Foxfire (The Blood Oath) old version

Chapter 7: Grim Omens

   

The Woman's hand stretched towards Drake. He looked at the face hidden in her cowl and it stung his eyes. It was like a bright light stood in place of her eyes that it blinded him whenever he tried. Drake moved away from the tree to dodge her hand. He rolled on the floor and the leaves glued to his wet skin.

She stopped and stood upright, "Three paths stretches before you," her voice calmed his racing heart, "the King, the warrior, and the fool."

"What do you . . . mean?" Drake stammered.

The woman turned around without giving him an answer. A wind rose from the darkness. The trees swayed from her path. Her dark garment grew white and shimmered in the night's blackness. She walked down the woods, paused and turned her face to him again.

"Follow me," she whispered.

Drake tried to lift his body, but his strength was gone. A great weakness grew in his body. It felt like his blood has been drained and little was left in his veins. He could not blame any magic in the world for that for his worst days has come again. He had spent most of his life battling his weak bones and knew their torturous signs.

"I can't . . . I can't feel anything," he muttered.

"Your blood is much more than that of a Conjurer, Drake, stand up!" her voice echoed.

"Stand up!"

Drake closed his eyes. His mind drifted to his moments with Old Alfred. But Alfred was dead, dead, and never coming back. It weighed on his heart and as Drake lifted his body up, his legs wobbled and he crashed on the floor.

"I can't," he cried.

The Lady's voice echoed in his head again. He heard her, yet he did not see her lips moving nor did he glimpse of her face.

"Once there was magic. There was Alteration, Destruction, Evocation, Conjuration, Restoration, and so many. But the blind were still blind and the crippled still lame. Yet one stood out amongst others, for his daughter was a victim of fire in a war and he could bear her cries no more. He borrowed from the seven breaths, seven from the magic of mortals and void. But to raise an innate fire in his daughter, one more thing was required."

"What?" Drake whispered.

"His life," the voice echoed. "He gave his life and birthed the fire of breaths and a soul. A fire able to heal all things and cause so much destruction, one passed down to a rare bloodline. So, stand up Drake, for a life had been taken so that you may live."

Drake remembered. He remembered what Alfred had told him. Deep in his mind, he searched for fire. He reached for his rage buried deep in his bucket of emotions. Layers of anger, hatred, pain, he pushed through all to reach for his fire. A bolt of energy surged through his bones. His hands grew hot and he pushed himself upwards. Smoke rose from his fingers. His lips opened in an. But a great pain pressed upon him and he fell on his knees again.

"No, no, no, no . . ."

His hands were cold again. The emotions were not enough or perhaps they weren't sincere.

"Foxfire is a special flame that bonds the physically disabled to the powers of infusion magic. Only through its miraculous investiture can someone with your ailment become a bloodwielder."

"Take a look at me," Drake muttered, "I am never going to be like the other kids. Bloodwielding was just my fantasy, a fading dream gone when awoken."

"He taught you of anger," the lady's voice grew in his mind, "but did he teach of love? Of caring? What of feelings and empathy?"

"Elizabeth!" Drake shouted.

He remembered he had left her in the cold and unprotected. His heart filled with a sudden urge to go to her and he found himself on his feet. Drake picked a twig. He broke it in two and used its sharp end to carve a symbol of three connected spirals on his palm near the thumb. The blood dried quickly. It felt like a thousand pins prickled his skin and his pupils brightened with the bluish glow of Conjuration.

"Infusion," he muttered.

He had seen the assassin draw upon such magic, that the man's eyes had taken a yellowish glow. Drake felt light. He stood to his feet and moved like he was carried by the wind. Swiftly, he followed the lady. She led him continuously and came to the borders where the moors met the plains.

Drake stopped and gazed at a magnificent fortress in the distance. "Elondale," he said.

"Your home," her voice echoed.

"It has not being my home since my mother died," Drake said grimly and turned to the lady, "why do you aid me?"

The voice began to fade.

"My kin are children of nature. I belong to the trees, to the seas, to the wind, and to the soil. It is my duty to watch the plants grow, the young hatch, and the dead reborn. I'm bound by nature to spread seeds as far as the world stretch and guide the rain to touch the earth. But Men have hunted us for our grace."

"I don't understand," Drake opened his arms.

"The balance of nature has been tipped. A Shade is dead, a King is dying, and a Hero is called upon. Three paths lie ahead, Drake, thread carefully."

The lady began to fade into wisps of white vapour.

"Wait!" Drake cried, "Who are you?"

"I don't understand. Who are you?"

The Lady disappeared with the coming of dawn. Stars faded completely in the brightening sky. A vague red sunlight broke through clouds in the horizon, a famous beauty, complimenting a morning wind rushing like the waves of a sea.

The ground vibrated from the thumping of hooves. Drake scanned the woods with his eyes for the source. He sunk a knee on the earth and bent low with one ear on the ground to listen.

"Horses, many horses," Drake jumped to his feet.

He ran down to a stream and was fortunate to find broken rocks that lined its shallow depth, breaking the water as they flowed. He set his feet upon the rocks, his deer-hide sandals soaking in the water. Slowly, he cut through the stream and reached the other end. The clattering was coming behind him. He hid in the cover of tall grasses and watched riders in white charging forward.

"Drake, Drake, Drake, you can come out now," a voice cried as the horse came to a halt.

Drake pulled out from the cover the grasses provided and raised his gaze at the riders. "Philip, Edward, William," he called dryly.

He could never forget those faces. They belonged to his brothers. Each of them bore an expression like they have seen a ghost. Anxiety fostered in Drake's mind. Someone had tried to kill him, and he was sure that it was from his father's palace. He circled his gaze around them. Could it be William, who found pleasure in ridiculing him for his obvious imperfection? Or perhaps, handsome Edward, who tricked him into hunting and abandoned him for the worst of the wild? What of pious Philip, the eldest? He never smiled nor uttered a compliment and Drake always thought behind his grim expression, an utter hatred for him was concealed subtly.

Philip pulled the rein of his horse and came around Drake. "We found your Carriage and the girl.She told us they went after you."

"Is she okay?" Drake spoke sharply.

"She rests in the city. We thought you dead for sure, but father would have us scour the woods until we found something. I'm sorry, Drake, the Ranger, Alfred, he is..."

"Dead?" Drake said, "I know," he hung his head.

"The Shade is dead, Drake," Philip said, "there is a great gathering in Elondale and father wants to see his children."

Drake felt cold for a moment. He remembered the words of the Enchantress. They echoed in his mind again and again.

"Hop on," William stretched his hand towards Drake.