Light fading, the prospect of co-existing with the Souls indefinitely was becoming clear. Riding for three short-turns, night was closing in with little altering for the better. Nothing was said during the after-turns, tensions high. When the inevitable arrived, Tarmon pulled in alongside Hanor.
“What do you suggest we do for the night?” he asked, not hopeful of an encouraging answer.
“We should stop as normal,” Hanor said, to the other’s dismay.
“Are you certain? This does not seem right.”
Hanor just nodded, adding nothing more.
When a suitable place was found, the slight depression next to a sizeable bush would grant them some security, if only minor. “We will camp here for the night,” Tarmon said, loud enough for the Souls to hear.
The last one to dismount, Hallen hesitated, having trouble with this. “I will stay awake all night,” he called out. “Attack us when we are tired I suppose.”
Pursing at Kifter, Tarmon was unimpressed.
“Hallen…!” the Fife snapped. “We do not want trouble, control your tongue.”
Ignoring him, the Hite protested again. “Bring me someone I can see…, and I will tear him in two. This…,” he threw out his arm in their direction. “Is not the way to fight.”
“We are not after a fight,” Tarmon warned, riled by his attitude.
“You will have plenty of time in the future for that,” Kifter said, casting his friend a frosty stare. “Now calm down will you!”
Dismounting, the Hite reached for the Sasta. “Make the fire large tonight.”
Huddling together again, their Kyboes lined the rim of the small depression facing outwards, wary of an attack. Hallen’s mount, largest of all five Kyboes, was far from the bravest, similar to its owner. Collecting leaves and roots nearby, hand feeding them such was their dismay, the idea of travelling all the way to Tardoc like this was demoralising. Trusting something had to happen before then, that too was unfavourable.
Eating in silence, five figures sat gawping at the fire. Appetites were off, only eating in case energy was required during the night if forced to flee. Doubting anyone would sleep this night, daylight faded, firing fears to action.
Hanor knew the dangers of this. “It is important we stay calm,” he said, needing to believe they could get through this. “We must remember, fear is what used to feed them.”
“Used to?” Hallen interjected, cold and snide.
“You forget, these Souls were once ordinary people like us.”
“Not anymore,” Kifter said, uncomfortable like the Hite.
“At their core, they are is still no different from you and me. They are just lost between realms.”
“You keep defending them, why?” It was Bane who asked, seeing no reason for it.
“In the past, I would have viewed this as you all do, but… since touching the Stone, I see and feel differently.”
“We have all touched the Stone…, and do not see as you do,” Kifter noted.
“Because its light was not shining.” Hanor said, shrugging. “I do not have the answers.”
“You seem to have plenty of other answers,” Hallen muttered, moody. Even though the boy was doing his best, he did not want to trust his own survival to someone else.
“You need to back off, and leave Hanor alone,” Bane warned, unruffled by the Hite’s temper. “Or go find a tree to argue with.”
Meeting Bane’s glare, the lad’s fiery face glowed in the dark from the fire. Surprised, the challenge made Hallen sit up, now seeing how obstructive his attitude had become. Irritable, a timely nod from Kifter proved he was right. “I had better calm down Bane, for your sake and mine,” he said, cross with himself for losing it.
“You are difficult to be around,” Kifter said, beside him.
“Ahh…, now I am being attacked on both fronts,” the Hite mused, burdens starting to lift.
“We are dealing with this the best we know how,” Tarmon said, composed. “We should not be harassing each other.”
A chime embarrassed, “I just want to know what we are dealing with here,” Hallen said, looking at Hanor, “I said I would listen to you, but it is not easy when surrounded by these others.”
As hard as this was, Hanor had to follow the clarity within his heart. “Believe it or not, I am still the same Hanor you first met at Ags Ole. I have only changed because of what I have been through. Your friendship is important to me.”
“I should know better,” Hallen apologised.
Drained, Bane had to lay down, his head was hurting. Supporting Hanor as much as possible, but that was not enough to dampen down the rising storm threatening their relationship again. Listening to what Hanor had said of late was scary. Where was the friend he knew? The Souls returning made matters worse, his confidence sinking to new lows. Trying his best to hold it together, but these otherworldly matters were challenging. Forgetting about the Souls, the widening gulf between him and Hanor was all that mattered, feeling increasingly isolated. Resting his eyes, he wanted to go home.
Talking helped distract the group from the obvious. Getting used to the invisible scrutiny, yawns started, Tarmon ordering them to take what rest they could. “Two people on each watch should help the others settle,” he said, looking down at a sleeping Bane. “At least one of us has no worries,” he joked, unsurprised.
Through an unexpected fog, they set out at dawn. Relying on Kifter’s infamous broth to sustain them until their next stop, no one felt replenished. Anxious about the Souls, a shortened sleep only furthered the stress. The mood was sombre, the atmosphere heavy. Needing to dig deep this turn, there was no clear way out of this. Enclosing, the Souls moved as expected with them.
Trying to stay bright for the group, Hanor rode alongside Bane, who was the only one to get a good night’s sleep. Expecting him to be fresh, Bane’s countenance however, was dull as if a dark cloud hung over him. Lacking enthusiasm, unlike the previous turn, Hanor let it be, presuming he was having as much trouble as Hallen with the Souls.
Keeping the pace steady, the fog would not shift, casting an eerie, hesitant greyness to the surroundings. Noises from their movements rebounded back as if repelled by the mist. A chill nipped at their faces like tiny pins prickling. Walking when necessary, a few supportive words eased tensions but nothing more. Trying to act normal, Hanor’s confidence only went so far, the pressures heady. He had no idea how this was to end.
Creaky joints proved Bane had overdone it recently. Occasional shivers kept vibrating through him, whispering that he should rest more. Even though he had slept all night, skipping his watch, the aches suggested otherwise. Emotional upheavals and additional labours of late reinforced the unshakable gloom. When Tarmon signalled for them to stop, his whole body cheered.
Stretching their legs, stiff necks needed warm but firm hands to rub away the aches. A few yawns swept the group, tiredness already setting in.
“We had better not stop long,” Tarmon said, splashing water over his face. Hanor was looking towards the trees, frowning. “What is it?” he asked, standing alongside.
Troubled, Hanor could detect a substantial alteration with the Souls. Gasping at an even greater change, the surrounding numbers exploded into a hive of activity, rousing as if drawn by another power. Disliking it, what was happening?
“Hanor…!” Hallen demanded a response. Their Kyboes drew back, whimpers indicating a problem.
Confused, “I… I do not know,” the young Heir of Manson said, turning full circle.
Facing outwards, the others prepared for the worst.
“Are they going to attack?” the Hite pressed. Infuriated that he could only see them in his mind’s eye, “Well?”
“Something has caught their attention. Oh... no!” Hanor caught his breath. “No!”
“What do you see?” Tarmon called, but the lad was oblivious to the appeal.
Stepping forward, “No…, do not do it,” Hanor pleaded. Something dreadful was about to happen. “No…, please… do not let them go.” His cry leapt towards the heavens, urging restraint. Like the frantic humming of a thousand buzzies, destructive desires started rising within the ring. Behind him, Hallen drew his sword. Kifter, Tarmon and Bane got ready for the inevitable. “You have been waiting so patiently, not now, this is not the way.” Hanor’s call was full of hurt and foreboding. Helpless, the pulses charging the ring of Souls was sickening. Soon to find their way home, but they were about to throw it away. Tears rolled, the impulses growing too strong, too powerful to turn back. “This is not the way,” he cried again, the pain cleaving his heart. Descending back into darkness, rejecting their only hope, the ugly impulses kept increasing. Unable to see the cause, they were close to the point of no return.
A choice lay before the Souls. Wait indefinitely for freedom through the boy or seize this opportunity. Desires for it were intense, the boy fading beneath the weight of that yearning. They could not resist.
Burning like a scorching blade stabbing at the wall of his chest, the rising power startled Hanor, shocked by what was happening inside him. Soaring with purpose, the heat intensified as if his heart was on fire. Matching the rising desires within the surrounding ring of Souls, the searing heat kept mounting, but could not blaze forth because something was stopping it.
“The Stone…!” he remembered, picturing its blazing light at the Tomb of Tarkon. Certain the Stone was trying to save them from a terrible mistake, fumbling inside his overcoat, strings to the fastened pocket would not undo. Desperate, time raced against him, their urges on the brink of release. Muddling in panic, he pulled on the wrong chord, leaving a knot. Cursing, his heart sank. Horrified, the Souls surged past the group, only to disappear over the distant mound ahead. “No… no,” he cried, struggling with the knot.
Rushing like a predator eager for the kill, the force of the Soul’s movements could not be halted by anything of this world. Not giving in, if he could only hold the Stone high, its living light could draw them back. But the stubborn knot would not give. Dismayed, the burning in his chest started subsiding, already giving up.
Agonising, aware of what they intended, Hanor fell to his knees, crying bitter tears. Their desires cut like blood red gashes upon the earth. The heat in his chest had gone, leaving him bereft and wanting. Distraught, he had failed them.