Erdil

'Sheyå? Sheyå! Sheeeeeeeeeeyå!'

    Färin ran again, and this time something worse than death haunted him. He'd not only lost immeasurable power, in itself a fate more devastating than death, he'd also lost an innocent little girl in a huge, dangerous forest. The most horrible man in the world is what he was. The worst part of it all was that he had no idea where to look. Her tiny footsteps had reached a stream all too soon, and then there'd been no trace of where she'd gone. For Thëlon's sake, he was no tracker.

    'Sheyå!' he called again, his voice cracking with despair on the 'å'.

    The Apprentice appeared in a flash next to him, as though out of thin air, and he jerked back, startled.

    'Any luck, Färin?'

    Bloody wench. Darned witch. Cursed hag. Should've stabbed her when he had the chance. Färin glared at her with deep vehemence. Her coat edges flapped in the fresh morning breeze, accentuating her delectable curves. The stream's water whispered peacefully past them as an accompaniment to her beauty.

    'I told you to go away woman,' he snapped. Look at her, a woman of shadow—a woman of darkness. Her good looks belied her true character. Färin's glare travelled up and down her body in a derogatory fashion as he spewed with these furious thoughts.

    She removed her dark hood and smirked at him. Her cracked eyes pulsated with energy. It only affirmed Färin's previous assessment of her. Evil.

    'Are you going to keep running in circles for the rest of the day?' she said, 'Or would you like to find the girl before night falls?' Obviously she was implying that he was helpless without her, a fact he refused to acknowledge.

    He snorted, exasperated, hands on his hips, as though she had just said the most ridiculous thing in the world. His expression changed from arrogant, to desperate, to cold.

    'What have you done with her,' he said, in as venomous a voice as he could muster, an undertone of false threat in each syllable.

    The Apprentice rolled her eyes, to Färin's horror. 'I don't have her stupid man.'

    He huffed again, trying to appear full of himself, trying to be in control, and most important, trying not to seem desperate. It wasn't working.

    'Well, I... I don't believe that,' his querulous voice squeamed in that same petulant tone. 'You've done something to her. Maybe cursed her, or something of the like...' He scratched his brown mussed up hair.

    'For Thëlon's sake just tell me where she is,' he begged, his desperation breaking the surface.

    'I told you I don't have her,' she said, 'and I haven't done anything to her either.'

    The Apprentice sighed, hands folded over her perfect voluptuous chest. 'If you must know, this is the precise reason why I was sent here. Don't you recall me telling you the dark one was after her?' Her eyes widened, her irritation obvious.

    Färin hadn't been paying that much attention to the woman's crazy ramblings the night before, and now that he recalled it, this did happen to fit in with her story. He rolled his eyes anyway. She didn't need to know he believed her.

    'I don't trust you, Apprentice.' Färin narrowed his eyes. 'But, if you can lead me to Sheyå, then do so.'

    'I—'

    'Now,' he said.

    That anger he had glimpsed the night before simmered about the woman like oily hot air. 'Don't interrupt me boy.' She poked him on the chest with her finger, livid with more anger than was reasonable for the moment.

    Färin lifted his hands and took a humble step back. No use provoking the woman further. One couldn't be sure what she was capable of. His humbling stance pacified the Apprentice.

    'I have no way of finding her,' she started.

    Färin stood back, arms folded, eyes impatient, foot tapping on the forest floor, muffled by the debris, leaves, dead things, and dark sand that it was composed of. He sighed with an exaggerated puff and looked disgruntled before she had even finished her sentence.

    'BUT,' she growled, her voice pitchy and loud, her nostrils flaring. Färin cringed a slight bit.

    'But, the Mage does.'

    Lights started going on in Färin's head. His ears perked up, his eyes gleaming with new hope. 'Ahh I see.'

    'We are far from the Mage right now,' the Apprentice said, 'weeks and weeks of travel—'

    Despondency ate at his hope again. Weeks? Sheyå would be long gone by then.

    '—but don't worry, I can get us there by the end of the day.' Her eyes danced with satisfaction and... smugness? Arrogant wench.

    Should he go along with her? Would she deceive him? Had she deceived him? Feeling sceptical but willing to try anything in order to find his Sheyå, Färin lay aside the pride that warred with his love for her. Whatever the Apprentice's intentions were, going along with her was the best idea. He would either find Sheyå or expose the witch's evil plot.

    'Alright. Let's do it, then.'

    The Apprentice listed a number of items they would need to gather and sent Färin to do her bidding. He stomped off with conflicting emotions in an undetermined direction.

    Crunch, crunch, thud, crunch, his footsteps sounded.

    'Pietërfuile Leaf,' he said, 'who knows what that is!'

    Färin considered his mind an exceptional one. Because of his higher birth, he'd been given the proper nutrition and education that would result in a sharper mind, a smarter one. That's why he did not make a list of the objects or ask questions about where they could be found. He would to figure it out.

    Pietërfuile leaf, two. Kréinut, one, hollowed out. Estriche spice, two handfuls. A grove frog, preferably red. He rolled his eyes at this last strange item on the list. A frog? Really?

    Flower of the grey oak, one from the topmost reaches. Firewood, enough to fuel a big one. A grumble escaped from his lips at the last thought. He just knew he'd be drenched in sweat by the time the task was done. Great.

    Just—a little—farther. Färin strained his long fingers in a spasmodic last effort. They brushed against soft grey petals, making the flower's red stamens dance, and its anthers scatter a minute amount of pollen. He sneezed, legs wrapped around a branch that felt a bit more substantial, arm hooked over one of the tree's higher flimsy branches that bent and swayed unreliably with every little movement. He swallowed a dollop of spit, his eyes distended with tension. The situation had him poring with nervous sweat.

    Amidst the throes of his struggle to conquer the grey oak and deflower her, a high-pitched scream rang through the forest, birds scattering up out of the treetops at the sound. He could spot the commotion a mile away from this high up. Trees of varying heights and hues of green stretched out as far as he could see on every side. An ocean of leaves. He wondered who had screamed such a shrill cry. He'd thought the forest uninhabited. Panic stabbed at him. Sheyå. Was it her? Had the voice sounded young? Feminine? Darnit, why couldn't he recall?

    He scouted the horizon for further signs of movement, stretching his neck to its limits. 'Ah!' The soft twig of a branch he'd been leaning his arm on snapped.

    He flailed, desperate, lost his balance, felt his back arching backward with gravity's pull. A grey flower to his right caught his eye in the moment, one right where he could grasp it, and he flailed in a more purposeful direction, grabbing hold of the stem in the nick of time, but losing the battle against gravity.

    He could feel his knotted feet loosening from around the branch, being tugged by the sheer force of his imminent plummet. Crap. The moment that comes straight before a traumatic event, when time seems to pause allowing your life to flash before your eyes, had Färin wondering what Asrya was doing and whether she would miss him.

    His boot's heel scraped the tree with its backward momentum, his other leg shooting outwards at an odd angle. Färin felt it all, powerless to stop it. His arms found purchase on the first twigs, slapping, scratching, bursting with pain all over. He was falling head first. That wasn't a good thing. A stream of curses poured from his mouth as he twisted and turned, his body pummelled with branches, his face slapped with leaves and scratched with twigs.

    It was over. He'd managed to hit a big branch, with his stomach taking the brunt of the force. A burning throb erupted on impact and his breath was whacked out. He clenched his teeth together and focused on wrapping his arms around the branch before he fell to his death. Gravity had one last tug at him—his legs pulled on his body with their swinging into place.

    'Ha!' he said. 'I made it.' Disbelief and incredulous wonder coopled with aggravating, torturous aches. 'And the flower?' The cursed thing was still firmly in his grip. 'Thëlon's ass, that was a close one.'

    'Yes it was,' a voice said.

    Färin jerked with fright, almost losing his grip on the flower, and more importantly, on the branch. 'Is that you, Apprentice?' he called.

    'Of course,' she said, 'Who else would it be?'

    Sarcastic wench now, are we? A quick look down, and there she was. Mind you, it wasn't far to the bottom now, not far at all. If he swung his leg out, he could almost touch the Apprentice's nose with the tip of his haggard boot. The idea was tempting, but Färin gave in to courtesy and swung down in the other direction instead. She was a woman after all.

    'Oof!' The landing highlighted all his aches and added a few new ones.

    'Is that for me?' the Apprentice asked, reaching for the grey flower dangling from Färin's clutch, where he crouched in the soil. A feral growl escaped his mouth before he could stop it, and he whipped the flower away. A man couldn't be expected to hand over the prize with such ease, not after the battle he'd just had. Standing up was a good next step, now that his animal side had been exposed.

    The Apprentice eyed him, with curiosity, with disgust, with disdain, arms folded, eyebrows cocked. Yes, the disdain was plain on her face. She probably wanted the flower. Färin cursed under his breath. It was a good day for cursing.

    Standing up proved more painful than one would think. He stood up though, crunched his teeth together, scowling like an old man, groping his back where it throbbed. 'Bloody cursed tree, that,' he muttered, still aching like death.

    Her hand flicked, beckoning the flower towards her. 'Mhmm.'

    Färin shot her a dirty look but handed it over. 'Thank you, and yes I am alright. A bit achy, but I'll survive.'

    'Pfft,' she huffed. 'Pansy.'

    'The cheek,' Färin thought.

    'What was that you said?' He paused. 'Wench?'

    'Wench!' she said, 'Wench?' Sparks flew from her blazing eyes and clenched fists, her nostrils flaring again. 'Did they call you that when your mother wasn't around, Färin?'

    Wha—? How dare she.

    'No,' he said, 'it was what I called your mother, when she tangled a few sheets with me the other day.'

    The Apprentice looked livid. Good.

    Thwack!

    A blinding, stinging pain. The woman's hand on his face, that's what it'd been. It stung, bringing a tear to his eye. 'Fathers, Apprentice, what's wrong with you!' he shouted, all the humour gone.

    'I'm not the one with the issues, Färin.' Animosity seeped from each syllable.

    Färin held his tender cheek as though it was a burn victim. 'Could have fooled me, crack nut.'

    'Oof!' A knee in the groin this time. He curled up on the ground in shameful agony, squeaming like a severed worm. A breathless, tortured, severed worm, cupping his balls as if it could somehow lessen the pain. It didn't.

    The Apprentice bent one knee, her cracked eyes nearing his contorted face. 'Next time you wanna insult me, remember that kick. I'm not a wench, a toy, a whore, or a freak.' She cocked her head. 'I am an advanced apprentice of the forest Mage Kijs, deserving of respect, and powerful enough to elicit it if I so choose.' She spat in the ground, right in front of his nose. The pain made it much easier to accept an otherwise gross, offensive gesture. 'Is that clear, Färin?' He managed an aching nod.

    'Right,' she said, standing, 'We have little time before dusk, and a lot left to do.'

    Färin groaned, rolling in the muck.

    'Get up, Färin.' Her voice niggled at him, but the pain was too overwhelming for him to care.

    With a click of her tongue, she bent to pull him up, grabbing his shoulder with a strong arm. Horrendous aches revived along with her hefty tug, and a whisper of a moan escaped his parted lips. 'Oh, don't be ridiculous pansy boy,' she said, 'It's not that bad.'

    'Gngnnn,' was all he could manage, half dangling from her clutches. A moment was spent on sheer focus, Färin telling his legs to support his body, and them refusing. It didn't last long, to his relief. As soon as his feet stood firm on the ground again, his humble spark waned. He'd need to show this woman who was in charge... but not right now, now wasn't the time for it. They had to find Sheyå first.

    Fathers, but his back ached, and his balls, and his stomach. Was anything not aching? He moved his shoulders, stretched his back, rubbed his groin area one more time. Pain—an appropriate addition to this sordid day. The Apprentice had been right about the imminent danger—she was the danger.

    Dusk came early in the denser parts of the Gruwoud. A dark grey gloom enveloped them, the sun's artistic stain hidden behind millions of leaves. The luminous glow coming from the Apprentice's eyes did cast an odd colour on the fuliginous murk, though, tickling Färin's expectancy to life.

    The frog had only just sacrificed his life to their endeavour, its pussy squeak silenced with a slice. He watched the Apprentice carve its skin off and add it to the concoction brewing in the Kréinut shell. Other things he'd never seen before joined the soup, varying in shape, size, colour, and smell. the smell of it was awful, foetid, like puke brought to the boil. Färin gagged.

    'Great,' the Apprentice said, 'almost ready.' Her bloodied hands swished through the air in a strange pattern, and when he looked again, they were clean.

    She threw him a smug smile. Fathers, but she was arrogant.

    Her hands and arms moved again, elaborate, twining, oscillating. The oscillations intensified, the details of the pattern becoming exquisite, intricate. Färin's eyes hurt, or was it his brain? 'This isn't natural,' he thought. A vibration trembled to life and grew to a throbbing quake, shaking his body and their surroundings with pulsations. Somehow, the Apprentice was unaffected. The fire grew, engulfing the hotchpodge and the Kréinut, consuming both with lapping, ferocious flames. The brew sizzled to a steam, the nut reduced to coarse powder.

    The Apprentice herself coruscated. Flashes emanated from her convulsing body. Färin's grip on reality loosened. Was it his eyes causing the flashes, warbles, distortions? Or was it his mind? Could it be that the air was tearing, shaking, trembling? Nah. Not possible.

    A climactic bang sounded. Färin's ears whistled, sound disappeared, the silence screamed. What he saw went beyond anything he'd ever imagined. The light that had been pulsing faster and faster became a constant stream of white light. It was like a liquid, like hot milk, saturating everything until it all became an empty whiteness, his hands and body included.

    'Apprentice?'

    Nothing. She was gone. She'd left him in this empty space. How would he ever find himself again?

© Joy Cronjé 2015