4. Fire from Heaven, part 4: Beyond the Treeline
The rock was bigger than a village; more like the size of a small mountain. It was covered in fallen leaves, and was still smoking by the time Bartz approached the grove where it had fallen. The summit of the rock could be seen over the treeline. It had huge crevasses and dark pits, like a mountainside blasted with magical fire.
Bartz had heard of such things before, but never seen one himself. In one of the Northern provinces, this kind of rock had fallen into a lake and caused a number of villages to be drowned. It happened at the end of the fall season, and the flood had not receded by the period of snow and ice. Those villages were lost to time, as the flooded waters froze over doorways, chimneys, stables, and beds. Villagers had to bring ice picks to the village and break their way into their kitchens and stoves, just to retrieve their cooking supplies so they could last the winter. When the summer season came, the wood had rotted and the villages unlivable.
But this was different: when villagers dived into the lake to examine the rock, they discovered it to be a kind of grayish rock that broke apart when touched; this rock looked like it was hard like obsidian, as if the flames that surrounded it turned the rock into steel. It nearly shone in the moonlight; Bartz saw the reflections of the stars on its surface, even from beyond the treeline.
A rustling in the wood; cracking of branches, and a muffled cry.
Gritting through the pain, Bartz threw himself to the ground, rolling once and dragging Boko into the border of the trees. The goblins language was a compilation of tongues men spoke, smashed into one at once beautiful yet horrible speech. It was filled with song, yet contained the brashest of words spoken by man across all the language of the earth. Bartz had encountered them enough to know this was the language he heard. However, he also heard struggling and pain.
He withdrew his blade, gripped the hilt and waited. The shadows of the goblins passed by him, and he saw they carried a young girl dressed in bright silks. He gritted his teeth. A simple village girl they were taking to continue their dark experiments.
He saw the goblins closer now; their eyes contained the same madness as he remembered, shining with the kind of pure magic that they practiced on themselves that had made them outlawed in every province in the country. They wore scraps of clothing they found, stitched together by hands that had been turned into claws or talons or worse; their muscles bulged as they walked, but they walked with a clumsy gait, as if they had not learned how to walk yet, still babes.
The girl had beautiful blond hair; just like Kylene, Bartz recalled. But this girl's nose was more elegant, and her eyes were fierce, shining with a luster of blue that caught Bartz off-guard; her clothes, in addition, decried her being any kind of villager, with spiral floral designs crafted onto the long sleeves, and beads of small stones threaded onto the rims of the dress. This was no ordinary girl.
Bartz jumped forward with his sword, and plunged it into one of the goblins. She screamed out, gripping Bartz's sword with both hands, pushing it further inside her until Bartz panicked and dropped to the ground. The goblin had caught him off-guard, but as she slunk to the ground, he leapt forward and slid the sword out of her shaken body, ready for the next assault.
"Please, be careful!" the young girl cried out.
The goblin holding her snarled and swung back an ornamented blade. It was obvious to Bartz they must have ambushed the girl, killed her guards, and then stolen the weapons. That sword was the kind of blade given to the king's guard. The goblin, however, had no idea how to properly wield the blade, and lunged forward without any kind of grace.
Bartz parried the swing and slapped the goblin's sword arm away, causing him to momentarily lose his balance. Taking advantage of the opening, Bartz winced through his pain and used his boot to kick the goblin back, and then swing his sword downward toward the neckline. The goblin dropped the sword in a gasp of fear.
Before his sword connected, he was grabbed from behind. Sticky hands coated with dry blood gripped him, and rather than going for the neck, he switched positions, shifted to the left, and shoved the blade under his right arm. The figure holding him in the back wilted away, and dropped to the ground with a thud.
The girl had managed to get out of her captor's hands, picked up the sword, and plunged into the stunned goblin who now lay twitching on the ground. The girl was heaving with deep breaths, staring at her hands.
Bartz gathered his wits, walked forward, and took the sword from the girl, gathering her in his arms.
"It's ok, you are safe," he said to her. She trembled in his arms.
"I've never killed a man," she said after a moment.
"They are not men."
"What are they?" She stopped shaking, and moved out of Bartz's arms, as if startled by even his embrace.
"They are men who lost their minds to magic," he said.
"Magic…" she was very quiet, and then collapsed. Bartz moved forward and caught her before she fell to the ground.
"You need to rest," he said.
"No, it's ok,' the girl said. "I can go on. Just give me a moment."
"Where are you going?" Bartz released the girl, and she sat down on the ground. "It's not safe here, we need to move to safer ground."
She looked up at him, and then said, "I am going to the Wind Shrine."
Bartz knew little of the Shrines, but what he did know was shrouded in mystery. They were guarded by the King's Cult, a group of religious men trained by the courts in Karnak, who then took positions in various temples around the country. He did know that the Wind Shrine was not located here, but quite far away, in a country far to the north, across the waters of the Median Sea.
"That is still quite far, lady," Bartz said. "By walking, at least a two weeks; by chocobo, I suppose you could travel there in three days."
"So you can see my urgency," she snapped.
Bartz was taken a bit aback. She seemed to have little care for his saving of her life. She was probably nobility, some little snot who grew up around extravagantly dressed servants, roasted pig, and handsome soldiers. She apparently knew how to use a sword, but Bartz knew she had never seen the blood of a man before tonight.
"Your lady is free to go where she pleases," Bartz said, bowing away.
The girl sighed. "I am sorry, you did save my life. Please accept my thanks." She curtseyed to Bartz, which was quite humorous given the tears and rips in her dress.
"No matter," he said, waving his hand in dismissal. "Perhaps you would like to join me, as I am headed north."
"Yes, that would be lovely," the girl said. She looked at Bartz suddenly, fatigue covering her face. "Forgive my temper. My name is Lenna. May I ride with you?"
Bartz smiled for the first time tonight. "For such a beautiful lady as yourself, I would take you wherever you please. But first, we must take a look at the reason we are both here; if you would please follow me, we will see if there is a way out of these blasted woods."