Chương 52: Book 1 - Epilogue 1

Tika hauled the deer carcass to the pile. It was to be smoked, salted, and prepared for travel rations. Another scouting party was being sent out after the last one came back. While the general clans people weren't told exactly what they found, it had the elders worked up. So much so that the wood crafters had been worked into a frenzy, with orders for new arrows, spears, and weaponry called for.

"Not soon enough," she muttered.

"After what Valdren's done…" Just thinking of the greenfolk blood staining those crests brought a fire to her chest. One that made her pull ever harder on the dead deer. The two companions helping to haul the carcass growled in agreement. All of them had been at the gathering. They all knew something foul was afoot, and their blood was paying for it. Suddenly, the ground shook, making them pause. The shaking intensified, from a tremor to a rumble.

"What's going on?!"

"Tika?!" Around, other tribes people stopped in their work. Their gazes went southwest, where a violet hue grew near The Spines. Softly, a boom echoed. Like the mountains themselves had howled upon the might of Greensward. Birds erupted from the canopy above, chirping in agitation. Squirrels and rodents poked their heads out of burrows, sniffing the air. Even the insects seemed to stop their never-ending buzz. All was silent. All was witnessing a change.

"It's happening! It's happening!" cried a panicked voice somewhere behind her.

"They've finally done it now!" shouted another. More voices joined. Confusion, chaos, and questions filled the settlement. Then, as suddenly as it began, it melded away. The wind resumed, leaves rustled, and wildlife settled. That in itself was almost as off-setting to Tika. Just how quickly things could go from so wrong to so right again. Well, not entirely so. Within the sprawling forest settlement, hundreds of clans people glowered.

A case of literary theft: this tale is not rightfully on Amazon; if you see it, report the violation.

"Just what is Valdren doing?! Which of their demented kingdoms brings such darkness to our forest?" hissed one of her companions. No one had an answer.

The three elders watched the growing line of light dissipate. Senna's cloak flowing, Rosk's massive bulk taut, and Gael perched on her chair. Each second that light had lasted, Rosk's breath had grown a touch faster and his arms a measure tighter. By the time it was done, the man looked like a spring about ready to pop.

"I admit," began Senna carefully, "I did not expect the rumors of those lights to be so well founded. None of them mentioned that noise, either." Rosk wheeled around, all his built up tension unleashing with his words.

"That was nothing like the rumors!" snapped Rosk.

"What we just saw was a declaration! It's men saying they can destroy our lands and claim it as their own with their sickening magics!" he shouted.

"Rosk—" began Gael, only to give up. The great war chief had already turned, storming off the stage and up the steps leading towards the village. From her side, Senna pursed her lips.

"The taint grows, Gael. Rosk will not abide by your hold forever."

"He doesn't have to. The big oaf just needs to wait until our next batch of scouts get back. I'm certain if we just give them more time, we'll have our answers."

"I hope so, Gael. I hope so."

Arthur Demetri sat in his chambers, scribbling notes. Questions, background information, and preparations for tomorrow's meeting with Commander Ashlan. According to William, the man led the very charge against the demonic enemy they were set to face. A chime sounded. Setting down his parchment, the high bishop rose. Walking over to the basin, he peered down. Golden rays from the high chamber window sparkled against the well's waters. Palm hovering over his signet, he allowed the channeling of the will.

The sun bent, from sky to signet to basin. With a wash of light, an image began to form.

"Apostle Darrow. Greetings, have you—Darrow?" he started, only to cut himself off. Where a crisp figure had appeared only moments before, a ripple of blur took shape. His basin splashed, sending water dripping onto the marble flooring. Darrow was gone. The high bishop tried to re-enable the connection, but it wouldn't take. No matter what he tried, Apostle Darrow wouldn't appear. Lips half open, Demetri just stood there. Absorbing that. Never in all his time had he seen a consecrated well malfunction like that.

Sometimes an agent would cut the link short, but for the basin to splash and blur… What could cause that? Something directly interfering with The Five's will? Standing there, water beginning to seep into his slippers from the puddle, he thought. Maybe…

"William!" he barked. From the lounge, a clattering sounded. Rushed footsteps. The heavy door flung open, revealing a flummoxed priest.

"Your worship? How can I—the basin?! What happened?" He was staring at the waves and blurs still visible on the surface.

"Something interrupted them, clearly. Nevermind that. I need you to visit the archives. Get me everything we have on Silences." The young man gave him a confused look.

"Why would you want to read about those decrepit spots? Such a distasteful topic…"

"A hunch. Quickly, if you please." William's expression turned dour. The spymaster's hunches were becoming far too foreboding as of late.

"Yes, father."