Jherog could feel consciousness returning but was afraid to open his eyes. Every part of him hurt and he didn’t want Devra to see him wake and begin torturing him again. He tried to keep his breath steady, but found it more challenging as he began to cry. The pain wasn’t just from her wounds, her fire, but his heart was broken. How could this be where he ended up? After all he’d suffered in losing Derina, and never really getting to be with her in the first place. And now, to discover, he’d always had a part of her by creating a life together… Devra, his daughter. Why hadn’t Derina told him? He couldn’t hold back the tears that began to spill from his eyes and roll down his nose to fall on the floor. But it seemed, his own daughter had hated him from the start. She claimed his Derina, her own mother, had poisoned her against him, but why? And how? He pictured Devra, not as he’d lain with her, but as the young girl who’d sought his help after the attack in Grindl. He searched his memory for all of the conversations they’d had, the times he’d felt closest to her due to her apparent vulnerability. Recognizing it was all lies made his anger flare, but still, he cried, picturing Devra. How could he not have seen it? The way she walked was so similar to his own. The way she felt so deeply, like all that mattered was the emotion and feeling in that moment. In hindsight, it seemed obvious she was his, and yet, he couldn’t pull his mind from turning to her naked form. She looked so much like Derina had. The flaming red hair. The petite and delicate figure. Eyes full of passion. The gentlest of touches. The softest skin. His mind ran away from him and led him to the memory of first lying with her. Though she’d tricked him into thinking, believing she was Derina, he’d known she wasn’t. Hadn’t he? How could he have really thought that Derina had returned to him? It didn’t make any sense. He was crying so hard he lost his breath. If anyone was in the wagon now, they’d know he was awake. He tried to collect himself, but felt a hand on his shoulder, trying to turn him onto his back. Jherog resisted and forced his eyes shut tighter, wanting to simply be left alone.
“It’s ok,” a voice whispered. It wasn’t Devra and he felt extreme relief. “You need to wake up now.” The hand kept pulling at him and he could no longer resist. He slowly turned to his back and the tears began rolling toward the back of his head. The hand moved to rest behind his head and pull him up. “Come, Jherog. Get up.” Jherog opened his eyes to see Gahllagh looking down at him, a serious look on his face. “You must get up.” Jherog allowed himself to be pulled up to a sitting position but stopped him there.
“What do you want Gahllagh?” He sounded defeated. Desperate. He could barely recognize his own voice, sounding so feeble and broken. It was near impossible to believe that just some time ago he’d been happy, almost revered even. Living in Grindl having earned the village's respect, looking to him to lead after a tragedy. But so much had happened since then. “Leave me be,” he yelled out as he pushed Gahllagh off of him, but Gahllagh’s strength was too great in comparison. He pulled Jherog onto his feet.
“I know you’re not well,” he told him. “And I wish we could do more for you, but you have to go.” Jherog looked at him, not knowing what to expect. Was he joking? Trying to trick him? Why would Gahllagh want him to leave? However, his face was dead serious, his eyes pleading. “We don’t have much time.”
“I don’t understand,” Jherog started. He could feel excitement brewing because he knew he had to get as far away from Devra as possible. He likely wouldn’t survive her torture much longer. But still, a large part of him didn’t want to leave either. He loved her. He needed her. His desire for her would never end and if he left, it would feel like a constant thirst that could never be quenched. She was also his daughter, he reminded himself. And he wanted to be there for her as a father. He’d simply have to shut out his cravings for her, though it was all too confusing.
“I know you’re confused. And hurt. But you must go.” Gahllagh pulled him up straight and clapped him on the shoulders. “Your being here… whatever it is Devra is doing to try to save you… it is killing her.” Jherog’s eyes nearly popped out of his head.
“What are you talking about?” Gahllagh moved to step away from him, but Jherog held him in place. “What do you mean… killing her?” Jherog’s eyes softened and he nodded.
“Devra is working tirelessly to help you,” he started. “Must feel guilty for injuring you in the first place.” He took a deep breath. “She spends most of her waking energy on healing you,” he told him. “And it's taking its toll on her. Can’t you see it?” Jherog didn’t respond. “She’s wasting away, Jherog. And it seems she’ll die trying to save you. But…” he stepped closer to Jherog and whispered. “If you go. If you leave her for what she’s meant to do and be… you could save us all.” Jherog didn’t know what to say. Did Gahllagh and the rest truly believe she was trying to heal him? Clearly Gahllagh didn’t know what to discern from Jherog’s silence. “I will care for her and protect her, Jherog. You have my word. And I will care for the youngling.” He stood taller. “We will bring the light to Serenians as she is destined to.” Still, Jherog couldn’t respond. Gahllagh quickly moved away from him, grabbing a cloak and full satchel. He threw both into Jherogs arms and nodded. “You’ve enough there for several days,” he explained. “I made sure of it.” He pulled Jherog by the arm toward the exit and pushed the door open. It was a dark night and few fires were lit around them. Gahllagh spun him to face him again. “I’ve instructed the Riggans to look the other way should they see you. So, stick to the east and you should be able to make a getaway.”
“Gahllagh…”
“It’s ok,” Gahllagh nodded and smiled. “I’ve got her.” Jherog nodded, speechless, and then followed Gahllagh’s movements away from the wagon. He pointed down the way and Jherog nodded again, still unable to find words. How could he simply walk away? He felt tears well in his eyes and Gahllagh looked at him with deep sympathy though he had no way of knowing how severe the heartbreak was, or how badly it hurt. Gahllagh nodded and Jherog nodded back, urging him to go. Jherog turned his back to him and took one step. He couldn’t describe the feeling of how elation, fear, and desperate loss overcame him. He swallowed back tears and took deep breaths as he continued forward. Just keep moving forward, he told himself.
Within the hour or so, he reached the edge of Devra’s army and sighed in relief. He would no longer need to look over his shoulder, or any part of him, before he made a step. The sky was still black, the moon almost completely hidden due to the imminent arrival of the Time of No Shadows. He turned and looked at the ever reaching field of tents and creatures sleeping, awaiting the dawn to continue moving forward on Devra’s command. The sight blew his mind. How had all of this happened without his knowledge? What was the truth? Was she truly meant to bring the light? Or was it all a part of her ruse, her madness? He sighed and took a mental picture of it all, knowing it would be the last time he’d see it. Suddenly, the hair on his arms and neck stood at attention. He quieted his breath to listen, and could hear voices yelling, not too far off. Worried it was a search party for him, he quickly turned and ran into the Forest of Farelle. Surely, it would be safer in there, he told himself.
The forest had indeed provided refuge and respite. Jherog wandered and found things to eat and places to sleep by himself, at peace. The spell of freedom was such a welcome change from the last long stint of being a prisoner in his own makeshift home. By the third day, he found a pep in his step he hadn’t felt in ages. He felt such excitement when he came across a small pond. He could finally bathe, as long as the water wasn’t too cold. He approached the pond's edge, not caring whether his boots got wet and knelt down to feel the water. It was warm. He smiled, excited. He hadn’t swum in a very long time. He used to love it. He’d forgotten how freeing it was to feel the water against your naked skin. He stared at it and as the water calmed, he stood and something caught his attention. Out of the corner of his eye he saw something in the water he’d never seen before. It looked strange and the hairs on the back of his neck stood up, warning him that he could be in danger. He froze on the spot, as though doing so would somehow make him less visible, but whatever was in the water seemed to freeze too. He was afraid to really look at it, but took a deep breath and finally did so. Staring back at him from the water was a strange looking creature with dark red skin and white scars. It looked as though it had been burned under a thousand suns. In some patches, it almost looked purple. Somehow he found the courage to move closer and that’s when he realized there was no strange creature, he was seeing his own reflection. His eyes widened as he looked closer to see white lines scattered all over his face. It looked as though the roots of a tree were growing under his skin. He brought his hand to feel the white lines and they felt hard. Rigid. Devra must have done this, he realized. He quickly lifted his sleeves to reveal more deeply coloured skin with white lines. When had this happened? Why? His heart began beating faster as panic began to rise within him. He could feel his mind racing, his heart pounding, and his breath becoming labored. It felt as though he would never be free of her. Quickly, he took off all of his clothes and began examining himself. Not one inch of him looked as it had before. He brought his hand to his hip, the one Devra had damaged in her attack. The red and purple was so deep and dark, it almost looked black. And it appeared as though all of the white lines began and were spreading from there.
“No!” He half yelled and ran into the water. Without thinking, he began rubbing the lines, hoping against hope that somehow he could wash them off. But of course, he couldn’t. He felt the pond floor for something, anything he could use. He tried a rock, to no avail. Then he tried some green leaves he pulled, but to no avail. He finally stopped and tears filled his eyes. He’d forever be marked, he realized. He would truly never be rid of her. He took a deep breath and shook his head.
I’m not going to let her have any more power over me, he told himself. He took a deep breath, pushed the tears back in and submersed himself under the water. He brought himself back to the surface and a slowed himself to float, keeping his eyes closed. She may have marked him, he noted, but she was no longer near enough to torture him. And for that he was grateful.
The Time of No Shadows arrived and Jherog was relieved to have reached Efevra. He’d never seen the city before and wished he had time to revel in its beauty. He had to find a place to stay and make a final decision on his next course of action. Was he going to warn the High Counsel about Devra? Could he really betray her? Of course, a large part of him wanted to. He didn’t want to be a part of whatever destruction Devra had planned. Even though she claimed to want to save everyone, Jherog knew her madness was too great, too deep, and there was no possible way she could bring good to anyone, anywhere. But did he have it in him to betray her, to turn the world against her? Would the counsel be willing and able to help her? Or would they simply kill her? He wasn’t sure and so it kept him from taking action. He needed time to think. And he needed a full stomach to be able to do so impartially. He moved quietly down the peaceful Main Street, keeping an eye out for things, though he wasn’t sure what. Despite the late hour, there were a number of bodies, horses, and carts walking in different directions. No one seemed to pay any attention to him and he thought that just fine. Up ahead, he could still see two figures walking together. One tall and the other petite. The tall figure had its hood pulled up, so Jherog couldn’t see any details, but he knew who or whatever it was, it was male. The shoulders were broad, and its steps wide and with purpose. The petite figure was walking somewhat quickly to keep up, as though its short legs had to work double time to do so. There was a gracefulness to the way it walked and so Jherog surmised it was likely female. He simply wasn’t close enough to be able to tell if they were Goridian or not. But the petite one's hood was down and it looked like the whitest hair Jherog had ever seen. It almost seemed to glow in the darkness around them, almost as though a lit beacon for others to follow. But that didn’t make any sense. Jherog quickened his step to get closer, but the two were walking in silence. He moved to the other side of the street and walked alongside them, so he could look over and see their faces. Something was pulling him towards them, as though he knew them or something. Trying to make it look casual, he glanced over and knew immediately he didn’t know these individuals. And clearly, they weren’t Goridian. The white haired individual was a young girl. She’d probably only seen fifteen or so ages, he surmised. There was something strange about her though. Her eyes were open, but they weren’t looking in front of her, at least, not like one would normally. Her eyes seemed to be fixed on something somewhere in the sky, but not really looking. Perhaps she was unable to see, Jherog realized. He followed and watched them for a while, but they never spoke or diverted from their path. Something within him told him he should know the youngling, perhaps even the older one, but he couldn’t place them. Some time later, he watched as they approached the citadel. Did they work for the high counsel, he wondered. Perhaps he was meant to warn them about Devra? He was about to step closer when he saw the youngling speaking with a guard. The guard waved her away however, so clearly, she wasn’t important or any sort of official. She seemed to hesitate and then turn back to the guard. After a very quick few words, the guard began leading them into the citadel. Jherog watched, confused, feeling conflicted in wanting to yell out to them, and simply move on. As they disappeared into the Citadel gates, he sighed and finally turned back. He needed to find an inn.
The tavern wasn’t full, but it wasn’t empty either. A number of individuals sat at tables talking amongst themselves. There was a somber mood, unlike any Jherog had seen or felt in a tavern before. He kept his hood up, for fear of being seen and causing alarm. He had no way of knowing how anyone would react to his appearance. He sat at a small table in a corner, his back to the wall so he could see out over the entire room. The barkeep approached him and he ordered a bowl of stew, warm bread, and a cold ale. He hadn’t had such a meal in a very long time and was looking forward to it. As someone placed it in front of him, a couple of Efevrans sat nearby, speaking quite loudly.
“At least the army has been pulled back…” one of them said.
“It could take many moons to get here,” the other emphasized. “Do you know how long it takes an army to travel?” He laughed and then motioned to the barkeep for two drinks. “It would likely be best for us to get out of Efevra, and soon.”
“But where would we go? Into the borderlands?” His voice went up an octave to show his disbelief. They both nodded as the barkeep set their drinks down on the table in front of them.
“That would be an adventure,” the other one laughed. They both took large sips of their drinks.
“Or perhaps we could build immense ships and live out on the water…”
“And simply give our land over to the Goridians and Riggans, as though they earned or have a right to it?”
“I was only joking. What do you suggest then? We invade the Isle of Gigans?” They both laughed, but it was empty and held a tinge of nervous energy behind it. They continued drinking in silence for a moment.
“I don’t want to fight in a war,” the second and smaller one suddenly blurted. “I’ve never fought beyond the walls and alleys of this inn,” he joked and they both gave energy-less sighs.
“Hopefully it won’t come to that,” the other tried to assure him. “I’ve heard whispers of some sort of plan the High Counsel have.”
“The High Counsel? When have they ever done anything to help anyone else but themselves?” The other one nodded.
“I hear you. But living in times of peace as we have for so long, we all lost our way. War. War can bring us together. Unite us as one. I’d like to think the High Counsel will lead us to that.”
“Well, you’ve more faith in them than I,” he sighed and took another large sip from their drink. “What do the whispers say?” The larger one looked around, as though wanting to ensure no one could hear them. For some reason, he glanced right over Jherog, as though he weren’t there.
“Deagle is a guard over at the citadel,” he began, his voice in a loud whisper. “He’s told me that the High Counsel has some sort of secret weapon. Came from some sort of prophecy or something from the Nano.”
“The Nano?” The other asked and he nodded.
“I don’t really understand what he was saying, was even using words I didn’t recognize. But he definitely said they have a secret weapon.”
“What? What is it?” They moved in closer to one another and Jherog struggled to hear them. When they parted, the smaller one looked at the other, very confused. “A what?”
“I don’t know! That’s what he called it. Verind…Parrot…”
“A parrot? Isn’t that some sort of bird? How is a bird supposed…”
“Shut it! Let me think.” They sat in silence as the larger one whispered words to himself. “Very… Variant…ugh. What was it?… profess…profend…
“You sound like an idiot, Ezora.” The larger one ignored him as the other ordered two more drinks.
“Venera Profera!” He yelled and then caught himself but Jherog’s heart stopped. He’d heard those words before. “That was it!” He quieted. The two continued chatting but Jherog stopped listening. Where had he heard those words before? He searched his mind and it took a little bit, but he remembered - the Gigan prisoner, the one that had helped him. They had used those words to say it was what Devra was not. It had confused him at the time and he’d wanted to ask about it, but hadn’t had time. The Efevran had said the High Counsel had the Venera Profera as a secret weapon. Were they waiting for Devra to arrive and help them fight the war? That didn’t make any sense. As far as Jherog knew, it was Devra who’d started the war. Before he could think, Jherog stood and walked over to the two strangers. He looked directly at the one called Ezora.
“What do you know of Venera Profera?” He asked. The two looked up at him and shock quickly registered on their faces.
“What the… what are you supposed to be?” Ezora looked confused and a little startled. The smaller one examined him closely.
“I’ve never seen the likes of you,” he admitted. “What are you? Riggan?”
“Venera Profera!” Jherog repeated more forcefully. “What is it?” He leaned closer into Ezora, staring him down from standing over him. Ezora shriveled back into his seat, a look of anger spread across his face, though his eyes gave away his inherent fear.
“I don’t know! Something about bringing the light, using it against the forces of darkness!” The smaller one looked at him.
“Is that really what Deagle said? It sounds like something out of a story.” Ezora turned to him and once again they began conversing as though Jherog weren’t there. It was just as well. Jherog didn’t feel he had time to talk with them anymore. He needed to clear his head and try to make sense of everything. He quickly threw coins at his seat, enough to cover his drink and meal.
The next two nights were torture. Despite his best efforts, his dreams were consumed with Devra. Images of their lying together mixed in with images and memories of her torturing him. He was worried he would never again get a good night's rest. He needed to make a decision on what action to take next. Seek out the High Counsel? Or return to Devra.
He spent the next two days tossing and turning all of his experiences, thoughts, feelings, and possibilities in his head. There was no way Devra could be in collusion with the High Counsel, he surmised. He would have known it. But then why was she telling everyone she would bring the light? Why did the Riggans believe her to be some sort of savior? And how had the prisoner Gigan known about Venera Profera, and that it was most certainly not Devra? How was it all connected? His brain started to hurt, and his fatigue wasn’t helping. He walked in circles around the city, processing thoughts but finding it near impossible to make the necessary connections for everything to make sense. Before he knew it, the sun had fallen behind the mountains and darkness surrounded him. He hadn’t even noticed the city going in for the night.
The city was eerily quiet. The pain from his hip was growing stronger as the day grew longer. His limp was a testament to the torment he’d endured under Devra’s malevolent rule. His mind continued wrestling with conflicting loyalties, torn between the ties of fatherhood and the shackles of a twisted love affair.
As he sought refuge and rest beneath a flickering torchlight, a whisper of footsteps caught his attention. His heart quickened when he stopped to listen, to try and discern from where they came. A sudden humming seemed to fill the air. Slowly, he removed his hood,as though to remove any hindrance from the sound to reach his ears. The humming sounded once more, and something within him felt warm. Most of the fear subsided.
His heart quickened when he saw a figure approaching - a small figure, moving very slowly. Once the light finally reached it, his heart warmed at the sight of the radiant white hair glowing. Though fear still gripped him, a glimmer of hope softened his guard. She walked toward him, a beacon in the darkness.
The fragile peace shattered as a resonant echo sliced through the quietude. The fletching of an arrow whispered in the shadows as it cut through the air, a ghostly murmur in the night.
The arrowhead, driven by unseen force, cleaved the darkness with a subtle hiss, a fleeting whisper of its deadly trajectory. The velocity of its flight generated a faint, rushing sound, a fleeting whoosh that betrayed the lethal intent hurtling through the night. Jherog’s eyes darted in every direction, his entire body gripped with fear. But even more so, he desperately hoped the arrow wasn’t meant for the girl.
As the arrow sought its mark, the ambient sounds of the surroundings seemed to momentarily hush, as if nature itself held its breath in anticipation. Jherog heard the impact before he felt it. When it came, it was a muted thud, a collision of metal against flesh, followed by a haunting aftermath of echoes that lingered in the obscurity of the night. The abrupt disruption, like a discordant note in a symphony of quietude, left an indelible mark on the still canvas of the darkness. The pain radiating through his disfigured body, he collapsed, watching after the girl, refusing to give into the pain and the darkness until he knew she’d be safe. He watched in disbelief and relief as the brute strength of a large man intervened, taking her in his arms and removing her from harm. Darkness closed in as he lost consciousness, torn between the guilt of betrayal and the lingering hope that redemption might yet find him.
Ⓒ November 2023. Beki Lantos. All Rights Reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced, or transmitted in any form by any means without prior written permission of the author.