look in his eyes as they walked.
“For going back. I learned long ago how to sleep while staying aware of my surroundings. You let me rest once we exited the passage from the Subandem Plateau, but I know you went back in. I know you buried Siver and Borisa. I couldn’t bear to see their bodies again. They deserved better than being left to rot or be eaten by animals. They were like siblings to me. I’m so grateful you did that.”
She teared up while talking. The twins' vicious murders at the hands of the Shadows, so close to freedom, were still fresh in her mind. He wrapped his arm around her shoulders and pulled her close as they walked in cadence together.
“No one deserves what happened to them,” he said. “I’m sorry. I only wish I could have reached you sooner.”
“It’s not your fault,” she shook her head at the guilt in his voice. “I would be dead if you didn’t show up when you did. But their deaths aren’t your fault. That was my responsibility. I led them into that deathtrap….”
She stopped walking as a sudden sob escaped from her lips. He turned and wrapped her in his arms, holding her close while comforting her.
“We were drawn to each other for a reason. I think we’re supposed to stop the evil that’s coming. Those Shadows we fought are the same ones that follow the Night Wolf. They must be connected somehow. Weaving Hadrek is our sole defense against them, and Loé is the only other weaver. She’s crucial to this as well. It explains why I was taken to her when I weaved Ma'Shaliso the first time.”
“Ma’Shaliso is how you traveled all that distance in an instant and exploded into the canyon to help me?”
He nodded. Her arms were wrapped low around his waist, but she pulled back. She wiped tears from her black, crescent-shaped eyes, running her hands over her long braided black hair and took a deep breath, her dark-olive skin glistening with sweat. She gazed at him, speaking with fierce determination.
“Then you’re right.” Her tone was resolute. “We need to go to Loé. If she can fight those creatures, then we need her. It doesn't matter how many of them there are. They will all die; I’ll kill them all.”
Her matter-of-fact tone left no room for doubt or argument.
“Then let’s go get Loé,” he said. “She’s a unique one…you’ll love her.”
************
The two continued their pace into the late afternoon when Aleron sensed something was wrong. He recognizing the area they were approaching, a short distance from where he and Loé fought the green Shadow but a month before.
Thinking he heard a faint sound, he paused to listen better, but to no avail. Ja’Ricksah was unfamiliar with the territory, but sensed something off about the air. The rope dart was looped on her belt and the obsidian dao was sheathed at her hip, but she was not quite ready to arm herself. She followed Aleron’s lead as he walked slower, scanning the area as they ascended a rolling green knoll less than a hundred yards north of the forest.
He resisted the urge to draw either dao blade sheathed over his shoulders. Though unsettled, he did not sense any imminent danger and hoped they had seen enough fighting for a short while. His heart sank at the horror he beheld as he crested the hill. He would have much preferred a fight.
At the bottom of the draw, three people faced each other in a circle standing with their arms out to the sides, lashed to a crossed pole driven into the ground. There was no movement. He spent enough time around death to know what it looked and smelled like, even from that distance. He gave Ja’Ricksah a concerned glance, letting her know she could keep her distance if she preferred, but she remained by his side as he moved toward the three bodies.
The blistering summer sun’s effects were evident upon the bodies. As they drew near, the putrid smell of decomposition made their eyes water. Aleron tried to be strong for Ja’Ricksah, but could not hold back the tears streaming down his face, his chin quivering as his worst fears were realized. He recognized Kaja and Iolani’s bodies facing him, and his heart broke at the brutal way they had been left to rot, an act of clear disregard for human decency.
The third body facing away left him full of dread, twisting his stomach into a painful knot. He recognized the medium-length brown shaggy hair and knew how inseparable the two young women were from their leader. He knew Loé was the third in the circle before seeing her face.
Iolani’s long, blonde hair was disheveled and hanging loose in front of her face, matted with dried blood. Kaja was also slumped forward against her restraints, dried blood saturating the front of her shirt and the ground below. He was hesitant to confirm his fears regarding Loé’s demise, but gained nothing by delaying. Witha deep breath, he confronted the inevitable horror head-on.
He stepped around her arm and was surprised to see no blood on her shirt like the other women, pausing to comprehend her cause of death. A chill went down his spine as her head shifted, and a hoarse, empty cry fell from her blistered, bleeding lips.
Ja’Ricksah moved fast, dagger already in hand, as she sliced through the lashes holding Loé upright while Aleron cradled her limp body in a careful embrace while stepping away from the carnage to lay her on the ground. Ja’Ricksah pulled out her water bladder and rushed to Loé’s side, dipping her finger into the water and letting it drip off her fingertip into Loé’s mouth just enough to rehydrate her tongue. She watched enough dehydrated travelers drag themselves into the desert city of Arena, and knew drinking too fast would devastatingly shock her system, leading to even more complications. Loé suffered from heat stroke, so dehydrated she no longer sweated, so Ja’Ricksah gave her small portions of water at a time.
Loé was delirious, and her fair skin had a deep sunburn, layered in puss-filled blisters. White streaks of dried salt ran down her cheeks from where tears had flowed as her eyes remained closed, and her lips continued moving, trying to speak, but nothing more than dry croaks could form in her throat.
“It’s alright. Steady,” she said. “Just a little water at a time. We’re here for you.”
Her eyes turned toward Aleron, who still held Loé across his lap. He stroked her hair with tears streaming down his face as he fought to hold back his emotions. Ja’Ricksah already knew the answer before she asked.
“You know who she is?”
Aleron nodded in silence, his face contorting with emotion as he whispered one word in a broken sob.
“Loé…”
“By Yaqol…” Ja’Ricksah cursed under her breath. The raw, bloody gashes around Loé’s wrists showed the passion behind her fight against the restraints, and the tight ropes lashing her midsection to the pole wore through her shirt, leaving deep, bloody abrasions. Whoever abandoned her had not done so with intent; they had wanted her physically and emotionally tormented.
“Can you stay with her?”
The pain in Aleron’s eyes was incomprehensible. She only nodded in response as he shifted Loé’s limp body over to her lap. He raised himself to his feet with a deep, disheartened sigh and went about the morbid task of laying Kaja and Iolani’s bodies to rest.
He preferred to build pyres and burn their bodies, but time and urgency made it difficult, certain the Night Wolf was behind the gruesome deaths. If Loé. Kaja and Iolani had been defeated, he was concerned about what fate befell Geesha Village. After cutting the bodies down, Aleron dug two shallow graves for the women while staying vigilant for the Night Wolf’s presence or that of his Shadows. They appeared to have been hanging for at least two days. Rigor mortis had already passed, making it easier as he moved their limp bodies with care. The mountain range’s soft soil had minimal stones, simplifying the process of digging the two graves with one of his dao blades for a shovel.
The sun hung low over the western horizon by the time he finished laying Kaja and Iolani to rest and covering their graves. Loé was still delirious, but Ja’Ricksah continued nursing small portions of water into her mouth, keeping a cloth soaked in the cool water to dab across Loé’s lips and forehead, cooling her off and refreshing her. Loé would not be hungry until she was hydrated, so Ja’Ricksah did not bother trying to feed her anything. She only focused on providing a steady, controlled supply of water while comforting the incapacitated warrior while Aleron set about his unpleasant task.
Loé had no strength to walk, and they had no horses, so once Aleron was ready, he lifted her onto his back, trying to be as gentle as possible. There was no comfortable way to carry her dead weight. The strain upon his legs and back burned like fire in his muscles, but he set a relentless pace over the remaining miles of rolling hills to Geesha Village. Ja’Ricksah walked by his side, carrying his swords and gear while dabbing Loé’s lips with water.
Concern tore at him, compelling him to move quicker than necessary. He had been eager for Loé and Ja'Ricksah to meet, but was now overwhelmed with concern for everyone he left behind on his journey to the Mavo Lakes. He knew the Night Wolf’s threats and did not plan to be away for so long.
His mind was reeling with concern for the gentle people of Geesha Village. How he found Loé, Kaja, and Iolani left him dreading the horrors he would discover at Geesha Village. The three warriors would have done everything possible to protect the defenseless people. The fact that two of them were dead and their leader was incapacitated disturbed him.
Ja’Ricksah placed a damp rag over Loé’s head to help soothe the burns as best she was able, squeezing out the rag at regular intervals to moisten it again to keep it fresh. The merciful sun dipped below the western horizon behind them while they walked, and the air cooled to a reasonable temperature in the blazing sun’s absence. Grasshoppers and crickets chirped like an adrenalized orchestra all about the hillsides as sporadic lightning bugs highlighted the air with their luminescent green glow.
Aleron was determined to reach Geesha Village before stopping, fearing what he would find. He would have been tired if not for his focus. Instead, he internalized every aspect of his body that resisted forward progress.
Ja’Ricksah remained attentive, always offering him water before he asked, while tending to Loé. Despite speaking as little as possible to conserve energy, their minds brimmed with thoughts. Their sole focus was on getting to Geesha Village. Though Aleron’s first intention was to arrive by nightfall, the unexpected horror they came across upended any such plans.
The crescent moon rose high over the eastern horizon in the twilight as Aleron and Ja’Ricksah trudged along, ever drawing closer to the village and whatever hope or horrors awaited them.
************
Deep into the third watch of the night, with the moon long into its descent, they came within sight of Geesha Village. The late hour brought an eerie feeling as they approached, with no lights or activity to be found.
Aleron felt that something was off about the village, although he could not identify what. He stopped just outside the fringes, placing Loé on the ground and signaling Ja’Ricksah to wait with her while he went ahead.
He sheathed the two dao blades behind his shoulders, which ached from the exertion of carrying Loé for so significant a distance. Geesha Village was a welcoming place, but he still crouched low while approaching, unsettled by the pervasive stillness. He had enough exposure to death and conflict to recognize the iron-tinged smell of blood.
With his swords sheathed, he walked toe-to-heel, maintaining control and balance, remaining vigilant of his surroundings. The village’s atmosphere was disconcerting, but since there was no immediate danger, he did not want to risk causing any unintentional harm. He was skilled enough to unsheathe his blades in an instant if needed.
His eyes continued to rove about as he walked to the main dirt road through the center of the village towards the Shoya’s house. It was not just the smell of blood that had him concerned. Despite the late hour, there were no lingering smells of cooked meals or wood smoke hanging in the air.
With careful steps, he mounted the porch, impressed at the construction that did not creak at all, remaining silent underfoot. He crossed the porch and opened the door as quiet as possible.
Exhausted from the day’s excursion, adrenaline coursed through his veins, urging him to rush, but his experience kept him patient. He focused upon each movement, careful not to misstep or leave himself vulnerable, not overlooking any detail that would catch him off-guard in an attack.
After pausing for a moment in the doorway, crouched low to avoid framing his silhouette in the opening, he eased towards the open fireplace built into the floor at the other end of the long room. He had spent several long nights sitting around the fire with Loé and Shoya Isao, discussing life and Hadrek, as the three attempted to understand how it all weaved together.
He controlled his breathing to remain calm, but as he drew near, his eye caught something that startled him. Dim moonlight glowed through the large windows at the end of the building beyond the fireplace, highlighting a figure seated on the floor facing him whose features were shrouded in shadow.
He knew he had already been seen, and there was no longer any need to sneak, so he stood as tall as his almost six-foot frame would allow. He resisted the instinct compelling him to draw his swords as he approached, but he resisted the urge, taking a calming deep breath before stepping toward the unmoving figure.
************
Ja'Ricksah was unfamiliar with Geesha Village. Until a month before, she had never left Arena, a lawless city surrounded by the Midbaros Desert’s red sands. She was unfamiliar with villages and their customs, but Aleron's concern became hers, and she guarded Loé who still slept.
While watching the direction he made off to, she was focused upon the area she last saw him while remaining aware of her surroundings. She was adept at listening to the night after her time as the Watchman of Arena.
Not even a gentle breeze stirred the eerie moon-lit valley. Despite the scent of stale blood, the creatures of the night behaved like normal, enabling her to relax without seeming indifferent. She stayed alert, attentive to every sound and movement, listening for what stood out or disappeared. The night did not speak in constant sounds, but in pockets of silence or irregular cadences.
The sound of two separate footsteps alerted her to something approaching from the village. She rolled to one knee between where she heard the sound and Loé’s prone body, with a hand upon her sword’s handle. It took all her willpower not to weave Karrá, knowing that if she came alight with Hadrek, she would stand out like a beacon in the darkness to anyone searching for her, a credit to her many nights as the Watchman for maintaining her self-control.
Her nerves calmed at Aleron’s voice in a normal conversational tone.
“It’s ok, Ja’Ricksah. It’s me. We’ll get Loé into the house so we can rest up.”
Ja’Ricksah’s eyes were well-adjusted to seeing in the dark, shifting to the figure standing beside Aleron. The stranger greeted her with a broad smile in the darkness, speaking in a thick, raspy accent, a little too loud for the muted night.
“Not to be concerned, lass. I’m a friend, and you won’t be coming to any harm this night. All the villagers have taken shelter in the Nook with the Shadow Hunters, but I figured I’d best stay down here in the village if anyone were to show up, be it with good intentions or evil. ‘Tis a fortunate thing, too. Let’s get your friend up into the house, and we can tend to her the right way.”
Caught off guard by the stranger’s direct, affable personality, Ja’Ricksah hesitated, eliciting a deep, guttural chuckle.
“Och! Nae need to worry. I’m a friend. Jarek-Mulkavien. ‘Tis a pleasure to meet you.”
With that, the smuggler stooped, and lifting Loé into his tattooed, bare chest, walked back toward the village. Aleron helped Ja’Ricksah pick up the rest of the gear and fell in step with him.
************
The three sat around a small crackling fire in the open stone fireplace at the center of the Shoya’s house, talking until the sun started spreading tinges of pink and orange across the darkness of the fading night.
“So Shoya Isao is dead?”
“Aye. A terrible thing, too. He was an honorable man.”
Aleron nodded his agreement as Jarek-Mulkavien continued, nodding his head toward Loé while she slept.
“The Night Wolf only wanted her. After she and the other two were taken, the carnage stopped, and they haven’t seen a single one of them nasty creatures since and no sign of the Night Wolf. The Horebians no longer felt safe and sought shelter with the Shadow Hunters in the Nook. Once they left, I went about tending to the fallen from the attack. Too many of the new graves are small. I’ve never been to the Nook myself, but there must be plenty of room below the mountain for them all to take refuge for a time.”
“I’ve been there.” Aleron said. “The Nook is big, with plenty of tunnels and other large rooms attached. It's but a temporary solution. They are safe as long as the Night Wolf is unaware or indifferent, but his Shadows can walk through stone. It would be an underground prison for anyone hiding there if he finds them.”
The smuggler let out a long, low whistle, shaking his bald head back and forth, his long white goatee weaving and dangling below.
“I wasn’t aware of that fact. They walk through stone, you say? I've never heard of such a thing…but they can be killed, aye?”
Ja'Ricksah listened, absorbing the information about their new enemy, with Aleron nodding in agreement and responded.
“Yes, they can be killed, but not with natural weapons. I tried to fight one, and my weapons passed right through it and didn’t do a thing. When I weave a song of Massá, they don’t stand a chance against me. Same with Ja’Ricksah or Loé when they weave a dance of Karrá. Something about Hadrek cuts right through them.”
“Hadrek. Now there’s an ancient word. You both weave?”
The warriors nodded in response.
“Strange times indeed,” he said under his breath.
Ja’Ricksah remembered something from her terrifying fight with the Shadows in the stone passageway.
“You might be right, Aleron, but some weapons affect them. Before it killed her, Borisa stabbed one of them with a Subanderii dagger made from obsidian. The Shadow screamed in pain, and the dagger wounded it.”
“Now that’s fascinating,” Aleron was surprised. “I wonder if it’s something about the obsidian?”
Jarek-Mulkavien’s voice lost all humor, dropping into a solemn tone and leaving no doubt of how seriously he considered the situation. His entire visage took on a controlled rage, and the ever-present smile faded into a ferocious intensity.
“I weave nothing, and Fiona is nae made of obsidian. But if they can be killed, I’ll find a way to kill them. There’s evil in Ganden, and it’s spreading like a wildfire that needs to be put out. Who knows how many there are or what they have planned, but it can’t be any good and it needs to be stopped before it’s too late. You tracked his creatures into Layil Forest, aye?”
Aleron nodded as the smuggler continued.
“My path to Geesha Valley took me through Layil Forest on Black Road, you know the one? It took me past the old Horned Horse Inn. The place has been abandoned for years and is still decrepit and run down, but the ground around the place looked like it’s been seeing a lot of recent activity, y’ken? Could be the Night Wolf’s hiding out there with his creatures.”
His serious demeanor shifted to a smile and gentler voice.
“But we can’t stop it tonight, or this morning, more like it. Go rest for a while, both of you. You’ve had a long night already. I’ll keep watch and cook up some breakfast in a bit; then maybe we can head over to the Nook later in the day once Loé’s feeling better. Not to worry. I’ll monitor her and keep her watered. You go rest, now. Shoo.”
Neither of them had the energy to decline his offer. Despite how interactive the conversation was, they both felt exhaustion overtaking them as their heavy eyes drooped. The great room had couches along the walls, providing a cool and shaded spot. They were both deep asleep soon after settling in.
The smuggler had a stick in his hand, poking at the fire’s embers while he sat, mulling the newfound information.
‘Och, Fiona, we’ve found ourselves quite the adventure now, haven’t we? Quite the adventure indeed. It’ll be interesting to see what our part to play is, lass, but whatever it’s meant to be, it’ll be. Yaqol knows how to weave it all together. He always has.”
His thick hands held the stick, poking and prodding the embers, moving them about and gently stirring them back to life as the flames danced around in patterns that seemed random. His pensive gray eyes gazed upon the fire as his eyebrows furrowed, spreading seasoned wrinkles across his weathered face while pondering the many pieces weaving together all around Ganden.”
“Hadrek’s being weaved again. Must be the Thura are about to reawaken…interesting times indeed.”
************
The Night Wolf leaned his shoulder against the Horned Horse Inn’s doorpost. The rising sun reflected off his bulbous black eyes. His thumbs were hooked into his belt as he stared out from the doorway through Layil Forest’s thick, dark trees. If he had his way, the Ra’tsach would patrol the entire Horebian Mountain Range, wreaking devastation wherever they went, but his master ordered him to delay until it was time to move forward with the next phase of the plan.
Loé was dealt with and the Ra’tsach had not returned from hunting at the Subandem Plateaus, but he was confident their assignment was complete and they had eliminated the other weaver they hunted.
His only remaining order was to wait. The time would be soon, he had been told, and the eager Ra'tsach would be ready to attack once his master gave the order. They would wait in the old inn until then.
He smirked. The time could not come soon enough for his liking. It had been too long for his taste since he felt his sword plunge into someone’s heart, and his hands trembled with anticipation for the opportunity to come again. Though his golden-handled sword was sheathed at his hip, he kept Loé’s short tanto and her longer kodachi blades as souvenirs. The kodachi was lashed to his back with the handle rising over his shoulder while the tanto was sheathed at the hip opposite his own sword. He already used the tanto on Kaja and Iolani’s throats, but was eager to try out the kodachi along with his golden-handled sword.
Soon…very soon. He just needed to stay patient until the order came, but once it did, the Night Wolf and his Ra’tsach would unleash fury upon all those in their path.
Chapter 2
When he awakened, he was covered in sand and felt the sun’s heat beating down upon him. With a gasp, he bolted upright as the fine, red grains cascaded off his face, irritating his eyes and filling his ears. Every breath made him cough from the irritating grains stuffed in his nose and mouth. He wiped his hands together, then shook them over his face and hair to rid himself of the annoyance as best he was able.
His bleary eyes hurt from the bright sun, suggesting he had been out for a long time. He shook his head, causing more sand to fall into his shirt, increasing his aggravation. He looked around to familiarize himself with his surroundings, searching for recognizable landmarks, but found none. Everything felt foreign. With no option to stay because of the unbearable heat, he wished for any clue on which way to go. The sun was high overhead, offering no assistance establishing which point of the compass he faced, but he decided on a direction and began walking, hoping it was not in folly.
He had no food and no water, just the clothing on his back and the unyielding sun tormenting him from above. As he walked, he searched his pockets, but they were all empty. He had no sword, dagger, or coin, though his lightweight boots felt comfortable, and his clothes were a perfect fit.
As he continued his journey across the rolling dunes, the sun began its descent, and the shadow in front of him told him he was traveling east. With no option to stop, he pushed through the sweat and hunger, knowing the longer he was on the desert sands, the more ravenous and dehydrated he would become. Without knowing how far he was from escaping the dry places he was wandering, the only option was to continue moving until he found shelter, food, or water.
He pushed onward despite weak legs and difficulty focusing, determined to escape the desert’s red sands stretching in every direction beyond sight. An occasional wind gust would rip through, blasting his face and eyes with another layer of sand, yet he persisted forward.
The merciless sun brought relief as it fell below the horizon, and the sands cooled fast, lacking the composition to retain heat. The moon cast a blue tint across the sands as he continued his determined pace. Though the effort of walking on the sandy dunes was still difficult, the sun’s absence made it less tedious.
He persevered through the night, plodding forward without rest or breaks, uncertain of his progress or the distance awaiting him. Still, he remained steadfast, and as the sun rose the next day, he maintained the same pace despite the relentless heat bearing down from cloudless skies.
Shoulders slumped, he struggled to stay upright upon wobbling legs as each step on the shifting sands made him feel motionless. He was so dehydrated that he stopped sweating, so malnourished that his hunger faded to just weakness, yet he trudged on.
His sunburnt skin blistered, his lips chapped and cracked, and he was reminded of how dry his tongue was with every raspy breath. He considered removing his shirt to provide some relief from the heat, but knew it was his only layer of protection from the sun’s rays.
He wanted to quit, to sit and rest for a bit, but he knew if he stopped, it would be a near impossibility to restart. Stopping would not bring him any closer to food, water, or shelter, so his singular option was to push through.
Mirages glimmered, dancing low upon the horizon stopped giving him false hope, and he ignored anything but his next step while remaining on a diligent forward course. To lose his direction would defeat whatever lingering threads of hope remained.
Determined, he defied the sun’s tortuous beratement as another day passed. As the sunset stretched across the sky behind him, he watched the moon rise ahead and continued his trek in the cooler weather of night. A subliminal sense of refreshment came through the simple lack of tormenting heat emanating from the cool sands. One stubborn step at a time, he continued blindly towards his goal of escaping the desert, hoping he had not chosen the wrong direction.
As the sun rose into the third day, everything within him cried out to quit, to lie down and let the sun win the battle between the elements and his will, but he was compelled to defy the elemental force berating him,
