Stormchild: Emeline and the Forest Mage

35 Rescue II

Windburg, Erdil, present day

    When Emeline came to, she heard loud howling. At first, she imagined hundred of wolves on snowy hilltops howling in unison at a blood moon. Big ones, with deep voices, because the howling she heard was rumbling and thunderous.

    'Whoooooo,' it cried, giving her shivers.

    A loud bang gave her a true fright, and her eyes shot open. She saw sunlight slanting through a dishevelled wood slatted wall against which she leaned. A house or barn of some sort?

    The room was full of dust. Particles roiled like thick smoke in bars of sunlight, making it impossible to see anything. She coughed, sick of not knowing where she was, and stretched out her hands, feeling along the floor. 'Whoooooo,' the wind howled through the cracks, and powdery dust escaped, letting in fresher air. The wind had the right idea.

    Both her hands swept back and forth through the air and waved at the dust. Shapes started emerging in the room, lumps that could've been bodies or sacks of meal. A gleam a few feet away had to be Avétk's axe. That was a relief. It meant her attempt at a movement of The Way had been successful.

    Another bang sounded in the obscurity of the dusty room. Something moved and she hoped it was Avétk or Ketiya, not something more sinister. 'Avétk?' No response came except for more bangs and scrapes.

    'Fathers, child!' A strange yet somewhat familiar voice said. 'That was one risky trick you pulled there.' Who was it? Was he speaking to her?

    'Hello?' she said.

    Groans and more bangs echoed, and the dust swirled and danced. The murk finally cleared and she saw six. Not six sacks of wheat, six people. Five collapsed and one standing. It was the Mage, she realised. At last, she saw him in the flesh. Goosebumps travelled up her arm and onto her back.

    'Is that you Mage?' Almost a whisper, her voice sounded as awed as she felt.

    'Yes,' he said, dusting his coat along the sleeves, then down the front.

    'There's no point in dusting,' Emeline said, 'Too much of it all over the place.'

    The Mage looked at her with piercing green eyes. Terror suddenly took hold of her and she felt she could not get any air into her lungs. Why was she afraid? Her heart raced and thumped and her tender fingertips tingled.

    'Don't be afraid, Emeline. It was I who helped you.'

    'What do you mean?'

    Against a dilapidated wooden table, the Mage leaned and drew in the dust covering its surface. 'Come, take a look here and I will explain.'

    Emeline walked to him and stepped over three shapes – Ketiya, Avétk, Brushä. None stirred. Were they dead? Fathers, if they were it would be her fault. What a terrible thought it was.

    'You used the Talisman, didn't you?'

    'Yes,' she admitted, looking down to where the Mage's dusty markings spread across the table.

    'The talisman is imbued with special properties. It alerts me of your need as soon as you utter the Creed of the Fathers.'

    Emeline raised her eyebrows. 'I didn't know.'

    The Mage nodded. 'Yes, I apologise for my lack of communication. We've had some external influences disturbing this whole process.' He waved the comment away. 'But we don't have time to discuss that now. Here. Look at this map.'