"In life, I noted how hope a powerful sentiment had weakened and often seems to lose its meaning as time passes. In case it turned into a dream, for dreams were always fair. Succumbing to a wish—a wish of Darkness, for the Everdark is forgiving and caring.
But Light was just as dreadful as Darkness was tender. Those who hoped died; those who dreamed awoke; and those who wished… Light gave them something more, a world painted in black by their own hopes and dreams.
So men understood. Darkness was not hope nor dream, but 'Creation', the wish of the next Light, and 'Destruction' only a means to reach it."
By Lucius De Lux, in 'The beliefs of Creation'
A clash.
A clash of fury against wood—every punch of strident wind struck like a hammer on steel. Drops of water fell hard, like arrows meeting shields. Lightning swept and slashed as it fell, cutting the horizon with precision and burning intent, while thunder moaned in pain at every gash.
"A storm of broken light. Darkness protect us all," said Lady Evela as she drank from a worn goblet, scuffed and dented from long use.
"Darkness will, like it always has," added Ser Aner. "Don't you think, boy?"
Reitren found it hard to believe knights were sitting on his chairs, in a house so common and lacking. The two wore full plate armor adorned with gold and precious stones, forming a crown upon their chests. Their helmets rested on the table. Lady Evela's sword remained sheathed, resting on her lap, while Ser Aner's greatsword had been left outside.
Ser Aner had done so out of respect, affirming that a guest should be mindful—no guest should dampen a host's resting place with the heavy smell of blood. Reitren was grateful for it. Adilene, his younger sister, was afraid of swords, though she still stole a few glances at Lady Evela's jade blade.
"Darkness could not come fast enough, my good Lord and Lady," said Reitren, drinking from his horn. It held only water—he had nothing more—but he added peel from the orange fruit he was working on, giving it a sharper, sour taste.
Silence fell as they drank and ate, waiting for the Soothing Yellow to turn Fleeting White. Reitren felt blessed; perhaps this was an opportunity to reach for what he wished to achieve.
"M'lord, is there a reason the two of you find yourselves so deep within the Tall Forest?" Reitren felt silly asking. He knew the answer—he was well aware of it—but still he asked, hoping to find comfort in the knights' words.
"Beast hunting," Ser Aner answered, grinning widely.
"Many people reached the Net, all telling the same tale," said Lady Evela, biting into the fruit she had just peeled. "A tale of blood and murder. When asked who had done it, they spoke of a group of beasts clad in plated fur and steel claws. The Lord of the Golden City in the Gash sent for us to hunt them."
"Forgive my remark," Reitren said, "but are two knights all they sent? From what I've heard, more than two hundred make up the group—and if the stories are true, a dead man marches among them."
Reitren did not know where this courage came from, asking questions and making conversation with knights such as these. Yet he felt no fear. They felt trustworthy. They felt right.
Ser Aner scratched at his shaggy beard, crumbs falling from it. "We aren't supposed to say much, but the truth is more than fifty knights, a few squires, and over a hundred men were sent."
"The two of us moved out from the main host with a mission other than hunting," added Lady Evela. "Only a small group was needed for this… other mission."
Curiosity bloomed within Reitren. A secret mission, like those from songs. He wanted to ask but decided against it. If songs were to be believed, all who learned such secrets were killed and buried—and he had a sister to take care of.
"Grown quiet, haven't you, boy? Scared to ask?" said Ser Aner.
Lady Evela chuckled. "Fear not to ask, boy. We are not so cruel as to kill curiosity. And even if you were to scream the tale come next Light, it would not matter. We have already found what we were searching for."
"And what is this mission, if you are so kind as to answer, my Lord and Lady?" If they were so open, Reitren would not restrain his desire to know.
"To bring Lord Emeld to the Net," said Ser Aner, juice soaking into his beard.
Emeld… Reitren knew only one Emeld.
"Fat Emeld?"
"Careful now, boy. We promised not to kill you for asking, but disrespecting a Lord is a completely different matter." In one quick motion, Lady Evela pressed her sword against his throat. The blade remained sheathed—it was a warning.
The sudden movement startled him. He jerked, and the knife he used for peeling bit into his finger. A long black tear fell from the wound, staining the sharp edge of the blade.
"Put that sword away, Evela. The boy knows nothing—and besides, he speaks the truth. The Lord has indeed let food fill his belly," Ser Aner laughed. "Didn't you see how it moved from right to left as he walked?"
"Maybe I should kill you instead," said Lady Evela.
"Like you could," Ser Aner stood, flexing his long, bulking arms. Reitren noted how tall he was—nearly tall enough to reach the beams of the roof.
"Your sword lies bathing outside," Lady Evela reminded him. "A swift motion is all I need."
"You will be dead before you show steel."
Reitren found a cloth and pressed it against his injury. "Um… my Lord and Lady, I would be most grateful if you did not fight in my house. This is the only one I have."
Lady Evela laid her sword upon her lap once more and sighed. "I'm just tired," she said. "I didn't mean to cause you harm, boy. It's just…"
She fell silent, rubbing her face with her hands, as if trying to brush the weariness from her body.
"This is folly," Ser Aner remarked. "Women tend to be ruled by emotions—this one is no different. No—there is a difference: this one can cut your head off." He chortled.
Reitren dared not smile at Ser Aner's jest; he still had need of his head. But that was not all. He could feel it, even without them saying or showing anything—the one who made his skin crawl was not the tall and lean Ser Aner, but the small, fragile-looking Lady Evela.
It was true that he felt comfortable around them, yet a deep fear still clung to him—the fear of a hunter playing with its prey. A fear he had long tried to forget, yet nothing could erase it: the vivid horror of his father being torn to pieces.
And the face of Ruben, black with blood, smiling and stripped of all humanity. Had it not been for the mercy of Darkness, he might have gone mad.
He lingered for a moment, watching as blood continued to pour from the wound, when a sudden tiredness fell upon him—a tiredness so welcome, so quick to mend.
The once heatless fire now burned white with unrestrained fury, burning and fighting against the Darkness, fighting with all it had in its final moments. The sharp pain in his finger vanished; nothing remained where he had cut himself.
"Are the two of you staying here this Dark?" Reitren asked.
"We are," said Ser Aner, "but worry not—we won't take your bed. Only this chair, at least I will. So go and rest, boy. Be taken by the Dark and heal."
"Then please, make yourselves comfortable," Reitren said. He opened the only door of the small house. Inside lay a single bed.
His sister sat upon it, a white flame blazing beside her.
"I was waiting," she said, her voice low and heavy with tiredness.
"Sorry," Reitren replied, closing the door behind him. "You can sleep now."
"They won't do anything, right, brother? I'm scared," she clung to him, wrapping her arms around his waist.
"They won't," he assured her. "They are good people—knights with oaths and honor, nothing like Ruben. Sleep. I promise I will protect you."
A lie. An empty promise, Reitren knew. If those knights chose to kill them, there was nothing he could do. They are good people, I know it. They won't do anything. Darkness, please protect us. He kept the fear locked away; if he showed it, how could he call himself an older brother?
But it was not the knights that frightened him.
It was the beasts moving through the Tall Forest. Running wild and unforgiven.