Some distance ahead, snaking like a discarded rope, the Rapone River lay like a watery scratch across their path. From this far out, the narrow line hugging the waterside looked just like any other bridge. Gradual, the slope curved down before disappearing into the river’s edge. Enormous Woodell trees surged at the river from the other side as if desiring to cross but not wanting to get their roots wet.
“What has happened to the trees and bushes?” Nole asked, the surrounding landscape altering for the worse.
Late in the after-turns of the following day, a patchy light brown hue now stained the terrain as though it had not rained for a season. Devoid of vegetation and wildlife, even Fliryns, the hardiest of creatures, were missing. Only Woodell trees seemed to be withstanding the wilting process, everything else dying.
“It looks as if the land has been poisoned,” Hallen said, disliking the drabness.
After the trauma of Ags Ole and the Freeloaver incident, the grim mood was gnawing at Kifter again, doubts trying to undermine his purpose. Suffering five turns of the day of this, he just wanted to get to Tarden and be done with this journey. Not needing anymore surprises, he had no idea why the whole area was lifeless. Only dusty beams of sunlight angling down from between patchy clouds retained any kind of normality. Brushing up from behind, a breeze swirled, urging them to move.
“Come on,” bellowed Hallen, forgetting about the decay. Spurring his Kyboe forward, “Woo… whooo.”
“Not a care in the world,” Kifter muttered, at times envious of the Hite’s ways.
Bane and Nole joined the big fellow, the three sweeping down towards the ancient bridge.
Regret hammered Hanor, hoping Bane and Nole would just fall into line and not frustrate Kifter. Their reactions were a sad reflection on him and that all-important decision he had made. Seated at his guide’s side, “I am sorry… for this,” he said, guilt increasing. “I could not have left them.”
Kifter sighed. “I know.” Following the action below, a slight grin appeared. “I would have done the same.”
Startled by the admission, Hanor stared at the Fife, the response signifying traces of respect for what he had done. Following an elder whose hands he had to trust, the veteran traveller was used to doing things his way, and Hanor’s decision to make that stand had stamped his mark on the relationship. Trusting their friendship was about to head in a new direction, a great burden lifted.
Sturdy, spanning the river like a huge finger pointing west, the bridge was over a hundred strides across. Deep and ominous, the river oozed south like a dirty lava flow heading for the sea. Low-lying, the weathered bridge was wide enough for two Kyboes abreast. Upright supports, strong but ancient, protruded like deformed legs rising just above the waterline. Branching supports stretched from post to post, with thick, warped planks across the struts. Durable, surviving hundreds of seasons in the open, the lack of a side rail left any traveller vulnerable to the winds and a possible slip into the murky waters. On the far side, the forest closed in like giant spectators. Lacking lower branches, the enormous columned Woodell trees rose to a thick canopy of foliage high above. The drabness of the surrounding fields reflected even more so here. Widespread, a carpet of needle-seeds suffocating the ground ensured no straying germ could take root near this isolated crossing. Early evening closing in, shadows within the forest’s depths increased.
Hallen, Bane and Nole stood talking at the bridge’s edge. Their mounts feeding, trying to gain sustenance from the withering grass before entering the sombre looking place across the river, spirits were high.
“Hallen was just telling us about the time his Kyboe threw him off into the Trino River,” Nole said, laughing as Hanor and Kifter approached.
“His Kyboe is always throwing him off,” Kifter teased. “Like the many fine ladies that come to their senses.”
“At least my mother never rejects me,” Hallen joked in defence.
“Does she reject anyone?”
“Now you are getting personal.”
Dismounting, Kifter walked to the edge of the bridge. “Boverns Crossing is as solid as ever,” he said, kicking one of two small upright posts marking the first step. The boards, uneven but firm, were in good condition.
“Boverns Crossing?” Nole had never heard of it, checking to see where it was on his map. Showing numerous crossings along the river, but there were no names.
“Why is it called Boverns Crossing?” Hanor asked, thinking it an unusual name.
“Long ago, vile creatures called Boverns used to prowl these waters,” Kifter explained, stepping onto the bridge with his Kyboe in tow. “Attracted to people of power, they used to attack any such person who crossed.”
“Like Members of the Hisian-Set?” Nole asked, eager to learn more.
“Yes,” the Fife said, Brandor sharing a few tales about those encounters. Walking further out, the bridge groaned under their weight, but the structure held firm. “They fought them off with fiery powers.”
“Fiery powers!” Bane said, imagining what it must have been like.
“We should be thankful that not everyone can wield such energies,” Hallen smirked, indicating Bane. “Or a certain Fife we know would probably not be here.”
Pockets of laughter were minor, Bane shrugging.
“What happened to the creatures?” Hanor felt uncomfortable about the idea, checking up and down river.
“They were silenced a long time ago by the Yarmi Folk.”
“The bridge is safe to cross then?” Hanor, asked, seeing it as a foolish question considering Kifter was already on the bridge. After the Freeloaver and Nyshifter, no one could blame him for being sensitive.
“They disappeared hundreds of seasons ago Hanor,” Kifter said, now nearly a quarter of the way across. “Are you coming or not?” he called over his shoulder.
“I like to hear about our history, and what it was like to live back then,” Nole said, permitting Bane go next before following him.
“Today is tomorrow’s history Nole,” Hallen said, signalling for Hanor to move. “Make sure you enjoy it.”
Peaceful, the setting stole away any risks that existed here in the distant past. With the sun peeping over the treetops, the mood was surreal. Hanor paused, making a final check before crossing.
“Come on,” his younger brother pressed, stopping a short way out. Kifter was already approaching the middle.
The setting felt weird, of another time almost. Warming at the thought of walking across with Lara, Hanor walked onto the bridge. Subtle sounds of the faint chime were barely noticeable at first, blending with the draughts of wind. Taking no notice, thinking about his reunion with Lara when returning home, the delicate sound merged with the scenery, soothing any subtle doubts Hanor initially had. Rustling of the treetops, like a chorus of tiny clapping hands, complimented the enchanting setting.
“Stay next to me,” Nole said, sarcasm present when Hanor pulled alongside. “That is why I am here, remember?”
Grinning at his cheekiness, “In some ways…, mother will be glad that we are together,” he said, not entirely persuaded.
A few steps further, Hanor stopped and looked up river.
“What is it?” Nole asked.
“Can you hear that?”
“Hear what?”
“That sound.”
Nole listened, but only the occasional whistling of the wind was apparent. “Just the breeze and the treetops.”
Shutting his eyes to block out any distractions, the subtle chime now sounded different, far more profound. “That ringing sound, like tiny bells?”
“I cannot hear anything,” Nole said, suspecting his brother was teasing.
“Why have you stopped?” an impatient Hallen said from behind. The last thing he wanted was for the bridge to give way.
“Hanor says he can hear something,” Nole said, standing next to his brother. “Perhaps it is the ringing of the wind swirling around inside there,” he joked, tapping Hanor’s head. Kifter and Bane were nearly across the other side.
“Come on,” Hallen urged, edgy. “Let us go.”
Pressing on, Hanor kept gazing up river whilst his younger brother started humming close by, lost to daydreaming in the late after-turn sun. Arcing to the right, the river meandered down towards them, but nothing moved to say where the hypnotic sound was coming from.
Verging on dismissing the chimes as a freak of his senses, halfway across, a shudder ran down Hanor’s back. Hairs stood on end forewarning something awful was about to happen. Halting, searching the water, he could feel invisible, leering eyes glaring up from beneath the surface.
Wanting to run, to hide, to warn the others, it was too late. From the flowing calm of the river, an explosion of noise erupted to his side as a huge hideous head came lurching out of the water. Two unblinking eyes had only one thing in mind, a sharp gleam enhancing that ugly intent. Penetrating, the glare froze Hanor’s muscles tight, the shock stalling his breathing. Slimy, dark olive skin, caked with boils and swelling ulcers, glinted as the creature’s long willowy body catapulted through the air. A head the size of a man, its gaping jaws exposed heavily stained, dagger-like teeth, each one longer than his hand. A slathering tongue flicked and slapped, awaiting its meal.
Instinctive, Hanor dropped like a stone. To his utter relief, the monster’s momentum carried it over and away from his position towards the other side of the bridge. Flying from its own propulsion, the foul creature’s thick oily tail trailed behind, slapping across his back, leaving a cold gel-like substance clinging. Calls from behind and to the front went unheard, blocked out by a short, sharp scream to his left, wailing with fright. The despairing cry ripped into the silence and lasted but for a petrifying moment. Terrified, falling silent when the invading beast crashed back into the water beyond, an eerie disquiet replaced the commotion.
“No…, no,” a sudden, horrifying yell echoed. Helpless and desperate, shrieks of dismay from Bane rang out. Inconsolable cries bore deep, confusion sweeping through the unsuspecting party.
Hanor, with his head still on the bridge, looked up, adrenalin throbbing his temples. Confounded by the unexpected invasion, what had happened? Kifter was running towards him past a hysterical Bane, his friend pointing at the river. Tears gushing forth, Hanor still did not know why.
“What…!” he yipped when two huge hands grabbed him from behind. Struggling when lifted high, convinced the creature had returned, Hanor lashed out, kicking and screaming but to no avail.
“It is me,” Hallen shouted, throwing him over his shoulder.
Running headlong towards the other side, Hanor was unable to move. Three Kyboes followed, a sense of terror apparent. “What is happening?” he called, wanting to get down. Bane kept screaming in front, but why? Scouring the water for that grotesque creature, it had come so close to getting him. Pungent, an awful reek hung in the air, a potent reminder that this was real. Concerns turned to his brother, presuming he was somewhere ahead. Where is he? What had that scream been? Panic started forming, soul-destroying fears rushing in to choke him.
“Nole…! Nole,” he cried, waiting for the reply. ‘Everything was fine, he was panicking, there was nothing to fear,’ he thought, trepidation rising. But what was Bane reacting to, and why had Nole not answered yet? Hanor’s mind raced and started to whirl. “Where is Nole?” he shouted, dread convulsing. “Where is he?” he repeated. No answer came, only a natural urgency to get to the riverbank was evident.
Hallen’s thumping boots pounded the bridge. Kicking harder “Nole!” Hanor screamed. Reaching the bank, Bane was crying further on in the forest, reaffirming Hanor’s worst fears. “Nole!” He tried once more, imploring that familiar voice to answer. Hallen refused to let him down, and the more he struggled, the tighter the Hite gripped him. “Where is… he?” Beside himself with worry, the clench held fast for his own sake. “Let me down.” Tears started pouring, fears getting the better of him. Desperate to be freed, “Let me see Nole,” he tried, but it was no good. Heart burning, a fiery flush overwhelmed him, the realisation dawning. Clamping hands over his ears, “That…. scream. No…,” It was too grisly to believe. Anger turned to rage, his struggles continuing. Blinded by tears, not accepting the worst had happened, “Not… Nole! please…, not Nole.”
Hallen fell to the ground on his back, rolling over to pin the overwrought youngster down. Burying his head into Hanor’s chest, he held tight as the boy strained to release his arms. How could he look him in the eyes and explain what had happened, that his brother was lost? Tears welled as the memory returned, so quick and cruel. Hanor had dropped to the bridge, but Nole had been too busy humming to react. Missing the first, the vile creature had taken the second. Nole’s terrified face was now stamped into his mind’s eye. Happening so fast, the jaws had crunched and snatched his life in one mighty crack.
‘What in all The Freelands…?’ he thought, speechless at the atrocity. Knotted inside, so much had he seen over the seasons, but never such as this. Nole’s innocent, helpless face haunted him. ‘That scream, that terrible, terrible scream.’ Hallen kept his head buried, too upset to move.
Sore, glazed eyes stared up at the treetops, numbness paralysing the young heir of Manson. The burning in Hanor’s chest increased in potency, torching the grief like a cremation. A dreamlike calm settled over him, no sound audible. Even the rustling of the trees faded. Unaware of where he was or why, it did not matter. Tranquil like a sedated animal, the peace enclosed about him, heavy eyes giving up the fight for life.
“He is sleeping,” Hallen said, sitting down. Glancing across at Bane, the boy’s empty gaze flickering in the firelight, they were all still in shock. Lying nearby, Hanor was soundless, exhaustion claiming him, the blow too much to bear. A spitting fire gave little warmth and solace to their dilemma.
Continuing into the forest for a time after the tragedy, a sobbing Bane had not wanted to leave. Determined to find his lost friend, he had gone back with Kifter shortly after the strike, desperate but hopeful. Combing the river for a limp but living companion, but nothing had been found. Kifter’s fears were that they would stumble upon remnants of Nole, causing even more distress. Promising to return in the morning, night had released them from a futile search.
Making camp as far from the bridge as possible, Bane had said nothing since. Lolling along, following their lead like a helpless form drawn to where its master demanded, he too had witnessed Nole’s final moments. Retching many times, unable to succour him then, they could do little for him now. Relieved that Hanor had blacked out, he would probably want to return home in the morning.
“What do we do now?” Hallen spoke softly, unsure if Bane’s haunted stare meant he was not listening.
“I... do not know,” the Fife said after a lengthy pause. Stunned by the swiftness of the incident, he had not come to terms with it himself.
“I thought the foul creatures were a myth,” Hallen said, needing to say something.
“Me too.”
“How does one console them after that?”
It was a fair statement. “I feel…!” Kifter did not finish his sentence.
“I know,” the big Hite said, patting his friend’s back.
“I promised that all was safe.”
“I would not dwell on that for too long,” Hallen warned, recognising its implications.
“It is true though,” Kifter said, unwilling to let it go. “I said there was nothing to fear. I gave my word, but what is my word worth if it does not hold true?”
“How many times have we passed this way over recent seasons?” Hallen said, attempting to silence the Fife’s woes. “How were we to know they would return? Boverns have not been seen for hundreds of seasons. There is no blame here.”
“That is not the point. An oath is my bond, so what am I if it fails? How can I look at Hanor again and ask him to trust my judgement?”
“Your judgement is not at stake,” the Hite said. Riled, Kifter’s strict observance of perfection was wearing thin. “You have to get to grips with this!”
Failures were charging at the Fife from every direction. Rubbing a straining brow, he could not believe this. “Perhaps I am not the right person for this journey. How can so many things go wrong?”
“Is it not a sign of the times?” Hallen stated. “Is this not the start of what is to come?”
“This is different.”
“Is it? Darkness exists in the most unlikely of places, perhaps it is calling to its own.”
“No,” Kifter rejected. “I have become too complacent. Did not Hanor say he heard ringing sounds… like bells?”
“He did,” the Hite had to admit.
“And we ignored that warning, such was my arrogance that all was safe.”
“That does not justify blaming you.”
“You are a faithful friend, but my word has been destroyed. I failed again to recognise a danger. Nothing you say will alter that. A life has been lost.”
“What do we do…, just sulk around and blame you for this? Kifter, they both need you.”
Peering across the simmering fire at a vacant looking Bane, Kifter doubted it. Beside him, Hanor lay like a corpse. “Do they? I fear they will not be able to look at me.”
“There is wisdom in Hanor, he will see past the obvious.”
“Nole was more than a brother to him, and a friend to Bane,” the Fife continued. “They had a bond that was as tight as my own word was to me. I have lost part of myself too.”
“What is your purpose here?” Hallen growled, struggling to keep his voice low.
Not answering, the Fife’s narrow eyes stared at the flames, desiring its purifying heat to cleanse him of his failings.
“Kifter!”
“I think we have covered everything,” he answered, unwilling to bolster himself.
“If you want to blame yourself then do so,” Hallen rumbled. “But at least complete the task given you, and let Brandor sort out the rest at Tarden.” The Hite stretched himself out, pulling his blanket up. “One final thing,” he said, leaning on his elbow. “I do not like who you have become. This is far from the sharp Fife I knew. What has happened to you?” Kifter did not react. Huffing, Hallen lay down.
Respecting his friend’s words of kindness, but in all his turns, Kifter had never felt so lonely and weak. Even as a young cheeky Fife, when ignored by his busy parents, he had learned to suppress the longings of his heart by doing whatever was necessary to succeed. Adapting, entering the adult world ready for anything it threw at him, naiveté had protected him a great deal. But recent turns had brought him crashing down, to the point of dreading the next corner. Even though forewarning them of the dangers, but he had not expected this, not so soon. ‘You said it was safe,’ were the barracking words rebounding inside his once fortified mind.
Long periods drifted by, the embers burning themselves out. Leaving him to the pitch of night, he gave in to sleep to protect the little hope that was left.