Chapter Twenty Three

Soren opened his eyes. High above him stretched a green roof of leaves, with holes in between, letting in the morning light. The trees shot up around him, he could see everything...but it was all so fuzzy. Soren blinked a few times and the world became clearer. He sat up from his bed of dried grass. Almost everything was dry now, of course. This drought was insane. But no matter. Soren knew he wouldn't be living much longer: he was to die tomorrow. If only he wasn't doomed to such a painful death, Soren would have been almost excited.

But the pain wouldn't last forever. Then his meaningless, miserable existence would finally be over.

What a stupid world. There was a time when it had been a wonderful world full of joy and excitement. Full of joy and excitement...and Istelle. He looked down at the small image of flames engraved on the back of his left hand.

Soren you stupid idiot. You're never going to see her again.

Soren forced himself to stand up. He walked over to the place where he had hidden the various hunting equipment he had made over the past days.

It was time to hunt. Really, he thought, he didn't need food to survive until his death.

But it wasn't his choice. So two hours later he was sitting on the other side of the hills and picking at a squirrel.

It was nearly noon by the time Soren stood up, took his weapons, and began back down the other side of the hill towards the creek.

But he didn't make it all the way to the water before stopping and ducking behind a bush. A bearded old man in a white robe had materialized on the banks of the stream. The man looked around, then turned in the other direction. He leaned over and took a step forward as if ducking under something, then he was gone. An old wizard. No. Not just a wizard...a Lette wizard. In white.

Soren sighed. Well of course he was in Lette territory...he went over to the water and drank, then sat down in the stream. He had been doing this more and more often as the water had gotten lower and lower. Everything was dry, hard, and hot now, the plants and animals were all accustomed to frequent downpours, and they were not adjusting well to the drought. Hunting had become easier now, the animals coming to the stream for a drink. But Soren only took what he needed...Couldn't have been more than two hours later, Soren was leaping to his feet and scrambling to hide in a tree.

What sounded like a stampede was coming his way. Galloping hooves, cawing, and screeching birds, human voices calling out...no. Not quite a stampede. It was huge. Like a small army. But instead of the people and horses that usually made up an army, there were centaurs and ashies and fairies and elves and dwarfs and gnomes and trolls, wizards and mages and griffins and who knew what else. They went by in a blur and disappeared into the distance. The same way the old man had faced when he had disappeared. Towards the Akeefa territory. Towards Veiled Lake.

Soren wondered if that was where they were really headed. He couldn't imagine what they would possibly do there. He closed his eyes and leaned back into the tree...his eyes fluttered open and he nearly fell out of the tree a second later. Could it be? He thought hard, remembering that day weeks ago, so many weeks ago, though it felt like years. The day when he had sat around the table in that room at Istelle's home, the home of the Akeefa chief. They had been working on battle plans with some of the officials. And yes. It was today. The day of the ambush on the Lette and the Akeefa would be crossing right around Veiled Lake only a little later today.

His heart raced. Who were those creatures? Were they Lette? Did they know the Akeefa were coming? No...their army did not have creatures such as centaurs and trolls...

It didn't matter anyway. The Akeefa were going to win the war.

He wondered briefly what would happen to Istelle then.

Soren wanted to let out a howl of frustration but his mouth would not open for him. Instead, his body stood up and made its way out of the tree. It was time for a walk. Where? He couldn't care to know.

Well as it turned out, his destiny wanted him to walk around to the other side of the hill where he had had his fire. But he couldn't understand why, until he heard the sounds. Screaming. The voice was unmistakably female. Not all that far away from his breakfast fire. When Soren took off to help the damsel in distress, his legs obliged, taking him exactly where he needed to go. No doubt this was part of fate's plan, but he was too panicked to be thinking about Cyan's predictions at the moment.

She was facing away from him, silky black hair and white shirt with grey striped skirt were all he could see of the girl curled on her side on the ground under a tree a few feet away, shrieking with all her strength. He rushed to her other side and kneeled by her. "What happened? Where are you hurt?"

The girl looked not much younger than Soren. Her face was streaked with tears. Her eyes widened when she saw him. "Assassin! Akeefa assassin!" Her yells became more desperate. She tried to kick him away but moaned and pulled her leg closer to herself, hugging it with one arm. "Get away from me you foul—"

"I'm no assassin," Soren interrupted the miserable creature, "I'm to be assassinated before the end of tomorrow."

This statement was just strange enough to momentarily distract the girl. Soren gently rolled her over onto her back. "Don't touch me! Who are you—" she caught his eye and went quiet. He began inspecting her right leg, which seemed to be the main source of her pain. She watched him carefully but had stopped resisting. He started pressing gently on different parts of the leg, his fingers moved up and down, asking her each time he touched a new spot whether or not it hurt there. "How did it happen?"

"I was chased by a dog. All the way up this tree...then a squirrel startled me and I fell," she answered plaintively. "I want to go home."

Soren sighed. The girl was clearly used to being pampered. Like a little child.

He gently scooped her up and carried her over to the side of the hill onto a small bed of dried grass. She did not protest. She only continued to watch him as he made a strange little contraption and fixed it onto her leg. "Just rest it now."

"Thank you." Her tears had stopped a long time ago. Soren did not answer.

"Who are you?" she asked.

"Soren."

"I'm Olive. I am sixteen years old, and I come from the town of Zsil. You're an Akeefa warrior are you not? Why are you here?"

"I am not an Akeefa warrior any longer. I wear these clothes because I have no others."

"Oh, I see. Did you run away?"

"Certainly not."

"Why are you here then?"

Soren looked at her appraisingly. He didn't know what to tell her. "I lost someone dear to me. And she took all the joy and color of my life with her to the next life. I have become a wanderer."

"To me, you are a hero," said Olive fervently.

Soren did not know how to respond to this, so he said nothing and sat down by her, criss-crossing his legs, leaning forward and resting his elbows on his knees, and looking out into the distance where he could see nothing but grass and trees. He knew Olive was looking at him and sat stiff as a block of wood.

"How long have you been wandering for?"

"More than two weeks."

"What are you looking for?"

"Nothing."

"Then why wander?"

"There is nothing else to do."

"Well, you could go back to war and fight like before, couldn't you?"

Soren glared at the ground. "No," he said through gritted teeth, "my spirit is gone. And I cannot control my own body."

This did not make much sense to Olive but she decided not to press it. Instead, she worked on her hair, picking out the leaves, sticks, and shreds of dried grass she'd accumulated climbing the tree and lying on the ground after. Now Soren looked over. He frowned when he saw her shirt had light streaks of blood on it. "Lift your right arm."

She did. "Oh! I'm bleeding…" she trembled very slightly, frowning in concern for her scratched arm, though Soren supposed it couldn't hurt much if she hadn't noticed it before. "Probably a branch when you fell from the tree. It only scraped your skin, you'll be fine."

"But...it'll scar…"

"You'll survive. It'll make you stronger. You can tell this story to your children one day, and you'll have the scar to prove it."

Olive bit her lip. She wasn't going to cry again was she? Soren watched her face carefully. The younger, happier version of him from the past might have laughed. He had never met anyone for whom scars were their biggest concern. And really, her little scratch was nothing compared to what he had had and seen. It was all he could do to keep from rolling his eyes.

"Could you tell me a story?"

"Like what?"

"I don't know," Olive smiled, "surprise me."

Soren sighed. "Alright."

She looked at him expectantly.

"Once there were two girls named Nuria and Malee," he began, "closer friends did not exist anywhere else on the earth.

Each day they spent together, playing in the fields and singing with the birds and splashing in the lakes.

Many happy years they spent in each others' companies, until, one night, Nuria was taken away. She was the daughter of wealthy parents and they were sending her off to a great school in hopes that she would learn much. It was so sudden and unexpected that the girls did not have time to say goodbye.

But they were too dear to each other not to find a way. They wrote each other long letters every day. Reading their friends' messages were the highlights of both of their days. They would so eagerly respond. But then Malee's letters to Nuria began to get shorter and shorter, her writing shaky and breaking off unexpectedly. Finally, she stopped writing altogether.

Nuria became very concerned. She wanted to come visit her friend as soon as possible. Luckily, the break was near, and when it finally came, she rode on her new lover's horse's back to her town. She was so happy to be there again that she wept tears of joy.

But her happy tears became replaced by tears of sorrow when she came to Malee's home and saw that her dear friend was lying ill in her bed, with hardly enough strength left even to speak.

A plague had swept across the town while Nuria had been gone. It had killed both Malee's parents. Nuria decided to stay here and take care of Malee until she recovered. She would not leave her friend. She brought her food and water and sang her songs and told her stories and held her hand and hugged her close.

And though Malee became sicker and sicker with each passing day, all she could think about was how happy she was that her dear friend had returned to her.

Still, the plague was a plague, and you cannot look after a sick person without becoming sick yourself. Thus, Nuria and Malee parted with the world and walked into the next life hand in hand, with smiles on their faces."

When Soren finished the story and looked at Olive, there were tears in her eyes.

"I can see them everywhere," she said, "playing in the forest and on the hill and in the fields all around."

"Maybe you see their ghosts, still playing here together." Soren hadn't entirely come out of his reverie.

He looked around then, as if also searching for the ghosts of Nuria and Malee, then turned to Olive. "Now perhaps, you will share a story?"

"Oh no, my storytelling cannot compare to that of yours...I could sing if you want..."

Soren shrugged. "Alright, I'm listening."

And so they spent the next hours there at the base of the hill, exchanging songs and stories, with simple conversation or just silence in between.

Finally, Soren stood and said "The sun has set. It is time you return to Zsil. Do you know the way?"

"Ah, yes, I do, but please, Soren, don't take me back!" Olive pleaded with him, "I have never enjoyed an evening so much as I did this one in so long, please," she looked into his eyes, "let me stay with you just a little longer."

But Soren could only smile sadly and shake his head. "Olive, you must go and return to your town."

"I don't want to go home! I want to stay with you, please Soren."

He scooped her up again and began the long walk through the dark to Zsil.

By the time Soren was close enough to Zsil to see the faint lights of the candles glowing inside the houses, half an hour later, Olive was asleep, her head resting against his chest.

He stopped, relieved to see the town but unsure what to do with the girl. He could not see or hear anyone outside. Most of the houses were dark, their residents asleep. Only a few were lit up.

Twenty minutes later, a young Lette woman let out a little cry upon opening her door and discovering her neighbors' daughter, Olive, sleeping outside on a bed of grass. The girl had a splint on her right leg and blood on her shirt, and was wrapped in a black jacket, the type worn only by Akeefa warriors.

The owner of the jacket had long ago vanished into the darkness.