Eyes of Mist

3 - Departure

The sunlight shone through the silver foliage and gently caressed the boy's hair. What might have happened to make him behave like this? He had spent so much time here but never had the forest witnessed such emotions, such sadness, anger, and disappointment. Finally, the boy's pain ebbed to a dull ache, covered by numbing oblivion. He slumped to the ground and curled on it like an unborn child.

He slowly opened his silvery blue eyes and blinked into the gleaming light. Tamaril sat up and rubbed his face and hurting eyes, before carefully lifting himself up. He let his gaze wander throughout the room.

He'd never seen this place illuminated so brightly. Rays of light from high windows, dancing shadows of leaves on the ground, and whispering wind gently stroking his hair... all of this he'd never experienced before. Usually, everything seemed so silent, so under control, yet lifeless. Could the forest be trying to cheer him up? A weak smile crossed Tamaril's thin lips. He stepped outside and let his hand wander over the silvery white bark of a tree.

"Thank you," he whispered, barely audible.

This was truly his forest; the place where he belonged. But why had this story stirred him so deeply? He truly knew neither the land nor the people living there. It might have been just a dream, an unreal vision. There was no reason to write on.

He had barely finished his thought when the light faded away.

Tamaril stepped back from the tree and looked around. Life, which had been everywhere just a second ago, seemed to draw back from him and disappear among the trees.

"Do you want me to continue writing?" he asked loudly.

The echo of his words touched his face like a gentle breeze. "You want to know, don't you?"

The forest around him barely changed, but it was enough for him to understand.

Tamaril nodded for himself and went back inside.

"Yes, it really shouldn't end like this."

He picked up the quill and continued writing.

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Ayala opened her eyes only to instantly close them again. The sun's light had found its way through the clouds and shone radiantly, light piercing through her dark eyes. She struggled to get to her feet, yet realized she was able to stand.

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"YES!"

Tamaril's hand raced to his mouth, but the word had already escaped. Oh well, he was simply happy she was still alive. Why shouldn't he be?

He allowed a crooked grin to play around his lips when he wrote on.

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Everything hurt. Ayala looked down at herself, at the mud-encrusted clothes where dirt and dried blood mingled at her side. Her hair clung to her face, stuck to the blood on her cheek. When she tried to push it back, terrible pain cursed through her arm. It was obviously sprained maybe even broken.

Ayala fought against tears of self-pity. Never had the young Falamar felt so miserable. It was no wonder the Shakaree left her for dead. She wasn't sure herself if she was really still alive. Even when she examined her wounds and found they were not very deep, it did nothing to change her mood.

Maybe it wasn't the physical damage that brought her down but rather the complete helplessness she'd experienced when facing the Shakaree.

A sudden thought hit her. What had he been doing here? And where was he now?

Ayala sprang forward and almost lost her footing on the slippery hillside.

She needed to get back to the village and sound the alarm. A Shakaree soldier venturing this far south couldn't be a good sign.

As quickly as possible, the Falamar started her descent, but every step sent waves of pain through her injured hip. Finally, when the sun neared the horizon, she came close to the forest's edge with the small village just ahead.

Ayala swallowed. It was so silent! Or was she imagining things? The birds sung as always, the wind rustled in the leaves, and even some squirrels were hushing around in the settling dusk. Yet, Ayala felt an icy touch when she stepped out of the forest.

No voice could be heard. No children were playing in the light of the setting sun before their mothers would call them to come home.

And then she saw it. Near one of the entryways lay a strange bundle. In a pool of blood.

Ayala crept closer, unable to turn away from the still form. When only a few steps separated her from the dead Falamar, she saw that not even the face was still recognizable. From what she could guess, it must be a woman.

Ayala caught herself trying to think who this must have been. Suddenly, the realization of what had happened seared through her at last and naked dread pushed aside all curiousness.

"Jara!" Ayala whirled on the spot and stumbled blindly towards the small hut she'd spent the last couple of months in. She almost closed her eyes as she hurried through the village and shoved through the door.

In one of the inner rooms, the young Falamar finally found the healer. Jara leaned over a broken stool and seemed completely lifeless. Ayala rushed towards her and pulled her close. Blood came out of the old Falamar's mouth, but to Ayala's relief she opened her eyes.

"Aya, oh my dear, I barely dared to hope they wouldn't find you," Jara whispered weakly.

"Shh, you don't have to speak now. I will take you to safety, and then everything will be all right." Ayala's eyes became wet when Jara firmly shook her head in refusal, but she wouldn't give up. "You will see, Jara, it'll be all right. Everything's going to be all right..." her voice faded to a sob.

"Where... where are the children?" Jara managed.

Ayala only stared at her.

"They... they fled in here. They wanted me to protect them. Oh dear, I have failed. They needed... they needed my help, and I have failed..." Jara's voice became lower and lower until it was barely audible. "Run, Aya, run so they won't find you, so at least you can escape."

The old Falamar cringed and coughed painfully.

Suddenly, Jara raised herself once more and grabbed Ayala's wrist. "You have to swear to me that you will stay alive!"

Ayala stared at her teacher, horrified. "I..." she whispered, "...I swear it to you."

Jara breathed easier again and leaned back. "That is good. Run immediately and run fast. The Shakaree... they are not like us. They don't feel pity." A broken sob escaped her lips. "The children..."

Jara closed her eyes and stopped breathing.

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Contrary to her promise, Ayala stayed with her dead teacher and cried for a long time. When she finally found the strength to leave the room, night had fallen, and she didn't dare to leave the hut's pitiful shelter. Darkness crept into the room and closed in on the young Falamar, but Ayala didn't want to risk a fire. She huddled in a corner and finally fell to sleep for several hours.

When she woke with a start from her disturbing dreams, the night was still pitch black. Panic threatened to overwhelm her. What if the Shakaree found out there was a survivor? At least one.

The thought that she might truly be the only one made her eyes glisten with tears again. All she wanted to do is crawl back to Jara, stay with her, maybe even die with her. Anything but having to face this alone. But then she remembered the promise she'd given to the old woman. She clung to those words. Even if she hardly had the strength to leave the valley, she at least had to try. She promised.

With this thought, life sprung back into her. She needed to leave as soon as possible, when first light appeared at the latest. Hastily, she flitted around in the dark hut to gather some provisions as well as scantily take care of her wounds. She was barely done with collecting her bundle when she glanced outside and noticed a rosy shimmer on the horizon. Without hesitating any longer or looking back, Ayala rushed out of the house.

Outside she stopped again. Should she look for other survivors? She made a few tentative steps towards the neighboring house, but the metallic smell of blood made her hesitate. She tried calling out, but when a hoarse croak escaped her lips, it sounded so loud to her that she fled back into the shadow of Jara's house.

No, she wouldn't dare. She would have to go alone and hope that whoever might have survived as well would find her or at least find a safe way out of the valley.

She'd thought about going south to the next nearest refugee village but concluded that the Shakaree were probably watching the most obvious ways out of the valley. So she decided to go north and leave the village in the same direction from which she'd come.

Yet, she chose not to take the route through the village but to go along the forest's edge, so she didn't have to see the horror any more. But here she also found bodies of Falamar who had tried to flee from the attackers into the forest. Apparently, the Shakaree had suffered losses as well, for among the slain, she noticed a form clad in a gray cloak lying bent and motionless.

"So they are the same in death after all," she whispered tonelessly. What a barbaric people the Shakaree were, not even taking their dead with them to bury them but just leaving them for the scavengers? A thought suddenly jolted through her like a shock: she was no different. Time was short, and as much as it pained her, she knew that Jara wouldn't have wanted her to risk her life so she could be buried.

She stood there hesitating for a moment, then set herself in motion, and walked along the forest's edge stoically. Helpless anger kept her from bursting into tears again. After some minutes, she left the village behind.

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Jorcan fought against the iron weariness in his limbs as he dragged himself forward after the figure he could only hazily perceive through the drifting fog. The grass under his feet was strange and new to him, but the young prince was too preoccupied to care about these trifles. It had barely been a few hours since he left the men of his escort with the other soldiers further down the valley, after having marched for days with little rest to get there. Charn, the warrior his father assigned to lead the troops, voiced the opinion that it would be best for the prince to rest in the base camp where he would be dry and safe. That statement almost made Jorcan laugh in spite of his exhaustion. The young Shakaree had enough business with his father's commanders to know Charn would hardly shed a tear should something happen to him. None less, he preferred to keep up appearances.

It had hastily been reported to him that the troops already erased a village but met unexpected resistance. Jorcan waved them away when they wanted to give him any details. He would make sure the next strike was more effective... as soon as he had some sleep.

Charn had beckoned one of his soldiers and assigned him to lead Jorcan to their base camp. And here they were, right in the middle of the Falamarian mountains, surrounded by green forest. They marched through knee-deep grass, littered with flowers, whose names Jorcan didn't know but whom he met with caution. His father was right with one point: he hated to be unfamiliar with something. And this damned land of the Falamar undoubtedly qualified.

A fallen trunk blocked his way, and when he climbed over it, all but elegantly, his guide was nowhere to be seen. He wanted to call out for him, but the name didn't come to his mind. He rushed forward with clenched teeth and got stuck on a root that had somehow curled around his foot. He swayed but managed to get a grip on one of the branches and leaned on the tree, breathing heavily.

"My lord?"

Jorcan raised his head and noted with relief that his guide had returned. "It's nothing," he explained brusquely as soon as he calmed down. "It's just this despicable land."

In the other's blue eyes there was a gleam of amusement before long lashes hid them from his gaze. Amazed Jorcan watched closer. "You... you are a renian," he remarked breathlessly.

"Does it surprise you that much that your father sent a woman on this mission?" She seemed to smile but her tone was strangely serious.

"To be honest, it does. The men are here all on their own in the wilderness and taking a woman along could lead to rivalries. Even though the renian are elite fighters, I'm not sure if that makes up for the risks."

She didn't look at him when she answered in a low voice, "I appreciate your honesty, my lord, but be aware women aren't the only reason for rivalries. Power is something else that lures all too quickly, especially if there is the possibility to cut out the prince himself."

Jorcan laughed without humor. "I fully realize Charn didn't want to have me out of the camp out of sheer friendliness. Nevertheless, he wouldn't dare go against me openly. I still have the reputation as one of the best tacticians, and most of the men probably prefer to be lead by someone who is capable of planning his attacks. According to what I've heard about his first try, the fool has already lost several good men and that was against a village full of women and children. I likewise appreciate your honesty, but be aware that I truly am capable of taking care of myself."

"Yes my lord." She seemed to struggle for a moment, then she looked at him with eyes filled with bitterness. "Maybe it will put you at ease then to hear that some of these 'trouble spots' have already been eliminated."

"There were even more women on this mission?"

"There were ten of us."

"How many have survived the attack?"

She didn't turn away from his gaze. "Me."

Jorcan looked at her for a moment with honest dismay. "I have seen the renian fight. What kept you from living up to your reputation?"

"Charn sent us into the houses in which Falamar barricaded themselves. Apparently, there were several crippled veterans in this village who were quick to organize their resistance. We suggested to set the houses on fire to get them out, but he was afraid to loose plunder." She snorted derisively. "As if we could have taken that much along. When we had searched a few houses after our victory, he called us back and made us make camp. I couldn't even get complete revenge."

Jorcan shook his head. Charn may have proven his worth in battles before, but he was completely incompetent when it came to planning these attacks. The Falamar shouldn't have had the time to build barricades. Next time he would take care that these mistakes didn't happen again. Suddenly, he became aware of her last words. "Revenge? There were surviving Falamar?"

"No, but we weren't even allowed to burn down that damned village."

Jorcan watched her carefully. "It's only a few houses. Is your hatred that great already?"

"My sister Ruian still lies there. I want to extinguish the place that cost her life."

Jorcan nodded and straightened himself. "Is it still a far way to the base camp?"

The other Shakaree almost jumped. "Forgive me, my lord, I'm forgetting about my duties. We will soon have left the forest behind. From then on it's only a short ascension."

With that she set herself in motion and led Jorcan without even looking back once. Deep in thought, Jorcan freed his foot and followed her until they reached the forest's edge. There he closed in on her and stopped her with a hand on her shoulder.

"What is your name?"

Surprised she turned to him. "Rumar, my lord."

Jorcan nodded again. "Then go, Rumar, and get your revenge. No one will punish you for it. I will find my way alone from here."

She stared at him wide eyed, then she squared her shoulders. "Yes. Just go up the slope in this direction, and you will surely find it. There's no one in right now, but we have enough supplies to make yourself comfortable. I will come tomorrow and escort you back." She noticed the mocking glint in his eyes and averted her gaze. "Or you just come down as you please." She hesitated a moment. "Thank you, my lord." Abruptly she turned and disappeared into the forest's darkness.

Jorcan didn't watch her leave. Instead he set one foot in front of the other and dragged himself into the beginnings of a another rainstorm.

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The route Ayala chose was the same she'd taken the day before. Encouraged by the thought that she hadn't been attacked on this route when she returned to the village, she felt confirmed in her resolution to cross the pass north of the valley. From there she needed to find a good way to descend east into the plains. So she struggled up the mountainside at midday when the rain gradually started again.

The wet mist persistently grew stronger and stronger until Ayala could hardly see where she was going. Everything was soaked, and the ground made her way hard again. With a resigned sigh she thought about the alternatives. Going on was no good for the time being. But the mountainside didn't exactly offer many opportunities of shelter from the rain. Except for... the cave she saw yesterday. She must be quite close now. No, she already passed it by. Ayala didn't think too long before turning back. Not much later she reached the cave.

Her eyes hadn't deceived her the day before. Part of the mountainside had slid down and left this opening. Carefully, the young Falamar climbed over stones and mud, but instead of a simple burrow, the walls retreated somewhat. To her surprise, she found herself in a hallway with walls made from smooth stone. Amazed, her fingers wandered over the clearly man-made masonry as she strained to see out where the dark hallway might lead.

Her eyes had hardly adapted to the darkness when a new shock made her jump. A bit further into the mountain she noticed a strange bundle. The Falamar crept carefully closer and pulled aside a blanket. Her eyes went wide. Wood? A stack of wood?

Who could have brought the wood up here? A second later she cursed herself for her foolishness. Just why had she run into the Shakaree so close to this place? She must have walked directly into their camp. The only question was if they'd already given it up or if she should count on the fact that the previous owners would come back soon.

The freezing girl cast another longing gaze at the wood then fear won out, and she turned for the exit.

Lightning crashed down the mountainside followed by dull thunder. Outside she could see the pouring rain making the water shoot down the sides of the cave's entrance. Deep thunder growled again, but suddenly she wasn't sure if what she heard hadn't been from another source. She made another step towards the exit and hesitated again.

Her irresolution saved her life. More lightning illuminated the cave, and suddenly, she saw a slender form clad in a hardly perceivable cloak, standing in the entrance. For a split second she stared at the Shakaree, terrified, then, together with the crash of thunder, a deep growling sounded out of the mountainside around them.

The Shakaree returned her gaze, and his hand unconsciously grabbed the amulet around his neck. For another agonizing long second, he looked at her undecidedly, too surprised to know what to do.

And then the cave collapsed.