Ch 13: The Forest Of Illusion

Christian and Cohagen enter the Forest of Illusion.

        Despite clear skies, the boreal rainforest was dripping wet, with moisture hanging in the air among the towering, ancient darkwood trees. Darkness gripped its sodden depths, beyond the tangle of thick foliage surrounding Christian and Cohagen in the clearing where they camped. It was near the stream they had followed since entering the Forest of Illusion, avoiding any serious travel in the dense undergrowth beneath the soaring pines. Their needles were an almost black shade of green, and they darkened the starlit sky like clouds of ink, with expansive trunks covered in shaggy moss. Large ferns with lengthy leaves and broad, bright flowers surrounded the glade, with an enormous fallen tree across it, which they camped beside.
        It will be a chore to stay dry tonight, Christian thought sourly.
        It was also a chore for him to create the campfire which they solemnly sat beside, the damp wood requiring intense heat to ignite. The clearing beyond was a patchwork of tall, stalky grasses and broad-leaved bushes, with juvenile darkwood trees reaching hungrily for the open sky. The unicorns grazed selectively, silhouettes among the foliage beyond the fire, keeping safely away from the edge of the glade.
        Christian sat on a log with a small red pillow beneath him, on the fringe of the heat from the fire, sharpening his dagger.
        Cohagen sat across from him on a boulder, tending to a snowbush hare cooking on a spit, appreciating the temperate conditions of the forest compared to the windswept grasslands further north. After a short while beside the fire, he was thankful Christian had magicked the small pillow which padded him from the cold rock.
        "I don't even know how you managed to get these out of that tiny pouch."
        "I used vacuum to make the pillows small enough to remove them. That's why they went 'poof' when I pulled them out," he replied, scraping away at his dagger.
        "That's a nasty looking blade you got there," Cohagen remarked. "I understand that's the infamous murder weapon."
        For a long moment only the crackle of the fire sounded, pierced rhythmically by the harsh scrapes of flint on steel. "I was just smoothing out a tiny chip near it's tip, probably from one of Joroco's ribs," he answered with a wicked smile, intent on his work.
        Cohagen felt a chill despite the warmth of the fire, "I've never killed in cold-blood before."
        "You've surely killed more than I," Christian asserted.
        "On the battlefield."
        Christian scowled from across the flames, "I fail to see the difference between slaying an enemy in battle and executing a murderer." He returned to his work, "That b*****d died the moment he decided to cause my wife harm. Let me ask you something I asked your wife," the scraping abruptly stopped, "what would you do if she were killed in cold blood?"
        Cohagen only looked into the flames.
        "Exactly," Christian retorted.
        He resumed scraping away at the chip on his blade, as if putting an end to any more debate with the strident noise. Cohagen didn't feel comfortable with Christian's assertion, since revenge contradicted the Way of the Paladin, yet he knew if he were in the young man's place, if it had been his unborn child… He distracted himself from such thoughts by tending to the meat, taking a slice from its flank with his hunting knife, guiding it to his mouth on the blade.
        "It's done," he breathed, cooling his food.
        "Finally," Christian responded, eyeing the edge of his dagger. Apparently satisfied, he sheathed it, then held out a small tin platter for Cohagen to pile the meat on. "Caught one of these on my way up here," he commented indifferently, "needs salt."
        "Got a pinch in the saddlebag," Cohagen spoke with his mouth full.
        "I'll use the pouch."
        "Thought your magic wasn't fully recovered yet," he chewed.
        "Table salt isn't a rare commodity," Christian stated, pulling the wizard's pouch from his robe. Despite his claim, though, the young Magi conjured up bread, fruit, and a variety of seasonings and condiments to enliven their bland meal.
        "You spoil me," Cohagen said wryly as he ate.
        "Glad to be of service."
        "I could have used your services on many a night in the wilds," he paused to finish his bite, "troll meat tastes awful."
        "You've eaten troll meat?!" Christian said with laughter.
        "Desperate times call for desperate measures."
        "I'm sure you've had plenty in these godforsaken lands you insist on calling home," he chuckled.
        "That's the most I've heard you laugh."
        Christian silently reached into his overcloak and pulled out a flask, then held it up and shook it for the Prince to see.
        "Southern whiskey? Toss that over here," Cohagen said after he received a nod. He took a quick swig with a wince, "That'll make a broken leg seem funny."
        "And I haven't had the heart to laugh of late," Christian admitted solemnly after a moment.
        "I can imagine," Cohagen replied, the levity in his voice gone.
        The remainder of their meal was finished in silence, with only the crackle of the fire sounding in the hush of the glade. The unicorns made their way back toward the light, tentatively nibbling at a fibrous thornberry bush.
        Cohagen couldn't stand the pervasive quiet any longer, strangely unnerved by the still of the forest. "What drove Joroco to cause your wife harm?" he asked hesitantly, gauging the young man's response.
        "Much like your wife, my Belle was a beauty which many men sought after. She was a lady of status, with the grace of an angel… and she only had eyes for me," he smiled weakly. "King Cydonis offered me Joroco's position of Head Magus," he continued after a moment, "when I killed a rogue mage named Jephthah. He'd stalked Belle from Alstairia to Tyrsis, and then challenged me to the death when he'd learned she was betrothed to me. I toyed with him for his insolence," he said darkly, "but, had I known, I would have just killed him outright."
        Again, Cohagen found himself ill-at-ease by Christian's words, but kept his thoughts to himself.
        "I refused the King's offer, obviously, but it didn't matter to that arrogant b*****d Joroco. He saw me as a threat, and grew to hate me because I was more powerful than him, an obstacle to his delusions of grandeur." When he spoke again, there was no spite to his words, only sorrow, "I should have killed him then, but I was contented starting a life with my wife, and I paid him so little mind that he might as well never have existed. I'd never known such happiness for those few short years, as the rest of my life was consumed with sorrow and loneliness. I still don't know what she saw in me," he said wistfully, "I was such an angry kid. I loathe to think of the man I'd have become if she hadn't shown me love…"
        Cohagen felt many of his misgivings about the young man absolve with those words, as he thought the same about his Jeannia. He wouldn't be half the man he was now if it weren't for her.
        Sorrow threatened to overwhelm Christian then, his words caught hard behind a bitter lump in his throat, stinging at his eyes like a cold wind. A feeling of helpless rage came on suddenly, and he wanted to scream at Cohagen to keep his damned questions to himself. But, he swallowed those words along with the lump in his throat, resigning himself to confide this no matter how difficult it would be.
        "When Cydonis asked me to pursue the rumors of war in Ketema, it infuriated Joroco. I heard tell he blew up at the King because of it, then found himself suspended and disgraced by the ruling council, almost certain to lose his office of Head Magus. I didn't want to leave my wife in her condition, but I was curious about the events in Ketema," he paused, with an uncertain look exacerbating the fine features of his face. "Voices would call to me, and at night I would dream of dark things, only to wake to a sense of foreboding. I needed to discover the source of those things, and I knew it was linked to that cursed fortress Dark Uniform. The memory of the illustration I'd seen of it during my studies would inexplicably flash in my mind, and at times it would come with the intensity to make me start." He suddenly felt like he was trying to justify himself, making excuses for the rationalization behind his decisions, but he suppressed his regret like so much swallowed pride. "And she wanted me to go." Cohagen raised an eyebrow at this, and Christian couldn't ignore his inquisitive look, "She had this remarkable ability to know when I was troubled. And, it's difficult to hide recurring nightmares from the person you sleep next to every night."
        No more. Past tense.
        "What I found in Ketema was war. Sudden, brutal, and ruthless. Towns and villages raided or razed, with remains that looked as if they were left by creatures which no longer stalk the lands of Canaan. Things that were unrecognizable, horrific even to the standards of our conventional warfare. It wasn't long after that I encountered the Necrot, initially by the stench of rotting flesh, but then I caught sight of them. It was as I said to your Royal Advisors, Prince: like a tale from the time of the last War Wizard, with the dead walking the earth."
        His words chilled Cohagen to the bone. The thought of the undead didn't have the same impact during the formal Assembly meeting as it did in the darkness of this invasive wilderness. Would they truly face the living dead? "What did you see?"
        Christian gave him a grim look, made all the more ominous by his strange eyes, "A jawless, rotting corpse of a man astride the emaciated carcass of an Orc bear, with shrunken, tattered flesh dripping from their bones. They were surrounded by six foul ghouls, grotesquely disfigured half-men with bent and twisted forms. I wanted to expunge the world of their existence, but that would only betray my presence to their master. I told your Assembly about that encounter." He shuddered slightly from the memory of the Sceptre's magic descending upon his mind, and how it seemed to fall in on itself instinctually, as if recoiling from the intrusive alien contact. Was this the moment that Joroco believed he had died?
        Christian still remembered the terrible moment he realized he could no longer sense Belle's consciousness, the light of his life extinguished, leaving him alone to the darkness of his thoughts. He'd refused to believe she was gone until he returned home, and saw for himself...
        "Joroco believed I had died, when I shielded my mind against the Sceptre, and then the Wythe sent by the Dark Lord. I hid my consciousness from them for two days and nights as I fled those cursed mountains! I still don't fully understand how I accomplished this feat."
        "How could Joroco have known such a thing?" Cohagen asked, then immediately wished he hadn't.
        "He must have cast a familiarity spell upon me…" Christian absently wiped away the single tear that rolled down his cheek. How could I not have known?
        The stark realization came to him again, it's all my fault she died... He went after her to get to me.
        "He confronted her in our home. I don't know what all transpired, as I only empathized glimpses, but he cornered her somehow," stumbling drunk, slamming her frail body into the wall. "She burnt his arm with magic defending herself, yet there wasn't much she could do to him in her weakened state…"
        He saw her lifeless eyes again, looking to him for help that never came.
        He clenched his jaw and spoke with stinging eyes, "His was the last face she would ever see, so I made sure he saw mine as he died…" He should have spilled his guts or boiled his blood, anything to prolong that b*****d's pain. His wave of anger subsided, replaced by placid anguish as his thoughts turned to her lifeless womb...
        "Why?" Cohagen asked simply, exasperated.
        Christian struggled to control his voice, "I ask myself that question every waking moment."
        The young Magi's wife was senselessly murdered in cold blood by a vengeful coward, and if their roles were reversed, Cohagen knew he'd see to the b*****d's death for stealing his beloved Jeannia from the world. Despite the conflict with his oath of the Paladin, all he could feel was anger over this woman's death, someone he'd never met, making him question his very beliefs. He was a Knight of the Light, and revenge was against the code of ethics he swore to abide by when he inherited his Birthright, the mystic sword Ragnarok. Could he really uphold those morals when just a twist of fate could put him in Christian's place? He decided these were questions too difficult to answer on his own, that he must seek guidance and wisdom, but he no longer faulted Christian for his actions. The young man was true at heart and sought repentance for his crimes.
        Cohagen fidgeted as the silence grew long, his mind restless with the unease he felt in the suffocating unfamiliarity of his surroundings. The dark of the forest seemed to loom over them like an ambush, waiting to strike at any moment.
        "I like the little tassels on these pillows," Cohagen quipped, lightening his tension.
        Christian grinned despite himself, examining his dagger with tired eyes, when his expression changed and his smile suddenly withered. The tingle of nearby magic flickered in his mind, and sent a shiver down his spine at its implications.
        Without warning, the unicorns bolted, charging wildly away towards the stream. Cohagen leapt to his feet, seizing Ragnarok, hoping it would protect him from whatever danger they'd sensed with their magic. He instinctively turned in the direction opposite to where the unicorns fled, peering deeply into the darkness between the towering darkwood trees, and stillness quickly returned to the night.
        Christian suddenly wheeled as he rose to his feet and slashed into the air, blurred with motion much faster than mere human reflexes could achieve. He struck at what appeared to be nothing, yet a dark stream splattered onto the ground, followed by a deathly scream. Stalks of grass broke as something fell, conforming to a crumpled shape, and the form of a man appeared. His bared, bronze chest was bloodied from a gash through his neck, which nearly severed his head. His lower half was covered in thin hide trousers and intricately beaded moccasins, beside which lay a slender, curved blade of iridescent dragonscale.
        Cohagen instantly recognized the traditional sword of the NahiMana warrior, identical to the centuries old blade on display in castle Jidoor. The legends were true, the ghost clan of the NahiMana still existed.
        Christian saw their human forms as crimson shapes against the dark hues of the cold forest, catching their careful movements through the undergrowth with his odd-colored eyes. Their bodies radiated a reddish aura, and Christian knew it was their magic which betrayed their presence. He centered himself to face the three approaching magic-users, when his vision was suddenly obscured with redness.
        Cohagen caught motion from the corner of his eye as Christian suddenly ducked, then sprang to his feet with blinding speed and plunged his dagger downward, which disappeared into thin air. Yet, there came a muffled crack, the distinctive sound of his blade piercing flesh and bone, which was punctuated with a deadly scream that quickly faded into a death rattle. Another body fell to the damp grass, and Cohagen suddenly felt very exposed.
        It was then that he felt a sharp stab in his right collar, followed by the warm trickle of blood running down his back. He peeked over his shoulder and saw small, brightly colored feathers protruding from a wooden shaft stuck deep in his muscle, and tried not to panic as he cognized an unknown toxin spreading through his bloodstream. He tried to slow his quickly rising pulse, hoping that his aura could protect him from this poison as he pulled the dart from his flesh.
        Meanwhile, Christian released a spell of electricity, letting it conduct through the dampness to reach his opponents, testing their magic barriers. They were all of disciplined minds, but the centermost was by far more powerful, and he tried to fool Christian by defending himself in the manner of his companions, but the young Magi saw through the façade. Sensing his Tacitness, it became clear his signature was that of a wizard, but there was something more to his magic, ancient and arcane. As Christian peeled away the wizard's elaborate veil of secrets, laying his identity bare, his aura deepened into dark violets, brightening in Christian's eyes, and he knew who presented the worst threat.

Author's Note

Tell me what you think about the emotions I try to elicit, or something... anything!

Reviews

[Bud]

Your imagery is Magnificent! It makes the reader feel very much like they are witnessing the story unfold live and in person! It captures the heart of fantasy providing the emotional escape from reality, that one seeks from the fantasy tale. You have an Outstanding imagination! Keep up the Excellent works of art!