Lux Aeterna
by
Steven Mayo
Book I ~ The Meager
Chapter 6 ~ Portent
Seville was awakened by soft voices that seemed to heave like waves up and down. Stirring uncomfortably he felt his eyelids and pressed the film away, realizing it was still night and that he must not have dozed long, for the others were still talking. What little sleep he'd had, however, left him rested so he decided to join the others. After standing he equipped his leather vest quickly and made sure to have his daggers ready, then he picked up his empty water canteen and headed to the fire, which sometime in his nap the others had decided to move nearer the forest, almost fifty yards away in fact. No wonder the talking had been so quiet, thought Seville.
The distant walk to the campfire made him feel detached, a single entity pressed against a vast sea of night with only a single beacon to approach, and that beacon feeling miles away. Though late summer, already the trees were loosing their leaves because hundreds of leaves were soaring past, scurrying along the ground like frightened roaches. The wind had certainly picked up this night. The ground had been empty of the leaves before; Seville wondered how long he had been sleeping.
When Seville approached the campfire he found the others adorned with whatever supplies they he brought. Dr. Sylum wore his leather plate with the short sword sheathed on his belt, Edrick was dressed in his robes and had his pack to his side, closed and readied, and Herrick Gipson donned his entire armor suit, lacking only the helmet, complete with each of his weapons. Almost like the effect of a mood stone, Gipson's armor shone black in the deep nighttime as opposed to red. Sided next to each of the sitting light warriors was a water canteen.
Leaves fluttering by on invisible strings or air, Seville sat and joined them. Along with moving the fire they had built it bigger, almost four feet in diameter and at times the flames licked so high into the night that Seville could not see Edrick sitting across from him.
They talked of Chuck Domino, but it seemed Sylum had won them over while Seville slept, because they were considering strategies to deal with Domino, not violently, but cooperatively, negotiating the possibility of complete coverage, interviews, and several other exclusive privileges. Gipson especially had softened his mood towards the journalist, and made friendly jokes at the absent man's expense while seeming pleased at the ideas. Gipson said that, thinking it over, it was a wonderful idea to have a second-hand chronologist for this kind of thing. Though he had developed a following, the public knew nothing of the other three and wouldn't necessarily trust their reports, so Domino could serve as a support man. The whole thing had seemed wary at first, but he said it dawned on him that this was no trivial adventure, but the initial trial of the light warriors, and that kind of thing needs unbiased interpretation. Sylum had mentioned a few things earlier in the day about Domino not being the most unbiased of reporters, but he did not realize that argument at this moment and let the knight say his piece in Sylum's favor. Then Sylum asked to see all the orbs of light, and Gipson and Edrick responded quickly, tossing them over. It took Seville a moment longer but he still delivered. Sylum required both hands to hold them, and he held them forward in the cupped palms and spoke a long rambling soliloquy about their importance. Edrick commented on what a fine painting the stance would have made, and the others agreed. As Sylum handed back the orbs Seville noticed that Gipson's, though still absent of the dark gray gas that filled the others', pulsed with a dull purple bead in the center, a throbbing singularity of shear regal light. The color called to him like the wailing song of an angel, but the other three took no notice of it, and Gipson stuffed the orb back in the pack leaning on the log seat.
Crystalline snaps came from the fire, and they continued to talk, about everything from the days to come, to the Princess, to the festival. It was all rambling and at times Seville realized he couldn't the least remember what had been said and would try again to stay on top of the conversation, but it flowed from one topic to the next, and without goal at all, so often if sounded like the three were mumbling indistinct truisms with no substance at all. Seville felt as if their collective drive for conversation had slackened and that everyone should just get some sleep, but the others were content on the moment, oddly. Since Sylum and Edrick had not retired, Seville knew that he had not slept but for minutes, so it did seem slightly disconcerting that they would have already accomplished what they had, and so quietly, but Seville didn't think on it much, and tried to stay in the wavering conversation.
A little time passed like this, leaves wisping, fire crackling, and the three men before Seville shifting from topic to topic. Above him the few clouds felt stationary and the stars dimmed. A void behind him and a grand forest before him, Seville felt as if in a box, but for once this didn't grant him comfort, but just oddity, misunderstanding, disorientation. Suddenly Sylum spoke up and requested that Gipson fill their water canteens for the next day, better now than in the morning. Gipson obliged, shifted his tar-black armor, and took up each of them, including Seville's, now glad he had decided to bring it, and then he turned and headed into the fields off the direction they had come the day prior. Seville didn't remember a river or pond in that direction but Gipson really was the better adventurer, so he must know what he is doing. The knight seemed to dissipate into darkness as he walked away, only not into the darkness of shadow but into his own darkness. Certainly he had faded from sight long before he should have. Seville could still see the tress at that distance.
Then, Sylum said that nature was calling and asked if Edrick was coming, to which the priest said yes and stood to follow. The two men disappeared into the thickness of the trees and Seville was left sitting alone at the large fire. Seville realized that for such wind to be passing, for the leaves to be moving by so rapidly, that the trees should have been swaying much more, should have been making more noise. In fact, beyond the flicks and sizzles of the campfire, the air was silent. Not a single scratch of branch on branch or the call of a single night-bird. Seville could not think about that though, because whenever he tried his right arm suddenly began to sting.
When he tore back his shirt sleeve to reveal the accursed rot, he found that the bruise had shifted from black to purple, or rather the outlining bruise had remained black but the veins were a sharp purple color, dancing down his arm just as the blood might flow. Even as he looked at it the intensity seemed to build, the light greater and greater, and yet not reflecting on his shirt or the ground. The purple vibrancy shimmering now from his underarm was not reflected by anything, but only existed for itself. And then the lines of color did not follow his veins but moved into new jagged paths, and then moved from those, and then again. The lines were swaying upon his arm, and it was so miraculous a sight that he hardly noticed how the pain was growing. Seville was aware of nothing else. All his vision zoned in on the dancing lights upon his arm.
The lines took shape, but did not return to the shape of his veins, but instead crawled into a single line running down the center of his underarm and sided by two crests on his palms that connected at angles. An arrow. Following its path Seville looked up into the ling of trees and was suddenly overcome with a burning drive. He stood and launched into the brush, not caring that the bushes were spiked and they tore at his face.
Hundreds of trees must have grown while he was napping as the forest was impossibly dense, thickening to the point that each of his frantic steps was aimed at dodging another tree trunk. And still his progress was rapid; he maintained still almost the speed of a run but wasn't sure where he was running. After some time he began to hear the voices of Sylum and Edrick, shouting. Seville wanted to reach them, felt a dire urgency to save them, and yet he felt that hope sinking in his stomach so that it weighted him down. His legs were sore already, his right arm thumping, and still he could not find the yelling men. Next came the sounds of metal clanging. Battle.
When Seville finally burst into a small clearing where all around were trees that almost seemed to have faces, peering in with angry sneers, the sounds of metal had stopped and before him he saw Dr. Sylum bent over the body of Edrick Valance. As Seville approached, very afraid, Sylum raised his sword out of the slain Edrick and began to wipe it down on his cloak. No, not his sword, but one of Gipson's. The Werebane. Seville even now took time to note how the Edrick's blood matched perfectly with the cloak's hue, and so no stain would show. Sylum then turned to face Seville, who had stopped short and could not think of how to act. Sylum came closer, holding the blade low to his side, but still tensed and prepared. When he finally came so close to Seville that a single strike could have sent the rogue to the ground forever, Sylum stood still and let the leaves run past, swirling even between them in that little space. Seville held his mouth ajar but no sound came out. His eyes raced between the cold glimmer of Sylum's and to the corpse of Edrick lying on the ground behind. Then Sylum slotted his sword in its sheath and pulled from behind his robe two glass bottles filled with a dark brown liquid. A drink then, said Sylum, and he handed one of the bottles to Seville, who could find nothing else to do but to open the bottle and start drinking. It tasted sweet and quenched a thousand years' thirst. His entire body felt cool as it ran through him, thrilling him. The pain in his right arm swept away with a single gulp, and the torrents of wondrous love gushed through his body, with such powerful strokes it seemed he might burst. It made him laugh, a giddy girlish laugh. They stood and finished the bottles completely, not leaving a single drop at the bottom of the glass. And then Sylum looked up at Seville with an unwavering severity. His brown eyes seemed almost to reflect the red of a distant fire, and they burned intently. Seville felt like he was falling into a terrible vortex, the sounds of beating kettledrums and wailing strings suffocating him.
So is Gipson back with the water yet, Sylum asked, and he smirked.
Seville was awakened by nearby voices, and instantly looked up to see the three light warriors sitting just near him upon logs and talking over a normal campfire. They hadn't moved, and judging by things he'd been sleeping only minutes. But he was saturated with sweat, and in the night air each drop felt like a spike reaching deep into him. He couldn't stand the humid stickiness of his bedroll so he stood, stretched, and returned to the campfire, at least until the others decided to sleep as well. He tried his best to smile, but could not shake a terrible unsettled feeling in his gut. What really had woken him suddenly? For some reason when Dr. Sylum delivered his obnoxious smile and greeted Seville brightly, Seville became cold throughout. He could only nod and then sit down on his log. Sylum tried to talk to him but Seville remained uncomfortably distant. It suddenly felt like a wall of resistant energy had drawn between them, cold and untrusting.