No suitable clearing presented itself, so Kifter and Hallen set a makeshift camp against a tree at dusk. Calculating they were far enough from the scene of Hanor’s disappearance, they were tired and hungry. The ground was dry and spongy to appease bruised joints. Clearing a space, a few stacking stones made a bed for the fire.
Lifting Bane from the boy’s Kyboe, Hallen considered whether to wake him or not, laying the lad on his mat. “Shall we leave him to sleep until the morning?” he asked Kifter, who was preparing a hot meal.
Triggered by his words, Bane’s eyes snapped open, startling the big fellow.
“He will sleep until he is ready,” Kifter replied, unaware of the lad’s stirrings. “He needs to eat, but food will not be what he wants. He is young, he will decide for himself.”
Rising and stepping back, Hallen clipped Kifter’s head. “Our young friend is awake,” he said, sitting on his mat opposite.
Not looking up, the Fifanian kept stirring the pot, waiting. If the boy was to come again, he would be ready.
Surprising them both, Bane just lay there staring up into the growing darkness. Expecting the worst, the two seasoned travellers looked at each other, doubtful at the lack of response. Full flavoured, the aroma of Kifter’s cooking wafted high, but no one was ready to eat. Warm and inviting, the glow of the fire gave little solace.
Awaiting the eruption, to their surprise, the sounds of sobs emerged instead. Quiet at first, like a distant call vying for attention, the young lad showed no signs of anger, only sorrow at what had befallen them. Full of pain and loss, the gentle resonance of grief confused the two onlookers on how to respond. Awkward, Kifter and Hallen shrugged. Not the sort to show affection, a kind word could ignite an explosive response, yet no support might appear as though they did not care. The two waited.
Burdened, Nole’s horrific death ensured Bane would never forget the scale of his own failures. Blaming Kifter earlier because he had said the bridge was safe, but the Fife had warned them about predators. Deciding it was only a matter of time before he was taken too, he could do nothing now but pour out his feelings. Stripped by one dark moment on a forgotten bridge, at least Nole could not see the second catastrophe, that of Hanor’s disappearance. What a pathetic friend he was.
Surprised Kifter and Hallen had not left him behind, deserving nothing less, tears started again. How could he talk to them after what he had done? Ashamed for attacking Kifter, an apology seemed meagre. Eyes stinging, what was going to happen to him?
Sighing, he sat up, achy. Sitting across the flames, Hallen was watching Kifter stir the pan, recalling how hard he had kicked the Hite. So angry, disbelieving he had taken them both on, there was no way they would tolerate another attack. Daring to look at Kifter, the orange light reflecting in sharp narrow eyes, the Fife was waiting for him to react. Shocked by how little resistance the slim figure had put up, questions rose as to why. Feeling guilty perhaps, accepting responsibility for failing to keep Hanor safe, what other reason could there be? A mark of respect seeped in at the possibility.
“I…, I… am,” he stammered, Hallen’s glare falling on him. Through the shimmering light, they held so much weight. “This is… hard,” he said, tempted to just blurt everything out. “These last few turns have been… horrifying. I... I never believed it could get this bad. On the bridge I…,” he stalled, curly locks upon his brow tight from the sweat. Thinking about it was bad enough, to talk was even worse. “I have never come across these creatures before. I did not know they even existed. At the Inn with that Nyshifter…, and before that, chased by that huge white thing, then the bridge… and now Hanor, I do not know how to deal with this.”
Overpowering, grief threatened to cut short any efforts of reconciliation, his audience staring into the fire as if sharing the trauma. “I lost control…, and you were the only ones to blame. I… never thought we would be separated.” Pausing when tears started rolling again, he forced back the despair. “What will I tell their parents…, and our friends? I… hated you so much earlier.” By now, he was saying what he felt. “If I could have, I would have killed you.” Spluttering, “Can you believe that…, me… trying to kill someone? I should have known better, and stopped Hanor coming on this hopeless journey. I know I am grasping for an excuse, but I feel we let them down.” Finishing, a blurry mind prevented him from saying anything more.
Pulling the pan away from the flames, Kifter gazed back into the fire, finding it just as difficult to express what he felt. “Losing loved ones is never easy, and I commend you for talking as you have Bane, but… we must remember, The Freelands are on the verge of ruin. Why do you talk as though Hanor is dead? He is lost to us, but that does not mean he is in danger. There are powers at work here beyond our understanding, and so we need help to unravel this distressing mystery. There are people at Tarden who should be able to explain what that pattern is, and what has happened to Hanor. Worrying is natural, but to go to war is something else altogether.” Rubbing his jaw, for the first time, the Fife looked at the young lad.
A notion Bane had not considered, deciding on the worst possible outcome after the horrors at the bridge, the idea of Hanor still alive pierced his misery. Peering out into the darkness, daring to believe the incredible, his stomach churned at the likelihood. ‘Hanor might still be alive!’ he thought, the prospect fragile. “Where… are we?” he questioned, supposing they were far from the mysterious pattern and place of Hanor’s disappearance.
“We are on our way to Tarden,” Hallen said, the tone strong.
Disapproving, Kifter glared at the Hite, trying hard to keep the mood calm. “It is true Bane, we have journeyed far from that place.”
The thought of Hanor stumbling in the dark cut Bane. “What if…?”
Kifter was quick to interject. “We searched everywhere, but decided that waiting was not the best option. We need the help of Brandor.”
“Brandor!” Anger heaved at the mere mentioning of the name, convinced he was the one who had instigated all of this. Betraying Hanor by leaving without him, Bane peered behind as though the very shadow of his best friend was calling him. “What can… he do?” The question was more of a bite.
“If you are willing, I will explain.”
“How far… have we come?” Bane asked, thinking that he should be looking for Hanor.
Kifter knew the boy had not heard him. “Bane!”
Shrinking back when Hallen rose like an expanding tower of might, Bane gulped, the red tinge enhancing the Hite’s position.
“You have a choice Bane,” Hallen said, getting to the point. “We have made a decision to go to Tarden, and there is no turning back. We have not abandoned Hanor, but seek help whether you agree to it or not.” Respecting Bane’s grief, but their path was set. “You are free to choose what you will. You have no obligations to stay, but you need to remember that there are dangers out there that would scare even the hardest of travellers. You already know this. You are welcome to journey with us to Tarden, and what you do after is your concern, but there will be no more confrontations. Fighting each other is forgetting who the real foe is. Do you want to be part of this or go your own way?” For him to leave would be awful, but to force him to come was just as bad.
Not moving whilst the other spoke, quite unexpected, Bane felt a trace of security at the Hite’s attentions. Distressed as he was, what could he do on his own anyway? How would he retrace the way they had come? ‘But Hanor might be out there’ a whimpering thought tried to distract him from being sensible. Emotionally charged, he needed a clear head. “This is difficult,” he sniffed. Maybe they were right. That circle did suggest immense forces were at work. “But what if you are wrong?”
“But... what if we are right?” Kifter countered.
Pulled back from the brink of running into the void behind, Bane still found it hard to commit himself. “You have given me hope, but the idea of him wandering out there alone would break me.”
“How do you think he would feel if you were lost out there too?” the Fife posed. “When we find him, will he not insist on looking for you? Tardania is many times larger than the region around Manson, so choose wisely what you do.”
Surviving a dash of guilt, Bane grimaced. “I want to scream!”
“It means you know we are talking sense,” Hallen said.
“It still does not make you right.”
“It is a matter of choice Bane. Do you go your own way or come with us?”
After his outburst earlier, another issue arose for Bane. “Do you… want me to come?”
Peering down at Kifter, a polite nod showed their agreement. “Yes…, we do.”
Hiding it, a leap of joy skipped in Bane’s heart, which felt out of place considering recent losses. “Then I would be a fool not to accept,” he said, dreading the thought of getting it wrong. “I will come, and without bitterness towards you,” he said to Kifter.
“A wise choice,” the nimble fellow said, relieved this was now over. Reaching down for the warm pan, “Are you hungry?”
Sighing, but relieved, “I could do with something to warm me up.”
On the edge of consciousness, absorbed by the captive forces binding him, Hanor did not register at what point everything stopped. Landing on soft grass, his mind was ablaze. Lying down, eyes closed, he could not move. Whirls in his head began easing, silence replacing them. The haunting shrills that had pierced his heart were gone, disbelieving it was over.
Warmth comforted him, daylight arriving. No shadows or darkness cloaked him, the solitude easing initial fears. Presuming he had died and was in the Realms of the Soul, savouring the calm, thoughts of his friends did not enter his distracted mind. Basking in the sweet silence, opening his eyes meant shredding the peace, but open them he did.
Astonished, the clear blue sky he had seen inside that vortex stretched out above with the vigour of a bright turn of the day. No clouds invaded its richness, just an ocean of serene blue. The Woodell trees had gone, bemused by their disappearance. Attempting to lift his head, a stabbing pain shot up his neck to halt his eagerness.
Far from disappointed at having to stay where he was, he looked to the side, catching his breath. ‘Where am I?’ he thought, gazing across the grassland at the trees a few throws of a stone away. Quite unlike the giant ones of before, from the ground to their peaks, branches brimmed with foliage. Risking another stab, he sat up. Situated on a huge grassy glade, trees lined the edge in every direction. Nothing moved. Bewildered, what had happened? A world away from that raging storm, it did not make sense.
Strange, a feeling that he was no longer alone sent a shiver through him. Sensing a presence draw close behind, upon turning, his heart jumped. Sitting ten paces away, a most intriguing fellow stared back. Scrambling to his feet, whirling from a rush of blood, flurries took a while to settle. Calming down when the lean figure smiled as if welcoming, there was more to this place than was obvious.
“Who… are you?” was all Hanor could muster.
Sitting cross-legged, hands folded in the lap of his pale speckled brown, short-sleeved gown, the odd-looking male was in no hurry to respond. Narrow features were poised, the striking bulge at the rear of the fellow’s hairless head suggested high intelligence.
“Can we not ask you the same question?” the figure replied, unthreatening.
Youthful in appearance, Hanor suspected he was much older. “I… I,” the heir of Manson stammered. Confused at the swiftness of it all, “Where… am I?” He could not think straight let alone recall any personal details.
The newcomer’s eyes narrowed, suspicious. “You have not answered our first question.”
“I… am in a strange place..., and... in shock.” This person had not been here a few moments ago, where had he come from? An additional thought stopped him. What does he mean… we? Checking behind in case others had appeared, they were still on their own, supposing it was a phrase used in these parts.
The stranger remained civil. “We accept that, but is your name still so valuable? You are the one who has entered our home.”
“I… am not sure if I entered at all,” Hanor said. “I do not know how I came to be here.”
“But here you are, and entered you have, is your name still so precious?”
Hanor had nothing to hide. Concerns for his companions did not form, so mesmerised by this strange place. Trying to recall who he was, that detail eventually penetrated a cloudy mind. “My name is… Hanor.”
As if a significant barrier had been removed, “I am Yarma Torna, and I see no ill intent in you,” the fellow said, bowing his head. Convinced of the young man’s innocence, “No…, you do not know what you have achieved.”
Rising to his feet, he was to Hanor’s chin in height, the voluminous gown covering his feet. Sweeping his arm wide, other figures broke through the trees, hastening towards them from every direction. Taken aback, Hanor froze, believing it to be a trap. Preparing for an attack, but only inquisitive eyes approached.
“You have nothing to fear,” Yarma Torna assured him.
Defensive instincts calmed down when the others drew close, encircling him. With his past lost to him, Hanor felt self-conscious. Perceiving a trace of hesitancy in the newcomers, younger and older ones alike, females too, each one appeared similar to Yarma Torna. Mystified, to be on the verge of death, how could he have been transported here? Estimating forty in number, he could detect something more about these people, but knew not what.
“Not too close my beloveds,” Yarma Torna urged, their collective intrigue a force unto itself.
Polite acknowledgments greeted Hanor wherever he turned. Panged by shame at how suspicious he felt, “I am sorry but... I do not know what has happened.”
“We understand that,” Yarma Torna said. “As I said, you do not realise what you have accomplished.”
Identifying a definite undercurrent, their charm not shielding the resonance of power beneath the surface, he dismissed it as a natural reaction to the unsettling circumstances. Even so, the point was noted. Checking the many surrounding him, one person in particular caught his attention. A female, she seemed to stand out from the rest. Embarrassed when she smiled, flushed, Hanor looked away.
“It is fitting that you have picked someone to show you our home,” Yarma Torna said, indicating the exchange.
“Have I?”
“Do you now say no, for your eyes said otherwise?”
“I…, I did not know I was choosing,” Hanor said, astonished.
“You require answers, do you not?”
“Er..., yes.”
“It would be unfitting for everyone to ask you questions, but Coreema here, who you have already met, is more than adequate for the task.”
“I have met her before?” Hanor was baffled.
Approval swept the onlookers before each one started back towards the circle of trees. Even Yarma Torna left, leaving the two alone at the centre of the glade.
“Shall we go?” Coreema said, her words soothing, leading him by the arm.
“This is so…”
Hanor did not finish. Reaching across, she put a finger to his lips. “There is no rush here,” she chimed, softening him more. “You have many questions, but for now, be at peace. You need to recover from what you have overcome.”
Dark, penetrating eyes caressed his heart, drawing him in. There was no resistance.
Similar to her brethren, hairless and young looking, her filmy purple robe was simple in design and hung loosely from her shoulders. A tingle ran through him as they walked, strengthening his feelings towards her.
Approaching the trees, what was previously indiscernible now lay open for their passing. Branches drooping to either side of a narrow corridor had grown into an archway. Taking hold of his hand, she led him through. Passing a short corridor to their right that led to the stout trunk of a tree, branched steps climbed to one side, spiralling upwards. Without stopping, she continued along, her sweet scent captivating. The wooded passage came to an end, emerging onto another grass clearing. Much smaller than the first, lined again by trees, she led him across, questions now lost to the wonder.
Reaching the other side, entering another corridor similar to the first, spindly branches intertwined with thicker ones to give the passageway shape. Passing another trunk and set of branched stairs, they arrived at an even smaller clearing spanning twenty paces. A natural ambience seemed to minimise any shadowy spaces. Crossing, she slowed when entering the other side, turning to him as if about to reveal a secret.
“This is my Stay,” she said, signalling in front. “We talk quietly now as there are no doors or walls, everything is open. It is a point of rest, leisure and study. We do not live hectic lives like your people. I will explain more when inside. Come.”
Still holding his hand to his pleasure, she led him through the wooded tunnel before turning down a short corridor. Climbing the branched stairs when reaching the tree, she glided up with ease. Matching her, he tried to do the same but failed miserably. Close-knit as the branches were, his foot slipped leaving his leg dangling through a gap. Embarrassed, ignoring the ache in his shin, he pulled it free.
“Be careful,” she said, keeping her voice low.
“I am fine,” he whispered, hiding the pain.
Careful this time, he followed her up. Spiralling twice around the trunk before levelling out, lines of tiny branches intermingled with larger ones to make an open floor area. Stretching between two trees, the room was large enough to walk around. Branches, thick with foliage, filled the space above and to the sides. Dense, the fragrance was breathtaking. .
Delighted by his reaction, “Look here,” she said, pointing out of a narrow but wide split in the brush along one side.
“Incredible,” he said, apologising for talking too loud. Staring out through the gap, the view was spectacular. Her domain was on the edge of a plateau, countless trees sweeping away below into the distance.
“I am glad it is to your liking,” she said, moving to one of numerous branched seats by the leaved wall opposite.
“I am not sure what to make of it all.”
“Take your time, there is a great deal to take in. Would you like a drink?”
Rising, she walked to the end of the platform. Unable to see what she did, but certain something had been uttered, she returned with two wooden bowls filled with water.
“A gift from The Sacred,” she said, sipping.
“Thank you,” he said, wondering what she meant. Checking to where she had obtained the drinks, there was nothing to indicate how she got them. He drank anyway, not recalling the last time he had.
Memories of his sleeping companions invaded his thoughts, breaking the charm of the surroundings. Fading before he could make sense of them, his expression alerted her.
“What is it?”
Confused, Hanor tried to answer. “This place is incredible but… it is like… it is not quite real.” Vague thoughts of his friends left him guessing to who they were, a thick mist clouding any recollection. Certain he should be remembering more, but try as he did, nothing came. Undetected, a subtle force caressed his mind to let go, promising there was more to life than worrying about the past. Concerns faded.
“This place is unlike what you are used to,” Coreema said, her warmth filling the room. Easing him back from his quandary with the gentle tug of her invisible will, her soft manner concealed the mental manipulations. Vital to stay in control, the young man was an enigma, innocent yet mysteriously capable. “If it suits you, I will explain more about our world…, and then, you can tell us about yourself.”
“I am not very interesting,” he said. Lacking a memory no longer bothered him, her subtle persuasions the reason.
“Learning about people is fascinating,” she began, flashing a smile. Eager to know more, she had to be careful, his vulnerability unpredictable. “My name, if you recall, is Coreema. I am born of the Lani Folk, one of the Five Clans of Yarmoria. Yarmoria of course is the place you now find yourself in. I will tell you more about our history at another time, for it is lengthy and involved. This then is my Stay, the place where I live.”
“W