Vengeance Blooms Read online

  He stood up, his back creaking in protest. A delicate staff of the finest craftsmanship aided his steps as he made way for a nearby rock. It was jade, carved with elvish runes and crowned with an emerald jewel which seemed to melt into the staff. Ashalea flashed him a smile as she strode to the stream, pleased with herself. She had waited a long time for him to say that.

  Say what you will about the man; he’s meticulous. As she drank, she felt eyes on the back of her head and had to smile.

  “Out with it then, Wezlan. I might be ready, but?”

  He shook his head in amusement, but his expression turned sour. “We shall talk about it when we get back home. There is much I would like to discuss with you, and these things are better done with a nice bowl of broth and a fire by my feet.”

  He stretched and rubbed his back, groaning as he did. A typical Wezlan tactic; a display that always resulted in a delicious hot meal with a smile. Ashalea knew better, but she did it anyway. She owed him that much.

  “Now, come and take an old man’s arm and let us enjoy a pleasant walk in good company.”

  They walked in silence for a time, admiring the serenity and peace of the woods. As the sun splintered through the leaves, it always seemed like they were basked in a dusty glow. The woods were beautiful, effervescent, somehow immune and uncaring of the outside world. A concoction Ashalea drank in with greed daily.

  As they followed a hidden path through tree and rock, Ashalea thought of darker times. Three years had passed since the death of her parents and her wounds had healed thanks to the timely interruption of Wezlan. His knowledge of Elven lore and ancient magics ran deep, and the pair had spent countless hours with their noses in books.

  Despite the close relationship they shared, there are many things Wezlan kept to himself and she often speculated why such a powerful human would waste his time hiding in the woods. When she asked him of his past, he would only shake his head and tell her to look to the future. Answers, it seemed, were few; a constant game of hide and seek, but instead of finding the truth she found nothing but dead ends.

  As mysterious as it all seemed, she was very fond of him and loved him much like a father. He would never replace her own, but he was the next best thing. Ashalea was indebted to Wezlan, for he had cared for her every day since that fateful night.

  Her mind drifted to her parents. Dreena and Tervor Kindaris. Ashalea hadn’t known many female figures back then — she still didn’t — but Dreena had been the kindest person in her world. She had a caring soul that everyone warmed to the moment they’d met her. She used to laugh easily and listen carefully. Her smile once lit up the room, and she had been the light of Tervor’s life.

  Ashalea’s father was a good man. An honourable man. He taught Ashalea to treat others with respect, to be courageous and kind. Under his tutelage, Ashalea had lived hundreds of lives through hundreds of books. He showed her the beauty of the forests and taught her of the connection elves shared with the land. He was her idol, and she was his shining star.

  Her parents gave up the Elven cities long ago, and they had lived better lives for it. Ashalea never knew why and she never would. She assumed it was on good terms, for they never spoke ill of elvish kin, on the rare occasion they mentioned them at all.

  But none of that mattered now that they were gone. Taken too soon. Seemingly taken for no reason. Taken on what was meant to be one of the most special days of Ashalea’s life.

  All she had left to remember her sixteenth birthday by was a scar on her belly and the vivid image of her parents’ lifeless eyes staring at her. The memories were so realistic she’d wake from nightmares drenched in sweat and both hands raised to attack ghosts of the past. Every so often she could swear that the same sickly, rotten stench would fill the air for a moment, reminding her of the creature that almost took her life. But then it would disappear, and all she had left was pain, anger and a burning desire for revenge.

  After three years of training mind, body and spirit, she was hungry for it.

  Wezlan had taught her many things and her knowledge of Everosia and the many races that lived throughout its land had grown. She could now read scrolls of elvish, dwarvish and human origin, and had excelled with Magicka training. Her skill with a bow, well, that she had possessed from an early age — her father had seen to it — though she had become an even better archer with time and practice. Even as she picked up her weapon, she found her mind wandering to distant memories, smiling in painful reminder of the days when she could barely pull the string back, or when she loosed an arrow that nearly tore through her father’s head.

  Tervor kept an eye on her after that. Ashalea used to giggle madly at the memory, but then she would remember the harsh reality, and the smile came less easy these days. So she focused on her books and the bow, and let anger fuel the fire within instead.

  Wezlan had agreed to teach Ashalea all these skills and more, but only if she agreed to stay until ‘the time was right’. And that time had come.

  They now stood before a giant oak tree unlike any other in the realm. It was beset with moss creeping round and round its bulk, and open holes here and there that served as windows. Stairs climbed around its boughs high into the sky, where its canopies made way for a landing above the open rooftop so one could gaze at the stars.

  In the moonlight, runes carved all throughout the tree lit up in white iridescent glow, protecting the inhabitants from unwanted eyes or evil spirits. Ashalea’s favourite nook was atop the tree, and she was fond of stormy nights, as thunder and lightning clashed like a hammer and shield in a great battle.

  The tree never let a drop of water inside its hollows, for it held powers of ancient Magicka, and was a friend to worthy wood dwellers such as they. It was Wezlan and Ashalea’s home, and though they looked upon it every day, its magnificence never ceased to amaze them. Though, tummies grumbled, and a tended fire in a built-in pit was calling to be kindled.

  They crossed the threshold into a cosy living room. The fire-pit sat in the centre of the tree, with a couple of shabby chairs by it. Books lined shelves around the room, and drawings of epic battles and tragic ballads lined the wooden walls in no clear structure. It provided a small space for kitchen work in the corner.

  Higher up, one would find Wezlan’s study, amassed with towers of books and littered with scrolls. Then, even higher, Ashalea and Wezlan’s rooms, and the landing at the top. It was not a conventional home — probably not practical and maybe not the most glamorous. But its charms lay in the mystical, and it was home.

  Ashalea set to work on a vegetable soup while Wezlan whispered, causing fire to spring forth and dance on logs set within the pit. He fell back into his chair with a book in hand, content for the meantime. When Ashalea was done and the pot of soup was bubbling away, she joined him by the fire and sat in silence. Every so often Wezlan would peer at her from behind the book until he set it down with a sigh and gazed at her. He cleared his throat.

  “There is much we don’t know about the world. Many things I’ve come to learn in my time; half of which I’d like to forget, double of which I’ve deemed less than useful, and three times that amount of what I’m most certain will pass, but not in which manner.”

  Ashalea stared at him, trying to fathom what on Everosia he was trying to say.

  “I’ve been keeping secrets my dear,” Wezlan clasped his hands together. “There is much about your past, present and future you will come to learn, most of which I cannot yet tell you.”

  Ashalea complained, but he put one hand up in protest.

  “We have reached the end of our days in this treasured place. It is time for you to reunite with your Elven kin in Woodrandia. There we will be guests to Lady Nirandia, Queen and friend alike to elves and animals in this fair forest. She is wise and will offer great advice for days to come.”

  Ashalea couldn’t believe what she had heard. Long had she dreamed of meeting the Woodland elves, for she had never celebrated her sixteenth birthday and w
as still a stranger to all Elven realms. But many questions stemmed her delight, and she paused for a moment.

  “What are you talking about? End of our days here? Why now? We are so close to Woodrandia yet never have we strayed far from this tree, nor have you ever made any mention of doing so.” She sighed, a little exasperated. “And what of the creature? That’s what I’ve been training for, Wezlan, that’s the endgame here.”

  Wezlan smiled at her sadly, his eyes dark and brooding. She had never seen him look like that before. A little… defeated, almost.

  “Ashalea, something dark gathers in the shadows. I can feel it in my bones. There is a familiarity to it… almost like…” he trailed off.

  Her eyes narrowed. “Like you’ve encountered it before?”

  He stared at her blankly, eyes unseeing. “I’ve had word from the dwarves that live in the east. Kingsgareth Mountain grows darker every day. They say there have been sightings of Uulakh — vile reptilian creatures with a taste for man flesh — that dare to draw closer from the Broken Lands. Their report also mentions that unknown creatures have surfaced from the Dreadlands, taking up residence in the marshes of Deyvall.” Wezlan sighed, returning to his calm and collected self.

  “The shadow that almost took your life. It is a part of something much greater than you could have known. A shadow that detached itself from humanity and shifted into something much greater.”

  Wezlan stared into the fire, and as he recounted his tale, the room grew dark and a great battle took place in the flames.

  “Many years ago, the shadow was a man who showed great promise and Magickal talent. But hatred and greed twisted him into something beyond what I could have ever imagined. The darkness. I fought the creature once. Stepping through space into a dimension of darkness and terror, my comrades and I forged our way through time itself to prevent the evil from entering the Gates of the Grove and destroying this land.

  “It’s a spiteful creature, and it believed its powers alone would be enough to triumph. But we did not give up so easily. Armed with sword and staff, six of us, wizards all, began a fierce fight with the creature. Through fire and ice, we battled in the harshest elements and pushed on until one by one the white lights dimmed, and wizards fell.”

  His eyes shone with an orange glow from the fire, burning in anguish as he remembered.

  “We were the Divine Six — the most powerful wizards of our order. Two of us remained in the end, and in one last effort against the beast, my dearest friend Barlok bestowed his power upon me before drawing a final breath.

  “The last hope for our four races, I cast one more spell, blinding the creature with bright light and thrusting my blade into its soulless body. I thought I’d vanquished the evil, but I was a fool to be so naïve.”

  The fire stopped reflecting in Wezlan’s eyes, and the flames returned to their usual merry self, sunlight pouring through the tree’s hollow.

  Ashalea furrowed her brow, considering his words. “So, three years ago, the thing that tried to kill me… that murdered my…” she struggled to form words, “that was…” she trailed off, her eyes searching Wezlan’s.

  He nodded gravely. “The darkness lives on, half man, half shadow. When we last met it was weak enough to dispel with a simple light spell. After that, there were no more sightings, until now.”

  They sat silently for a minute as Ashalea ingested the information.

  “Wezlan, I’m so sorry. I had no idea,” Ashalea uttered in bewilderment. “The wizards… are there any left? What happened after you won the battle?” She was eager to learn of more heroic acts by her dear friend.

  “Six left the realm of Everosia and one returned. Through a portal found deep within the Gates of the Grove I left our world, and through the Gates I returned once more. I was gravely wounded after battle and it took all my strength to find my way back through the shadows but return I did. When I got back, the Guardians of the Grove, myself included, locked the gate with ancient Magicka to prevent darkness from leaching into our world.”

  He rubbed his temples with one hand, as if the memory caused him physical pain. “Five Guardians there were; one who founded the order, and one of each race to represent the dwarves, elves, humans and Diodonians— proud beasts from the east.”

  Ashalea had read of these Diodonians from old scriptures, but little had been recorded of the creatures in the past. The texts described them as bearing a strong resemblance to hounds, though these magnificent creatures were much larger, golden, red and brown, with a fiery mane and fangs. The lore also suggested they were highly intelligent and had psychic powers. Reported sightings were limited however, so Ashalea had held her doubts.

  Still… The Guardians could prove to be valuable allies in the fight against the darkness.

  “And the final Guardian?” Ashalea asked.

  He smiled. “Me. After the battle, I established the Guardians to protect the Grove in the event it was ever breached, or darkness ever returned to Everosia. I chose one of each race to establish balance, and, having to shoulder the burden of my friends’ deaths, I decided it would be a fitting tribute that a wizard keep all powers in check, and ward off the darkness evermore. You see, I am the last wizard of Everosia.”

  He could see Ashalea would interrupt once more but a stern look told her otherwise. She snapped her mouth shut.

  “With ancient Magicka we swore a binding oath, that we would forever protect the portal with our lives. It is Barlok’s power that has allowed me to live so long, for I am ancient, Ashalea. The Magicka runs through my veins still, for the five of us swore to be the lock that would never break.”

  Ashalea’s nose crinkled in thought. It is all so very ominous. She tugged at her silver curls and pursed her lips. “If the creature that attacked me is the same…” she paused in confusion, “then how did it escape from the other dimension?”

  Creases appeared in an already crinkled forehead as Wezlan considered her question. He pulled at his beard as he always did when deep in thought and stared at her. He peered into those big green eyes, so full of sorrow, so wise beyond her years. The truth, he knew, would be too much. She was not ready.

  Instead, he offered his thoughts on the how of the matter.

  “I believe the creature can visit this world in its shadow form. A kind of spectre, if you will. What I didn’t know was that it could still harm anyone from beyond this world. My suspicions lie in the blade it carried; elvish, imbued with ancient Magicka lost to this world. Only the most powerful Magicka users could wield it.”

  Ashalea considered this. Magicka could not be learnt, only gifted upon birth. It was passed down genetically, but it did have a habit of skipping generations. Whoever’s family this spectre belonged to; they must have had strong Magicka in their blood.

  Ashalea’s fingers traced her tunic to the scar on her torso. And whatever power they have, it was enough to wield that blade.

  “If it can pass through one world to the next, spy on anyone it wanted, let alone hurt them, why would it target my family?” Her voice rose. “We did nothing wrong. My parents were gentle folk who hadn’t laid hands on blade nor bow for many an age!”

  Her body shook as she failed to grasp any real reason for the shadow’s actions, and her green eyes filled with tears. Wezlan took her hands in his, stroking them gently.

  “Questions we cannot answer until we know more, my dear. I am sorry for what happened to you and your parents, but since you came into my life, it has been all the brighter for it.”

  She gave him a weak smile, thankful for his kind words, but it did not take away the sense of foreboding for what was to come. She suddenly felt very small in such a wide world and against such a dark evil. Ashalea slumped by the fire, her slender elvish frame uncharacteristically hobbled over.

  Old bones creaked as Wezlan sidled over. “Do not fear for the dark times ahead. We will discover what the darkness is plotting, for I am certain there could be no other reason for the appearance of these creatur
es. Your training is at an end, Ashalea. It is time. Your journey will be long and laboured, but you are not alone. Light shines brightest in the dark and there are many who will aid you in times of need.”

  He wrapped his arms around her slender frame in a comforting hug. His beard tickled, and her freckled nose crinkled as white hair brushed over it. She couldn’t help but smile.

  “There now,” he said as he pulled away, noticing the slight improvement in her demeanour, “nothing a cuddle and a bowl of soup can’t fix.”

  They ate in silence, wooden spoons soon scraping the last remnants of an empty bowl. The aroma of hearty vegetable broth curled its way up to the top of the tree.

  “We leave at first light tomorrow,” Wezlan said. “It is a two-day trek into the city of Woodrandia, where the elves keep hearth and home. There, we shall be greeted by the Lady Nirandia herself. Counsel is needed, and action decided, for the days to come.”

  He jumped up in a hurry, as if they were to run out the door that second. “I must make my arrangements. There is much to prepare,” he said, straightening his chair and returning his book to the shelf, as if it made any difference to the hoard of papers scattered around the living room. He glanced at Ashalea. “You should get some rest. Say your goodbyes to the forest. To the tree,” he added with sorrow.

  Wezlan laid a hand on the tree’s smooth surface. “I shall miss this place.” He made his way to the stairs that circled ever upwards, making the climb to his study.

  “And Ashalea!” he called over his shoulder, a twinkle in his eye, “great soup.”

  ◆◆◆

  Ashalea camped under the stars that night. At the top of her beloved tree she tossed and turned, trying hopelessly to get some sleep. Full of worry, her mind was running with endless questions and possibilities. So, instead she gazed at the moon, white and glowing across a cloudless sky. It was so serene, it soothed her worried heart, and she could almost forget her life was about to be turned upside down. Almost. After three years of training, just this morning she woke so strong and sure of herself. Now, she was afraid the day had come to begin her quest.