Into the Shadow Wood: Wind Rider Chronicles, #3

Friend or Foe

The fire was dying , along with all my hopes for this quest, which seemed to have been cursed from the start. There was no dry firewood left. Watching the faintly flickering embers, I pulled my cloak tighter against the cool dampness of the morning and waited for the sun’s rising when I would wake my companions and move on.

Not that it would matter much. Everything was wet, and tangled, with shadows constantly following, shifting, and distorting our vision like demonic spirits. Most called this place the Deep Woods, but those who had dared to venture into its bowels referred to it as the Shadow Wood. I had always thought it was so named for its thick, heavy foliage which frequently blocked the sun’s warmth. The strange, leafy undergrowth seemed to defy nature itself. It persisted despite the cover overhead, as though it fed off of something other than sun, rain, and soil. Not even the mighty Tyroc had been able to tame this forest, that loomed on its outskirts like a raven casting its shadow over the damned.

I now understood more fully that the darkness which resided here went far beyond the mere absence of light. There was a presence. I knew not what it was, only that it sickened my soul more each day. The longer we remained, the more I feared its grip would tighten until we would never be able to break free. Even as I sat in the dim light before dawn, I sensed movement where there was nothing to be seen. I heard sounds that had no form, and felt the prickling of insects crawling over my skin. Yet when I looked, there was nothing.

A crashing noise broke through my mental haze—something was running through the Wood, crushing leaves and sticks underfoot. Should I trust my senses, or was this yet another delusion of my mind? I stood up and raised my bow, setting an arrow to the string. There was no time to wake the others as a tall, dark form rushed towards me. I strained to make out who, or what, it was. Human-sized armor and shield...a long, jagged spear...dark, blotched skin with a strange circular mark on its forehead...red glowing eyes. My heart raced as I took in the horrific vision before me. Had this thing once been human, or was it a new threat that would gather and emerge from the Wood just as the Hounds had? I pulled the string tight against my cheek, the tension causing my fingers to ache for release, and yet I hesitated. What are you waiting for? Kill it! The darkness whispered urgency—it was up to me to protect my companions, and yet there was something familiar about the grotesque form that was now nearly on top of me.

Einar, don’t! a panicked voice called out. It’s me—Alaric—don’t shoot!

My vision suddenly cleared and standing before me was no horrific beast, but one of my two traveling companions. His palms faced outward submissively and his brown eyes were deep pools of fear. At such a close range, my arrow would not have missed. Still, I hesitated to lower my bow. I glanced over to the heap of blanket that I thought had contained Alaric’s sleeping form. Slowly I inched toward it, arrow still at the ready. I moved the blanket’s folds over with my foot to find nothing but the imprint of where Alaric had once been. I relaxed my fingers slightly, still unsure, yet relieved that I had not released my arrow too quickly in case he was telling the truth.

I did not fall asleep on watch. How...when...did you leave camp? Where did you go? My suspicions had not yet been satisfied. I scrutinized him carefully. Alaric and I had known each other from childhood, our shared memories etched into every line of his face, and every scar. His straw-colored hair had gone wild, and his normally clean-shaven cheeks were growing a dark, uneven beard. I supposed I looked no different, so I could hardly hold it against him. The pleading behind his eyes was genuine. So was the pained bewilderment. It was unthinkable that I would ever unleash my bow against him—he had not seen himself as the grotesque beast that had come rushing at me from the dark. By now, I was not certain of what I had seen.

You’re going to think I’m crazy, but honestly, I’m not sure, he stammered anxiously. I wondered what he saw when he looked into my face. I was having another nightmare, worse than any of the others. Nevon was there.

Alaric swallowed hard before continuing, as if he was trying to choke down something caught in his throat. "He was being chased down by the Hounds, their red eyes and fire-breath glowing ominously in the dark. They were toying with him, Einar—watching him run while they surrounded him. He never had a chance to get away. Their master was leading them with his hunting staff. He was calling instructions to them with words I could not understand.

The beasts brought Nevon down by the little stream we crossed—the one the girl Elowyn showed us. Everything was happening just like she said. It was horrible to watch, and I could do nothing. I was frozen in place, or I would have died fighting alongside him. They dragged off his body into this horrible wood. I tried so hard to follow, I really tried, his voice broke with emotion as he relived the dream in his mind. Hearing what had happened to our friend was surely very different from witnessing it and being unable to stop it. I relaxed my bowstring slightly, but remained alert. Though he sounded genuine, I had to be sure.

I wanted to find out where they were taking him, Alaric continued, still trying hard to convince me. But as they crossed over the border of the Shadow Wood they disappeared into the darkness. Then I awoke, and realized that I was no longer at our camp—that I was lost and alone. A noise startled me and I panicked and ran. But it seems that I had not actually wandered very far off, because I’ve somehow made my way back. I can’t explain any of it. His eyes bored intently into mine, searching for any sign that I believed his story, as my arrow was still pointed toward his chest, ready to release on my command. His expression was desperate in a way that I had never seen in him before, even during the most hopeless of battles.

Einar, I feel like I’m starting to lose my mind, he confessed. By the time we get back, I’ll be tipping my hat to the geese and calling them ‘Milady,’ he said with a nervous laugh. Only Alaric could still manage to find humor in such a situation. Inwardly I couldn’t help but smile. It had been a long time since I’d thought about the crazy old scullion at Tyroc Castle, who walked about the grounds paying his respects to the geese as though they were noblewomen. The memory made me strangely homesick.

It’s this place, I said, sighing with disgust.

I finally lowered my weapon and returned the arrow to its quiver. His story disturbed me greatly, as I realized it had probably been more than just a dream. How he had risen from his place by the fire and wandered off without me knowing was all the more unsettling. It was as though something had purposely obscured my vision, just as it had caused him to chase phantoms in the dark. My stomach sickened at the thought that I had nearly killed him on his return, believing him to be a menacing beast the likes of which I had not seen before. I never would have forgiven myself. If we could not trust our minds, or our eyes, there was no longer safety in companionship.  

I used to think all the stories of people going into the Shadow Wood and never coming back out again were the talk of fools and cowards, I said. Now I think we would be wise to leave while we can, if indeed we still can, before we end up killing each other.

And what about Nevon? Commander Godwin joined in as he sat upright, no doubt wakened by the commotion we were making. His dark tousled hair and the hollows beneath his eyes revealed how poorly he had slept. He was not faring much better under the strain than we were.

No one wants to avenge Nevon’s death more than I, I responded. But I think it is time we face the truth. Every trace of him we have found has been a ruse, leading us in ever confusing circles. More than anything, I wish that Nevon had never made that vow to the dying monk we found in the old temple ruin. We should have just taken the relic he recovered and given it to one of the monks in Tyroc, or Port’s Keep, and let them deal with it.

As if we could just walk right through the gates of either city and do as we please, Alaric scoffed. He had a point. A journey into Tyroc was just as likely to end in our deaths as this one was. We can’t go back and change what Nevon did. He made the vow, whether we like it or not, and we have agreed to carry it out in his place. Don’t forget you asked for this mission.

I have not forgotten, I replied. But neither have I forgotten that Nevon’s promise to carry the relic back to the monk’s order is what got him killed. And now here we are, risking the same fate. At what point have we fulfilled our duty? It has been weeks since we entered the Shadow Wood, and we’re no closer now to finding Nevon’s remains, or the relic he carried, than we were the day we entered. Is reclaiming this ancient trinket, assuming it is even here, worth all of us dying in this forsaken place?

The three monks who sacrificed themselves to find it thought it was, our commander interjected. He was a man of deep faith, and for him this quest was about far more than finding Nevon’s body or avenging his death. I did not share his religious convictions. But though we sometimes disagreed, he had been like a father to me for much of my life, and I always held him in the highest respect.

If we do leave, we are at least obligated to search out the monks’ brethren and tell them what happened. There are enough monasteries not affiliated with Tyroc that we could approach safely, Alaric said. Let them resume the search themselves. They might know what relic to look for—maybe even how to find it. My fear is that, vow or not, we’re ill prepared for this type of quest. We could be looking straight at the thing and not know what it was. Our supplies are running low, and the men back at camp are no doubt wondering if we shall ever return. I used to think I could endure any kind of suffering, but I will admit I have begun to feel defeated. The darkness here is too heavy for any soul to bear for long.

You’re right of course, our commander replied. This oath was never yours, and you have no obligation to continue. You may both go back to camp and tell the others of our adventures here. Begin making preparations for winter—it will be here soon enough, and we will need shelter more sturdy than sagging tents.

And what about you? I asked.

I knew the look in his eyes. I