:Chapter 2:
Martel was trying desperately to hold back the despair and the anger as she and her brother trekked through the Ymir forest.
He had lost the pendant…
The keepsake and dying wish of their grandmother, they were to keep hidden and live in the village of the elves for the rest of their lives. The magical pendant, soaked in Elves blood, to mask the scent of human blood. Their grandmother had killed a fellow elf for them, ignoring the code, ignoring her own safety, for them.
And he lost it…
The only thing keeping them from getting kicked out of the village, the only thing that stood between them and a good life in peace.
And he lost it…
He lost it!
She was so angry right now…she thought things she shouldn't have, wished for things she shouldn't have. She knew she shouldn't think such things, but it was hard not to. Wouldn't you hate your brother if he ruined you're entire life? Literally?
She looked back at him, suddenly worried that her thoughts of anger may have come true. He was straggling behind her, dragging his leather bound bag, his face turned down and his expression sullen. Her eyes softened when she saw him, and she suddenly realized that she wasn't the only one who had lost a home…She suddenly wanted to kick herself for thinking such terrible things! How selfish was that! Mithos had lost just as much as she did, and it wasn't like he did it on purpose.
She looked back at him, "You okay?" she asked.
He didn't answer.
"Mithos?"
He still didn't answer.
"Mithos…I want you to know that…I'm not angry with you…" It was a lie of course, she was still angry, even after her little revelation.
"You…aren't?" Mithos asked from behind.
"No…I know it was an accident, it wasn't you fault. I was also at fault, in a way-"
"No it's not!" Mithos suddenly cried, "It was all my fault sis! None of it was-"
"Mithos, please," she interrupted, "I am at just as much fault as you are. I should have checked and noticed that you had misplaced it, that was my mistake."
"But-"
"I'll not hear another word about it," she said. Martel turned to face him, and gave her brother a smile of sisterly understanding, "Let's just concentrate about getting out of this forest. Okay?"
"…Yeah, okay," Replied her brother.
'Good,' she thought, 'we must share the burden. Guilt is too much for him right now, and I need him to be ready to face whatever comes our way.' She felt a pang of sadness, 'we must share everything now, all we've got now is each other…'
"Let's rest here," Martel suggested.
"Okay," said Mithos.
They propped themselves up against a tree, the leaves rattled as the cool breeze flew by. They both took a deep breath as the breeze passed, it was oddly refreshing. The sky was a bright orange now, it signaled the end of noonday and the beginning of night.
"It'll be much easier traveling at night," said Mithos, "the monsters don't come out after dark."
"Why?" asked Martel
Mithos shrugged, "I don't know…but it might have something to do with Luna."
"Luna? You mean the moon spirit?"
"Yep, I asked the elder about it, and he said monsters are afraid of the moon. Don't ask why."
The elder…
Even the slightest thought about him made Mithos angry. Him and his stupid rules, he ruined their lives with his stupid rules! The one place they could call home, and now this…
He clenched his hands into a fist, it was all his fault! Why couldn't he be more like Martel? Why'd he have to lose the pendant? Why? Why him!
He looked down, trying to prevent the tears from coming. He couldn't cry, not now of all times. He had to be strong, for his sister. He couldn't let her see him like this. He opened his eyes, and right next to the toes of his shoes, was a fairly large rock. He picked it up; it fit snuggly in his palm. The surface was smooth, and he could easily wrap his fingers around it. He stared at it for a few seconds, channeling all of his anger and sadness into it. Then he threw it with all his might into a nearby bush, it flew into the bush and impacted with a loud thud.
Mithos looked at the bush, a look of strangeness and confusion on his face.
The bush was rustling and moving in a foreboding way. Mithos came a little closer; he strained to see what was going on. Suddenly, the head of a boar popped out, a bump the size of Mithos's fist adorned its head. Anger burned clearly in it's eyes.
Mithos gulped and took a step back, his mind contemplating what spell to use. Martel saw what was happening and stood nervously.
"Mithos…"
"I-I-It was an accident!" stammered her brother.
The boar took a step closer, jets of steam shot from its snout.
"…Mithos…" his sister said again, while taking a step back.
"I'll take care of it," said Mithos, he charged a small amount of mana and discharged it into the air, crying out "wind blade!"
Blades of air formed and struck the boar, it yelped in pain and hopped back.
Mithos gave a confident smile, "Told you I'd get rid of him."
"Hate to spoil your moment, but he's still here and he doesn't look too happy," said his sister as she pointed at the boar; it's eyes now red with rage.
Mithos turned back to the creature, undaunted. 'I'll give him a reason to leave,' he thought, 'a couple fireballs ought to do it.'
He raised his hand to the beast, ready to strike the final blow. Suddenly the boar began squealing and honking, jumping up and down, pounding it's hooves into the dirt. Mithos stood in confusion, lowering his hand a few inches. What could be causing this creature pain? Did he somehow cast a spell without his own knowledge?
Suddenly the boar ceased its hollow rampage. It turned back to Mithos and Martel. Mithos held his hand back up, ready cast the spell. Suddenly another boar came through the bushes, and another, and another. Now there was a whole heard of them, all red eyed and very angry.
"M-Mithos…" said Martel with uncertainty.
"I-I'm working on it…" he replied with uncertainty
The boar with the bump squealed in a manner that meant 'charge!' and began to run straight to the pair, the other members of the herd followed suite.
"Run!" Mithos yelled, and turned around and broke into a sprint. His sister had done likewise.
They ran through the forest, the footsteps of the boar herd thundered behind them. They were getting closer, and closer as the chase ran on. They grunted in excitement.
"So, is-this-what-you call-taking care of it!" she yelled at her brother in between breaths, as they ran side by side.
Mithos didn't answer, partly because he had none, and partly because he was afraid that talking might slow him down.
They came fast to an old wooden bridge, the planks clattered under their feet. Mithos was hoping the bridge wouldn't be able to support the weight of the boars and they would fall into the lake. But the boars came to a sudden halt just as the pair had crossed. But the two kept running, hearing the boar's squeals and grunts fading away behind them. Though they were only completely satisfied when they could no longer hear them.
They finally came to rest near an old tree, the grandmother of the forest. Mithos plopped right down and leaned his back against the tree's strong trunk. Martel was panting and leaning over, a hand placed onto the trunk of the tree to keep from collapsing.
"Whew…glad that's over," said Mithos.
"It wouldn't have even started if you hadn't thrown that rock," said Martel.
He sighed; he was too tired to argue. Martel gave into fatigue and took a seat next to her brother. She could feel the beads of sweat dripping from her forehead, the moisture making her clothes stick to her skin. She desperately wished for some water.
Mithos sighed next to her, his eyes closed, as if he could hear something. Martel watched him, turning her head ever so slightly to see. But soon lost interest, and turned away. But her brother could hear something, a sweet, silky voice. It sounded far away at first, and he had to strain to hear it. But now it was getting louder, and becoming clearer. By the sound, Mithos judged it to be the voice of a little girl. And she was calling him, beckoning him. But who? And why?
The voice was persistent now; to Mithos whatever it was saying was nothing more than incessant babble. And they grew louder and louder, until they sounded like someone was shouting in his ears. Finally, he couldn't take it anymore. He got up, and turned to his sister, who was sound asleep. Good, then he didn't have to explain himself. He began to walk, and after he took his first steps and was well on his way to a stroll he realized he hadn't thought about where he was walking too. He just walked, like his feet acted on their own. He imagined that was the work of the voice as well.
As he walked through the forest he noted how tranquil it seemed from the other parts. The greenery seemed greener, the soil seemed earthier, even the rocks looked content. The shrubs were teeming with white flowers that, at first glance, looked like Lilies but were something else. He instinctively wanted to get a closer look, but the voice beckoned him on and his feet obeyed. He was deep in this area of the forest now, blue-winged butterflies suddenly appeared as if out of nowhere. The trees seemed much taller, and some even bore fruit. He picked some of the ones that had fallen and put them in his leather bag before the voice called him again.
But this time he saw who it was that called him.
He was right to say it was a little girl, she couldn't have been more than six or seven years old by the looks of her. Her hair was a night-sky black, braided up in two ponytails. Her eyes were of the same shade as her hair, and they seemed to sparkle with the life of a star. She wore a milk white nightgown, and her pale skin seemed to shine in the light.
She beckoned to him again in the strange language she spoke, and waved her hand in a signal to follow. She was a good distance away from him though, and he had to run to catch up. More flowers bloomed with each of his steps, or so it seemed. The grass under his feet was becoming greener and softer, he could feel it thorough his shoes. Even the air he breathed seemed sweeter.
Suddenly, as he ran, he came to the notion that the girl as disappeared again. Did she have that much of a head start? Perhaps she was running as well, but he could still hear her voice so she hadn't completely abandoned him. He kept running until he came to a clearing in the trees.
The voice stopped.
Mithos too, stopped dead in his tracks. Not because of the great-grandmother tree in front of him that seemingly grew to the heavens. Not because of the stream running through the clearing who's color was that of golden honey, or even the single horned horse that leapt away as soon as he ran into the clearing. He stopped because of the heavily armored man sitting on a rock right in front of the great-grandmother tree, his hands resting on the hilt of his sword in a cane like fashion. He looked up at Mithos, and underneath that armor were eyes that took the glow and color of burning red coal. He rose, and charged at the boy in a frenzied rage.