5

 

The Trap

 

Aaron and his companions ventured into the miserable swamp, as the sun peered through a shroud of heavy vapor, brown and dismal. He stepped ahead, fixing his eyes to the south as he navigated through the maze of bogs and streams that trickled through the land. Carefully selecting his footing, Aaron did not want to be stuck in a sinkhole or have his feet sucked into some cleverly disguised quagmire. Braden followed close behind, and Lorik last. It wasn’t long before the stout sergeant was grumbling under his breath about their decision to press through the marshes of the vast, vile area. All around them massive swirls of reeking pools hindered their progress. The air was filled with a noxious stench bubbling from beneath the water.

At the outset the passage through the wasteland was difficult, hindered by the many pools covered over with thin sheets of moss and debris. Aaron stepped onto what he thought was dry land when the ground beneath his feet suddenly sloshed under his weight, and he toppled over in a heap. Braden lunged forward and grabbed the captain’s belt just before he plunged head-first into the pool.

Several hours into their journey, Aaron hated that they were often blocked by the trickery of the region and needed to backtrack to find a more secure path. Occasionally, they would find small islands of solid earth with stunted trees and other unsightly foliage growing upon the hump. All around the region the vegetation was brown or black, filling the air with the reek of its decay. Dalyn’s warning rang clearly in their ears; nothing in the waste was fit to eat.

Upon one of these small islands Aaron stopped for a much-needed rest. The day’s travel wore him to almost despair, his feet were soaked and his clothes hung heavy with the foul smelling water of the Waste. He was cold and tired and dragged himself with slumped shoulders up to the solitary dry patch of earth. His companions did the same.

Lorik discovered a flint stone with a striker in his satchel, but all the moisture in the region prevented him from sparking anything into flame. “It’s no use!” Lorik threw up his hands as he exhaled a frustrated sigh. He put the flint and stone back into his bag and sat upon the ground with the other two.

Braden opened his pack and distributed several items of fresh fruit and bread, along with a skin of water. Aaron took the proffered items with gratitude. His eyes glazed over with despair as he gazed out over the horizon, chewing on the meager meal. The sun hung low in the west, dropping past the Shadow Mountains to shower the world in a brilliant display of orange and red.

Looking south, the captain glared as he gazed upon the Waste. “I wish we could cross this… this Waste… without having to double back so often.”

“These pools and bogs are far too dangerous,” Lorik said. “I think it better that we keep our feet on solid ground as much as possible rather than risk being swallowed up by this place.”

“One thing is certain,” Braden said, “if there is anyone trying to follow us, they would be hard pressed to do it here.”

“Let’s hope you’re right,” Lorik remarked. The sergeant turned to Aaron. “Captain, do you think that there will be anyone in pursuit?”

“No,” Aaron replied. “But I fear that we might find opposition waiting for us on the other side.”

“Do we keep going tonight?” Braden asked, hesitantly.

“No,” Aaron answered quickly. “It is far too dangerous to wander these pools and bogs at night. We would be more likely to fall into some quagmire and not find our way out. We’ll make camp here; the ground is solid, and we need the rest.”

The last, pale light of the day drifted out of sight to the west, leaving them to the damp, cold evening. As stifling as it was during the day, the night’s frigid conditions gave no comfort to the shivering companions. Aaron decided against posting a watch, knowing there was nothing living in the Waste to trouble them. Huddled together, they gave themselves over to a shivering, fitful night.

Several times Aaron woke up, as all three companions huddled close together to stave off the cold. Braden would occasionally mumble something, restless in his dreaming. The night passed in eerie silence, not even a breeze to carry a gentle sound to the ears of the three wanderers. No life could be heard; not even the chirp of crickets or the buzz of passing insects would break the unnatural stillness of the region.

Lorik woke and looked over to Aaron. “Of all the places that we could have come,” he said, “this is the one place I never would have imagined.”

“You and me both,” Aaron said as he leaned back on his hands.

“You know,” Lorik said, “when I was a young boy living in the north, I was terrified by stories of this place.”

Aaron smiled briefly. “I’m sure they told you those things to keep you out of here. Could you imagine what would happen to a child lost in this place? They wouldn’t stand a chance.”

“I just wonder,” Lorik stretched and pulled his cloak tighter around him, “after all we’ve been through, if those stories might have been true.”

“At this point, Sergeant,” Aaron said, “I think I’d believe those childhood stories before I’d believe anything else.” He offered a slight smile and lay back down again with his hands behind his head. “Why don’t you try and get some rest.” Pulling his cloak tightly around his body, he hunkered down, hoping to sleep again.

Aaron woke with a start, brought back to consciousness by unsettling dreams plaguing him through the night. All around he could see nothing but the dark, bleak moors of the Waste. Far to the east a dim, faint glow began to grow over the horizon. He would welcome the first light of dawn, the only sense of renewal and hope that he could find in the miserable location.

Next to him huddled in their cloaks, Lorik and Braden slept, their heavy breathing the only sound that he heard. He wondered at the circumstances that brought the three of them to such a desolate location. Nothing in all his past prepared him for the situation that engulfed his life. He knew that his military service was over and that he would be declared an enemy of the emperor. Lorik would as well, and both become hunted men.

“Captain?” A familiar voice spoke behind him. Aaron turned to see his sergeant sitting up, reaching his arms toward the sky to stretch the cold, aching stiffness from his joints.

“Yes, Sergeant?” Aaron replied.

“You seem to be troubled by something, sir.” Lorik spoke with deep concern.

“No,” Aaron said, though his tone belied his true attitude. “I was just thinking about all that has happened between the time we were in North Village and now.” He paused, and then looked directly at Lorik. “Do you regret falling in with me after all that has happened?”

“Regret? No sir, I don’t regret this.” His sincerity was clear as he spoke. “We’ve known each other for some time and have been through many things together, long before this current dilemma. You’re my captain, and I am with you to whatever end.” Lorik paused as he thought. “Since we’ve pursued this book, many things have proved to me that the world is not as it seems. There are hidden things that must be discovered and no amount of trouble would keep me from seeking the truth. I am as curious as you to find out if all we’ve been taught as reality is merely deception.”

“Let’s hope our determined curiosity will sustain us in this place,” Aaron commented as he looked out over the vast wasteland before them.

Dawn broke over the eastern horizon as they talked. Far in the distance the silhouette of Mount Sonna stood in massive form. To Aaron it seemed that it was much larger than it appeared the day before. To the west, the Shadow Mountains were just coming into the light of the morning sun, and only the tips could be seen, their white peaks reflecting the brilliance of the day’s first light.

Lorik stood, stretching his legs and arms, and looked around in each direction “Sir, something’s happened. The scenery is different.” The sergeant paused. “Have we moved in the night? The Shadow Mountains look like they’ve drifted farther west. And Mount Sonna is much closer than before.”

Aaron looked around. The mound upon which he sat was the same; the surrounding landscape appeared no different. But, somehow in the light of the morning he felt as if they were no longer in the same location as the day before. “You might be right,” he admitted with some consternation.

Braden, wakened by the conversation of the other two, sat up, slowly looking around. “Are we adrift?” Braden asked, yawning and stretching.

“What do you mean?” Lorik asked.

“Our little mound of earth seems to be afloat in this wicked place,” Braden said.

“That’s impossible,” Lorik said. “We walked here on solid ground.”

However, it was apparent they were indeed adrift with water swirling around their small hillock. Looking out over the terrain, the entire landscape transformed sometime during the night and their hill was now an island floating in a swirling, massive lake. No longer a landscape of eddies and pools, the entire region was covered in water, with small mounds adrift in the currents.

“Dalyn cautioned us that this place was a region of traps,” Aaron commented. “The question is where are we going?”

“Well, it seems that our general direction is southeast, perhaps toward the center of the Waste,” Braden said.

“At least that’s helpful.” Lorik didn’t convey any confidence in his tone. He turned to Aaron. “Captain, what do you suggest? Do we try and navigate the currents or just drift along with them?”

Aaron thought for a moment. “We drift,” he said. “I don’t see any other possibility, and it would appear that the current is taking us in the direction we wanted to travel anyhow. If this continues and our little island keeps floating, I don’t see as we have any choice in the matter. Besides, trying to swim in this septic water would be hazardous beyond belief.” The other two nodded their agreement.

The sun broke over the horizon, its brilliance illuminating the terrain. The day, in any other part of the world would have been delightful as the radiant streams of light filtered through the pale blue sky. However, Aaron found that drifting in the rank, festering pool of swirling water was a tedious task.

By midday, the sun shone high overhead, and though it was just beyond the trailing edge of winter, the stagnant air was exceptionally warm. Steam rose from the water as the sun shone on the surface of the earth. With the steam, the stench of decaying vegetation filled the air.

Without warning, their land-barge came to an abrupt stop. Aaron stumbled as their small island struck some unknown barrier beneath the surface. He looked around the edges, careful not to touch the water, and saw nothing that would indicate the nature of the obstruction. Aaron scratched his head in perplexity at their situation.

Braden cut a long branch from a bush on the peak of their earthen raft and used it in an attempt to push against the bottom of the pool. “Captain!” He shouted.

Aaron went to the back, where Braden stood. “Yes, what is it?” His voice hinted at his frustration.

“Captain, I think I have found the reason for the sudden stop… we’ve run aground.” Braden sounded just as frustrated as Aaron felt as he pointed out the depth of the water.

Aaron sighed, not knowing what to do, when Lorik called to him from the front of their little land mass. Aaron walked over the peak of the mound and saw Lorik staring out over the landscape. “Captain, you’ve got to see this!”

Aaron assessed the scene, unsure of what the sergeant was referring to, until the ripples slowed and tiny dots of land started emerging from below the surface. The water, for no apparent reason, was receding and brought their voyage to an unexpected halt. Within thirty minutes, the lake had so significantly decreased that they could walk again on dry ground, avoiding the small pools that remained.

“Well,” Aaron remarked, “what do we do now?”

Lorik examined the landscape. “I’ve not seen anything like it!” he exclaimed. “Do we try and continue on foot? Or will we be trapped on some spit of land that won’t float?”

“Your guess is as good as mine,” Aaron said. “I think I would rather take my chances on foot, though. I don’t like the idea that we simply drift and subject ourselves to the whims of the currents.”

“What of the warning from Dalyn?” Braden questioned. “Did he not say that this place is full of traps? Maybe we must stay aboard our land-raft in order to safely cross the Waste. It could be that we just got lucky to happen upon this floating platform and that the Waste normally swallows up those who stay too long.”

Aaron took in the entire situation. For all his experience, he couldn’t begin to fathom a solution for their dilemma. Stay or go—those were the only two choices but which one would prove to be right? Lorik and Braden peered at him with anxiousness in their eyes, waiting for their captain to make the final decision. Aaron was loathe to stay, dreading the idea of just passing time with no purpose other than to hope the waters will rise again and drift them casually to their destination. But leaving invited the possibility of disaster as the three of them could find themselves trapped by the rising waters.

Ultimately, Aaron’s need to act overrode his concern for what might come. “We go south,” he said, hoisting his pack onto his shoulders, and gazing at the terrain ahead. Lorik shrugged his shoulders and Braden, reluctantly, heaved his pack onto his back as both men followed the captain.

Their journey was no different than when they first set out. Often they found their passage blocked by pools of stagnant water, forcing them to backtrack and find more sure footing. They had drifted several miles into the Waste during the night, and were far closer to the center of the region than they first realized. They walked for hours as the warm sun shone through the brown, hazy mist that hung over the entire expanse. Vapors continually wafted up from the reeking pools, making the air dense with the noxious fumes. Braden and Lorik both looked weary and were relieved when Aaron called for a halt to their laborious march.

They took the opportunity to open some of the wrapped items that Dalyn had placed in the captain’s bag. Carefully stored in thin but strong cloth, were several large, flat leaves, looking as if they had come from an oak tree but thicker, with hardy stems. They were brilliantly green, easily reflecting the sunlight. Silver veins, like threads of the precious metal, ran like miniature streams from the main stem to the tips. Beneath the leaves, Aaron found an assortment of items useful to any traveler: a flint and striker, several bundles of dried fruit, bread, cheeses and a large flask of water.

Standing and stretching his tired, weary muscles, Aaron hoisted his pack and started south. The sun began its descent toward the western horizon, but still offered its warm, penetrating glow to the travelers. Braden and Lorik picked up their packs and followed the captain deeper into the Waste. Far in the distance, several miles ahead of them, a large mound rose up like a monolith compared to the small, undulating hills that dotted the landscape. From where they stood, the three companions noticed the shape of an ancient castle perched atop the hill.

Aaron pressed on, eager to reach higher ground and escape the constant rebuke of the myriad of pools and streams hindering their progress. As they traveled, he noticed that the ground slowly ascended and the way became easier. The pools of water receded and more grasses and stunted shrubs grew. They found better footing as they continued southward, and appreciated not having to backtrack to navigate the terrain. Even the air cleared of the vaporous fumes, and the stench of the pools dissipated.

“Captain, I’m glad you decided to continue on,” Lorik said. “If we had stayed on that floating island, I doubt that it would have brought us this far.”

Aaron, however, was not as ready to rejoice. He kept a steady eye on the castle looming larger and more ominous with each step. The hill upon which it stood posed a far greater challenge than he had originally thought. The walls of the cliffs were formidable and only a narrow access road appeared to meander up to the plateau. It stretched for miles across the horizon, and to go around it would take far longer than simply climbing over the top. But Aaron was wary of the castle. He dismissed it as his own imagination, but seemed certain that their passage was being forced toward the ancient citadel. He began to feel like the entire landscape was set to corral them like cattle into a pen.

“I don’t trust this,” Aaron said, whispering under his breath.

“What do you mean, Captain?” Braden asked.

“This area. It seems as if it is forcing us toward the rise and the castle perched there. When we keep our feet moving toward it we find the passage easy and the way unhindered. Yet, when we try to move in a different direction, the landscape itself seems to force our feet back toward the castle. It may be coincidence, but I find it peculiar that all other ways become too impassable when we venture west or east. Something or someone in that structure is bringing us to it.” Aaron’s tone was cautious. “Keep your eyes open and let me know if you see anything. Keep sharp… something’s not right.” Far ahead of them, several miles still to go, the castle waited in shadowed patience.

The sun rested low upon the horizon when the three companions finally stopped their arduous march in the Waste. They rested on a grassy knoll that supported a few stunted trees and thorn bushes. None of them found comfort with the brown, haggard foliage as they quickly made camp for the evening. Slowly the sun sank over the mountains, covering the world in a rich blanket of deep red and orange before fading into darkness. The warmth brought on by the day gave way to the crisp, chill air of night while overhead the clear sky was punctuated with stars beyond count.

Aaron couldn’t rest. Nightmarish dreams plagued his sleep and caused him to wake, restless and apprehensive. He was already moving about when Braden woke. Rubbing the sleep from his eyes, the dwarf rose and gathered enough wood scraps to ignite a small fire. He struck the flint once… twice and a spark leapt off the stone and ignited the pile.

The brush and wood gave off a hideous odor, like that of sulfur and burning flesh. Black, thick smoke billowed from the minuscule campfire and left an oily residue on all that it touched as it drifted along a slight breeze. Aaron and Braden stationed themselves on the opposite side of the fire, trying to stay out of the path of the putrid smoke.

“Well,” Braden grunted. “I had hoped to boil up some water for a spot of coffee and a hot meal. But I don’t want to let that smoke come near our food!” He paced around the small campfire, kicking dirt on it to extinguish the flames.

“Dalyn said there was nothing in this region possessing any good quality. Apparently that applies to things that burn as well.” Aaron let a quick smile cross his face as he watched the dwarf stomp and kick dirt upon the fire. “Come,” he continued, “let’s just have a brief, cold meal and press on toward that castle. We should reach it in less than a day if we direct our course straight toward it.”

Lorik had woke when Braden kicked dirt on the fire and sat up. He stretched and rubbed the stubble on his face. “For what reason, Captain?”

“Well,” Aaron spoke thoughtfully, “curiosity for one; for another, because all our efforts to navigate around it have proved insufficient. We are being guided there by this intolerable land, so I would rather go there directly and confront whatever it is that awaits us than be sucked in and caught off guard.”

Braden and Lorik nodded in agreement as they gathered their belongings and repacked their satchels. The night had not yet passed when they started in a direct line toward the castle, perched and waiting for them in the distance.

Fortunately the clear evening and brilliant moon gave the travelers ample light to navigate the terrain. Their journey started taking them more southwest than directly south as they were now almost in the heart of the Waste. Time meandered by as they plodded along the rough, rising landscape. With each difficult step the ascent became steeper, slowing them down and straining their already weary muscles. They ate on the move, walking and trying to expedite their travel to the large, looming castle. The sun peeked above the horizon when they arrived at the foot of the hill, on which stood the keep.

Looming above, the castle stood as an imposing fortification atop a seemingly insurmountable rise. High stone walls surrounded the entire central structure, protecting the inhabitants within. Aaron could not begin to imagine what must be on the inside. Large, square guard towers kept vigil at each corner with arrow slits evenly spaced along the parapet. An iron portcullis protected the main entrance which consisted of two large wooden doors rounded at the top and reinforced with mammoth crossbeams.

With uncounted laborious steps, the three travelers climbed the hill and finally stood at the main gate, exhausted. A chill wind blew across the summit. The hill was dotted with small, stunted trees and various other flora, none of which Braden could identify. However, in contrast to the surrounding Waste, the hill was alive with life. Birds fluttered and nested in the trees; the sound of chirping crickets and other noises filled the air as dawn caressed the land. Tall grasses surrounded the massive stone keep, making it appear that no foot had stepped on the premises for an eon.

Upon closer inspection, the gate was pitted and rotted with age. The iron bars of the portcullis showed tremendous signs of rust and decay but still barred their entrance quite effectively. The three men walked around the circumference of the stone castle, finding nothing more than what was seen at the front gate, tall grasses, overgrown shrubs and thorny vines. No other entrance presented itself, and no amount of pressing against the cold iron bars could budge the massive gate. Aaron felt a twinge of foolishness for coming to the top of the hill, except for the nagging thought that the entire region would have forced them to this place anyway.

“Captain,” said Braden, “this looks like as good a place to make camp as any. We are two days into the Waste and have at least three days left to cross the southern portion.”

“Of course, you’re right,” he said. “We all could use a day’s rest. Set a camp and build a fire. I don’t think that we will be troubled by the fumes of the wood that is located here. It seems that this tall mound has been spared, at least in part, from the ravages of the Waste below us.”

Braden did as he was instructed, and the wood lit with no difficulty and burned without excessive plumes of smoke. The crackling fire was a comforting reprieve from the distasteful experience of the Waste below them. From their vantage point on the hill, they could look down upon the entire expanse. The sight was deceptive. As far as the eye could see the shimmering pools reflected the rising sunlight and glistened in the cool morning air. The gentle breeze which blew along the heights gave a sense of a serene, almost tranquil environment possessing a deep beauty and peaceful atmosphere.

“I wonder what this place must have been like before the cataclysm,” Braden asked. “I imagine it was a wondrous sight to behold, this valley surrounding us.”

“What do you mean?” questioned Lorik. “This wasted land has always been this way.”

“No, friend,” rebutted the dwarf. “At one time this area was supposed to be the most flourishing valley that the world had seen. It was said that the elves lived here, cultivating the region with their powers and filling it with light. Streams would flow freely through groves of forests and fertile fields and all manner of life found their home in the valley. In fact, I had heard when I was young, that the Great King actually first planted one of the Terapan trees in this very place.” Braden paused. “Could you just imagine all that this valley could have produced in the days of peace?”

“As fertile as it might have been, it is that lifeless now,” Lorik observed. “And I have a hard time believing that such a place of death ever produced anything living.” He pointed at the valley below. “Those shimmering pools are merely a reminder that we are on an island in a sea of swirling decay.”

While Braden and Lorik passed the day in friendly conversation, Aaron spent the time wandering around the hill. He navigated the entire perimeter of the castle, only to discover nothing of great significance. It was a grey, dismal keep with little to recommend it to his thoughts. Day transformed into dusk as the sun sank in silent procession. Long tendrils of orange and purple light streamed across the sky, finally giving way to the starlit night and the rising, pale moon.

Aaron stepped back to the edge of the hill and watched as the shimmering water began to increase its reflection of the brilliant moon, so much so that it seemed to transform into a large lake, with small islands dotting the surface.

“Braden, Lorik, come take a look at this.” Aaron said.

The waters of the Waste glistened and shimmered with such iridescence that he was certain it possessed an illumination of its own. Occasionally a thin streak of light swirled far below them, twisting and flowing along some unseen current. It would disappear, and then another would take its place. Pattern after pattern would move in the distance like ghostly ribbons in a rhythmic dance, continually spinning in the eddying currents of the vast watercourse of the Waste.

Braden came up to them, looking down at the twisting lights. “What do you make of it, Captain?”

“I don’t know,” Aaron replied. He was amazed, even spellbound by the swirling lights. The longer he watched, the more they seemed to shimmer and dance. “It must be some trick of the moon reflecting off the water below.” He didn’t know if he even believed that, but he couldn’t grasp a better explanation.

The three men returned to their camp and sat down on some large rocks. The fire provided some comfort but did not take the edge off the chill air that blew across the heights. Aaron nestled into his cloak while Lorik sat closer to the fire. Braden, however, seemed less affected by the cold breeze and was content to sharpen his axe, humming a tune low under his breath.

Aaron thought about the dwarf and realized that, for his limited experience, he didn’t know much about Braden’s people. He looked at his bearded companion, watching him work a whetstone on the blade. “Braden,” Aaron said, “tell me about the dwarves. I know that you are fierce warriors but I don’t know much else.”

“How far back do you want me to go? Dwarf children are taught the stories from the time of awareness until they become adults.”

Lorik interjected. “The time of awareness? What is that?”

“It is the time when a dwarf child grows enough to be able to speak and read. At that time, they are said to be able to understand the stories and history of their ancestry. We enlist them in the education programs and begin teaching them about their past and preparing them to become productive members of the community.” Braden was pleased to be able to share, and relished the opportunity.

“Where did your people come from? How did you develop into such a society?” Aaron asked.

“Where we came from is where everyone comes from… from the hand of the Creator.” Braden’s tone was one of perplexity as if Aaron should know that. “As far as how we became the people you’ve seen, well that’s a long story.” He paused and positioned himself to be more comfortable.

“Many centuries ago,” Braden began, “long before you or I walked this earth, my people were little more than cave-dwelling tribes, nomadic and unsettled. We filled the mountain regions of the world and found that we had a skill to work stone and earth. So, to accommodate our needs, my ancestors built caves and tunnels to shelter in and eventually formed small groups, or clans, in order to better protect ourselves. Those clans, however, became warlike, aggressive and difficult to maintain order. It is said that our history was one of great violence as factions fought against each other for supremacy and control of the mountains.

“No one knows how long ago these wars were destroying our people. But, during those days, a stranger came into our land. He was no dwarf and he possessed great power, but he used that power to help us. He spoke of how our aggressive, warlike nature was not our hindrance but our strength, if we had the courage to use our strength for the benefit of all the land of Celedon. He went from clan to clan teaching and leading them to an understanding of brotherhood and friendship, eventually uniting all the clans and forming the great dwarf alliance that still stands today.

“The stories go that he stayed with the dwarves for a generation, teaching and preparing us to become involved with the world outside the mountains. After a generation, we finally discovered that the stranger who came to us was, in fact, the King of Celedon. For the care and courage he possessed and the compassion that he showed, our leaders vowed that the dwarf alliance should have no other king but him. That vow has lasted to this day.

“Anyway, he appointed regents to oversee the alliance and then named Lord Brekken as high regent over the dwarves. Until the Great War which divided the nation and sent all those loyal to the king into hiding, the dwarves enjoyed wonderful relations with the world beyond our borders. Lord Brekken was given a seat at the king’s table, along with the representatives of all the races of Celedon. Lord Brekken stood with the king, and was at his side until the very end. For two hundred years the dwarves welcomed and participated with the world at large. Even after the Cataclysm, Lord Brekken entreated the elves to stand with him against the usurper, wanting to war against those who abandoned the king. They did, but with the king gone, they were unable to overcome the might of the usurper, and Lord Brekken was killed in the battle.

“After that, the next high regent was selected, and we have maintained our realm in hiding. Only a few of your race have ever ventured into our land, and only those who hold to the ancient teachings of the king are welcomed. Now we wait for the time of restoration, when it is said that the king would return and bring back the peace of Celedon and reunite the races of the world.” Braden finished and seemed pleased at Aaron’s interest in his lecture.

“So why, then, do dwarves have such a hatred for the race of men?” Lorik spoke up.

“Because,” Braden said, “it was the race of men who accepted the deception of the usurper. It was men, in alliance with such evil creatures as the trolls, which overthrew the king and destroyed the world. It was men who chose war and suffering over the peace and harmony that was brought to us by the king. And it is men, still, who keep us in hiding.” His passionate response struck Aaron to the heart.

“You must understand,” Aaron said, trying to maintain a calm disposition, “that you’re speaking of things that we know nothing of. What you’re talking about happened a millennia ago, and all the evidence of it being true is just coming to light for Lorik and I.” After a thoughtful pause, he continued. “The thought of my country finding peace within itself, not to mention with the surrounding world, is a fantastic dream. I would welcome the day that we see the border wars end and the entire nation united in mutual agreement.”

“What I know,” Braden continued, “is that there will be no peace in Celedon as long as the usurper continues to sit enthroned as emperor.” With that, Braden finished and began making a small space for himself in order to try and sleep. Aaron took the hint that Braden would offer no more commentary on his understanding of history, and began to arrange a sleeping place.

“Captain,” said Lorik, “do you think we need to post watch for the night?”

“I don’t think it would be necessary,” Aaron said as the weariness of the day began to overtake him. “We’re alone up on this hill and there is no possible way for anyone to have followed our movements.” His thinking, however, was more cautious than his words. “Perhaps,” he continued as he looked over toward the massive stone structure not more than fifty yards from where they camped, “it would be prudent to keep a watch.” Braden was already down, snoring in his slumber. “Lorik,” Aaron asked, “can you keep watch for the next few hours?”

“Certainly!” the sergeant replied. “I’ll wake you when I can’t continue the watch.”

“Three hours, no longer,” Aaron ordered.

“Yes, sir,” Lorik replied. Aaron wrapped his cloak tightly around his body, coveting the warmth of the garment while Lorik took a position just outside the reach of the firelight in order to have a better view of the surrounding landscape.

 

****

 

A mist settled atop the hill, rising up from the watery terrain far below. It swirled and drifted in the gentle breeze that blew across the area. Lorik watched as the misty vapor thickened into an absolute fog, heavy and dense. He stood and walked back to the place where Aaron and Braden were sleeping, unable to see them from his current vantage point. The fire was low and the two slept fitfully in the chill air. Lorik sat back down on a rock and watched as the fog thickened even more.

The dense vapor began to rise from all around them, drifting up from every side of the hill on which they camped. He was amazed how the fog possessed an iridescent nature, glowing with a faint, pale-white light that shimmered and rippled in the air. The same twisting patterns they had observed far down in the valley now seemed to swirl and take shape all around the three companions. He didn’t know what to make of it, and thought he saw in the mist the shadowy forms and shapes of people moving through the haze, made of the same substance as the fog itself. Once he drew his sword, thinking that he saw a man coming at him with a mace. Then the image vanished and melted back into the fog.

Anxious, he woke Braden and Aaron.

 

****

 

Aaron roused to shimmering lights and drifting, swirling mist. It reminded him of the scene they had observed in the dark waters of the Waste. He was curious, but not fearful of the shapes and forms that appeared then vanished before his eyes. They seemed unable to affect the surrounding landscape, not being any more substantial than the fog itself.

Then the vaporous air thickened even more, causing the three men to choke on the dense mist. They coughed and grasped at their throats, desperately trying to breathe, only to inhale more of the noxious, choking fog. Out of sight, in the direction of the large castle, the sound of grating metal and clanging chains echoed across the hillside… the portcullis raised.

Slowly Lorik, Braden, and Aaron fell to their knees, clutching their throats in futility as the air was now overwhelmed with the heavy fog. They could not escape drowning in the atmosphere that enveloped them. Each one lay on the ground gasping, losing consciousness. Braden was the first to pass out, then Lorik. Last of all Aaron succumbed. Just before he fell, he saw three shadowy forms moving toward them; then all went dark.