“How do you feel?” Kifter asked, Hanor’s stiffness when leaning on his elbow obvious. Just after sunrise, a dusk-like ambience lingered between night and day.
“Fine…,” Hanor replied, grimacing at intervals. An aching body, especially his knee, was a quick reminder of the previous turn’s labours. Looking around, only Bane lay nearby, huddled under his blanket asleep. Fire sizzling, posting its thawing heat to take away the chill, it was difficult to believe what he had achieved.
“Would you like a hot broth?” Kifter asked, lifting the lid of the pot. “It works miracles for cold bones.”
“Yes…, if you will,” Hanor said, sitting up, wrapping his blanket about him. “Where are the others?”
“Hallen and Tarmon have taken the Kyboes to get the animals moving. Spending a couple of turns sitting by that bush has not served them well.” He passed Hanor the savoury stew, the boy checking the Stone before tucking it away in a pocket. “You have come a long way since we first met.”
“I take one step at a time,” Hanor said, sipping.
“Is your memory back completely? You remember your family and where you are from? I only ask so there is no confusion in the future.”
“Yes, Kifter from Fifania, I remember all of what has taken place. If I fail to remember, it will be due to my own inability to recall it, and not because of what I went through.”
“That is reassuring to hear,” the Fife admitted. “It was most difficult talking to someone suffering such an illness. No disrespect to you of course.”
“None taken,” he concurred. “I am sure there are questions I will want to ask you over the coming turns.”
“You know I love to talk, ask anytime.”
“I will,” Hanor said, hoping to re-establish their early relationship.
Sounds of Tarmon and Hallen returning interrupted their brief discussion. Pulling five Kyboes into the makeshift camp, pants confirmed they had been on a run.
“It is good to see you awake,” Tarmon said, encouraged that all was well.
“And he has that look to say he is ready for work,” Hallen added, upbeat that they would be leaving this place soon.
“Whatever you command,” Hanor joked, finishing his drink.
Behind them, Bane stirred.
Relieved at seeing Hanor well, comforted that his return was not a dream, “Are you… all right?”
“I am fine,” Hanor said, assuring the rest of them. “As I have just explained to Kifter, my memory is how it was, and it feels great to be back.”
“That is what matters,” Tarmon acknowledged.
“And what about… the impact of…, I mean… Nole?” Bane stuttered.
Still coming to terms with it, the fact Hanor had seen Nole did make a difference. “I am coping,” he said, understanding that Bane needed to share his own problems. “We will talk about it over the coming turns to help both of us.”
Missing Nole, Bane sighed, savouring Hanor’s return to health instead.
Exchanging light-talk whilst eating, Hanor passed around the Stone, fending off the urge to be protective.
“What do you think will happen to those Souls?” Bane asked, his own chilling encounter still affecting him. Running his fingers over the Stone before handing it back, it made no sense how light could shine from within.
“That ridge is like a limitation. They believe they cannot go beyond it, or at least fear what is on this side.”
“You mean they could leave at any time?” Hallen asked, perking up at the notion.
“I think so,” Hanor had to admit.
“You are not serious!”
“Yes, I am.”
“So…, why are we still here if that is true?” The Hite was horrified. Peering past the bush towards the valley, the others were equally concerned.
“Is that correct, Hanor?” Tarmon needed to know.
Respecting their unease, Hanor tried reassuring the group. “It is not as simple as that.”
“What do you mean?”
“I mentioned last night that they allowed me to go without attacking. Something is happening to them, which could be to do with the Stone.”
“You appear calm at the thought of them leaving that place,” Kifter noted.
“I would be happy to see them free from their illusionary bonds,” he said, saying what he felt. “But to gain that freedom, there has to be a shift, a change in their attitude. They will have to reject what they have become.”
“You sound like Brandor,” Hallen said, dissatisfied with the terminology. Respectful of what Hanor had achieved, but the mysterious quality emanating from the boy was unnerving. Confident yet humble, definite flickers of the Dai-laman were there.
“Please continue, Hanor,” Tarmon invited, interested by his insights. Many of the wisest at Tarden had tried unravelling the phenomenon of Tarkons Tomb.
“What I am saying may not be true, it is just how I interpret the situation,” Hanor said, not wanting to alienate himself from them.
“Would it not worry you if they came at us now then?” Hallen challenged, surprised there was no urgency to leave.
“I would not like that at all,” Hanor assured him. “But... as I say these things, my own understandings seems to increase as well.”
“We should start moving then,” the Hite insisted, rising. “No disrespect to you Hanor, for I am eager to hear more, but we need to get as far from here as possible.” Scarred by the fact that something so hideous had got inside him, it made sense to leave.
“It is not as simple as that,” Hanor repeated, surprised at how calm he felt.
“What do you mean?” Kifter asked, needing to be sure before heading out.
“If they want the Stone then… they will come after it anyway.”
“Come after it?” Hallen’s worries heightened. “Did Brandor forget to tell us about this? If that is true, then why are you all still sitting there?”
“This is important, Hanor,” Tarmon said, trying to steady the situation. “Why do you think that?”
Shrugging, “I just sense it.”
Sincere as the young man was, Tarmon knew Brandor would not have sent them for the Stone knowing its probability. Even so, they were clearly not out of this yet. “We will break camp, and head for Tardoc,” the Tardanian ordered. “We will talk more of this later, but for now, we must ride.”
“I am sorry,” Hanor felt he was to blame for the disturbance.
“No need to apologise,” the Tard was quick to assure him. “Tools of power are highly sought after. We have been blessed that you have retrieved the Stone, but we still do not know what we have here. So we must go, for I fear your words are indeed true.”
Slowing Tunder to a walk, this was probably the last time Brandor would see Mandurin in its age-old state before war descended on The Freelands. Still out of view on the other side of the rocky hillock, it was imperative he speak to the City’s Masters of the Arts, shedding hope against the coming darkness. Travelling for two turns of the day and most of the night since leaving Tardoc, his only concerns had been Nyshifters coming at him in the pitch of night. Many seasons had passed since last seeing one, but knowing Kifter’s group had escaped the one at Ags Ole was warning enough.
Reaching the rocky hilltop, Brandor pulled Tunder in. Pummelled as if by a mighty blow, his heart dropped, disbelieving the awful sight in front. Expecting an easy ride across the plane to the ancient City, but from his vantage point, the Dai-laman was aghast at the numbers rolling over the opposite hillside from the Ravaged Planes. A black tide of lurching figures washed down towards the City, set for war. Spreading like an oozing tar, its direction was purposeful with only one thing in mind. Splitting in two to surround the doomed City, it was a reflection of his dream with the Being of Light and that Shadow.
This was it, Gorl-darl’s wrath finally unleashing. Where had he gained such numbers? Abusing the creative powers of life, but this wretchedness gave a new meaning to abomination. Hopes of getting inside Mandurin were dashed by that black flow of hideousness. The two leading arms continued to march around before joining, cutting off any chance of escape for those inside.
For five full seasons, Mandurin had appealed to other nations forewarning of this. Few had listened, his own attempts to rouse people not enough either. Only during recent times had Masters from each City detected the vile manipulations of the ethers, and become concerned enough to support them. A dire reflection of the Hisian-set’s own lapse response when warned by the Sages of Baltia over forty full-seasons ago about this coming Shadow, if they had acted then, this could have been prevented. But internal bickering had ended with the snatching of his four compatriots from the Sleep nearly ten seasons later. When their rescue attempt had failed, driven off by Nyshifters, they should have regrouped and tried again. But indecision had rendered them incompetent. Seeking secretive knowledge instead to enhance their own powers, he had been sucked into that desire as well, leaving the Darkness to grow unimpeded to this day. Now, they were about to pay the price.
As if brought here to witness the final heartbeats of Mandurin, he could not believe the timing. If he had come but a turn earlier, at least the Masters inside could have started working on his plan. A similar fate would befall Tardoc and Tarden soon. If Gorl-darl had moved here, he had probably moved elsewhere too.
Thoughts of leaving them to the slaughter blurred Brandor’s focus. Guilt rising, heckling him if he were to abandon them, but Nyshifters would be swarming over this place once the sun had set. Saying a quiet prayer of encouragement, he turned Tunder east and headed for Rovot, leaving the Mandurinians to their fate.
Doing his utmost to support Hanor, Bane had spent the last turn and a half watching out for his friend, who seemed full of doubt about what he was experiencing. Initially threatened by the unusual statements Hanor had made about the Souls, but observing his vulnerability since, he needed support not conflict. Larking about with Hallen whilst taking a break from their ride, he kept a close eye on Hanor nonetheless. Glad to have left the Valley far behind, trees and bush had returned not long after leaving the area yester-turn. Back to normal, Tarmon had said their only threat now lay to the north. Making the most of it, Bane actually felt quite optimistic about the future.
Preoccupied with what was happening to notice Bane’s additional concerns, Hanor had spent most of his time since the Tomb reflecting on recent events. Holding the Stone, its smooth, cold texture gave no indication to its otherworldly powers. Worried about having something so precious, he was tempted to give it to Kifter or Tarmon for safekeeping. Refraining, to hand it over to someone who had no idea about its power did not seem right. Whatever the Stone’s purpose, Brandor was the only person he could trust to have it.
Recalling the overpowering presence of love emanating from the Stone, it was why he felt sympathetic towards the Souls he was quite sure. Even the love of his parents seemed blemished by comparison. To be in harmony with those powers was to love no matter what. Strange, he would not have thought it possible.
Enjoying this rest, especially Hallen and Bane’s play-fighting, the Hitorian’s size naturally made it a one-sided affair. Leaving them to it, Hanor strolled over to a sizeable branch that had broken off from the nearest Woodell tree. Judging it could carry ten men, idle thoughts drifted until a shiver ran through him. Disturbed by what it meant, he looked back along the way they had just come, attention snapping back to the Valley. Heightened senses extended beyond the boundaries of their vision, crossing the distance between them and the Tomb. Perceiving the change, he barely noticed the Fife nearby.
“What is it?” Kifter wanted to know, drawing near. Following his gaze through the trees and bush, the Fife could not see or hear anything. In response to Hanor’s detachment, a disquieting silence descended on the region as if it too could register a difference. Concerns about the Tomb sprung to mind, a potent sense of death emerging.
“What is the matter?” Hallen asked, releasing Bane from a headlock.
Motioning for quiet, the Fife’s keen senses checked in every direction. Supported by Tarmon, fearing the enemy was upon them, but no rumblings of heavy feet were audible. Only that familiar eerie deadness was apparent.
Chilling words from Hanor struck them cold. “They… have left the Valley.”
Hitting like a thunderbolt, four companions turned, disbelieving what he just said.
“What do you mean?” Tarmon asked, horrified.
Picturing them rushing towards their location, Hanor could see the Souls surging through the trees in his mind. No blockade could bar their way, and it was pointless hiding behind a bush or tree. With his increased awareness came a rise in understanding. Braving the unknown, they had crossed the ridge to find the light that he had experienced when retrieving the Stone. The cold pebble remained the same in his hand however, as if nothing had changed. Gripping tighter, the others waited for him to respond.
“They have crossed the ridge, and are heading this way,” he repeated.
Hypnotised, Hanor could not look away, their determination to find him relentless. Shattering news, his friends demanded more answers, but their questions could not penetrate his trance. Unable to shift his attention from them, “It is no good running whilst I hold this,” he explained, unemotional, holding out the Stone. Half-expecting their arrival sooner or later, he had not wanted to admit it to himself or the others. Uninterested by a flash of steel close by, Hallen’s efforts were useless.
“Do not flee,” Hanor advised, the others mounting, getting ready to leave. Repeating his appeal, “Do not flee. You will not outrun them. Stand firm and wait. To run is to hide, and you will show them your fear.”
Outside Hanor’s inner world, the four looked at him and each other. Trusting his insights that the Souls were indeed coming, but to stay was preposterous.
“Hanor!” Tarmon barked, commanding his attention. Frustrated when the lad did not move, he tried again. “Hanor!”
“Do you want me to carry him?” Hallen tried, his sword held ready. “We need to go!”
Their young friend seemed oblivious to their concerns. Apart from them, the whole area was silent as if emptied of life. Whimpers from their Kyboes supported Hanor’s declaration. “Take him,” Tarmon ordered. If the ridge had been crossed, he had no idea how long it would take for the Souls to get here. Imperative they reach Tardoc, if Brandor was not there then at least the Masters could help.
Reaching down, Hallen grabbed the still standing figure, hoisting the lad up to sit just in front. Taking the lead, behind him Kifter seized Hanor’s Kyboe by the reins, whilst Bane fell in beside Tarmon. Riding hard, darting between huge Woodell trees, there was no giving way to caution. Even if they stumbled upon the enemy, at least they would see their foe and be able to defend themselves.
Snorting, their mounts registering more than they, fears increased. Careful not to outrun the others, it was ironic that Hallen was carrying the very reason for their flight. “Can you not just throw the Stone away?” he shouted at Hanor. What was the point in keeping it if it meant certain death? He did not get a reply.
Holding onto a grim hope they might outpace them, the fleeing group refused to accept Hanor’s meek warning. Charging for barely a short-turn, the inevitable finally happened.
“They are already here,” Kifter’s cry broke the rushing sounds of their ride.
“I can feel them,” Tarmon agreed.
Keeping Bane between them, his inexperience showing, he found it difficult to keep up with the blistering pace. Despite that, Bane battled on, not letting them down.
Arriving like a rushing storm, the Souls could now be sensed by all. An invisible Shadow of Death, it seemed like they had returned to the Valley. Unable to see them with their eyes, but their presence was unmistakable. At the periphery of their vision, they hovered as if preparing to pounce. Terror ignited at the outcome, awaiting the final onslaught as muscles strained and burned.
For reasons unknown, the Souls did not close in. Heightening anxieties, fears dominated every hope. Expecting a strike, the delay kept them on edge. Why were they not attacking? A thought echoing around the group, only Hanor stayed detached, lodged in a trancelike state by their arrival.
To their horror, the Shadow behind split, advancing to either side. Not giving in, the Shadow edged ahead, arcing round to close off their escape. How and why did not make sense. Riding hard, the Souls maintained their position as if the group were standing still. Dread enclosed fluttering wills, exhaustion taking its toll.
“Hanor!” Hallen shouted, wanting to know what was going on. Running out of ideas, the Shadow united in front. They were trapped! “Hanor!” he repeated. Sheathing his sword, he reached down, half turning the wide-eyed lad. Shaking and yelling again, the combination of the two drew the boy back from the abyss.
Coming round, Hanor recognised what was happening. “You have to stop,” he called above the din of their ride.
“Are you a fool?” Hallen said, aghast. “They