Miraden's Folly: Her Soul of Fire Book One, page 23
“Help me, Ceycha! Help me fast!” Curasca said. She twisted her scarf to wring the stinking liquid onto Ormus’s lips. Ceychell tried to do the same with the blanket, but the drink had already soaked into it. She screamed and twisted the cloth so hard it wrested free a small stream of remedy into Ormus’s mouth. He shuddered in pain but remained asleep.
Ceychell slumped next to the bed and howled. She clutched the scroll against her chest and then glared at Gonan. She never hated anyone until now, and it twisted her thoughts. “Miraden sent that cure from an island shaman. He sent a potion to cure my father, and now he may not live because of you!”
“My lady, I am—”
“Because of you! I want this man tied and secured in the holding house.”
“You can’t possibly—” Gonan groveled.
“Ceycha,” her mother said.
“My father bestowed the charge of Kaehrn to me. I want this false healer bound. If my father does not survive, you will hang him for it!”
“Surely, good people,” Gonan pleaded to the villagers, “you could see it was a mistake! I came here from Bilore Des to help Ormus! To help him! I have committed no crime.”
“You heard, the chieftain,” Chandar said, scowling. “Bryndyke and I will take care of it, Ceychell.”
Gonan struggled against the grips of the two strong men. “You have no authority to keep me here. I am bound to the laws of Bilore Des, and more importantly, the Father of Light’s laws, not yours! Don’t be a stupid little brat.”
Ceychell stepped up to face Gonan and saw the blood crusted on his right nostril and his cheek badly swelling. “Say that again, and I’ll have you tied naked to a tree and let the wolves eat you alive if you don’t freeze first.”
“This is the daughter you’ve raised, Curasca?” Gonan shouted though Curasca was just as angry as her daughter. “I can sense a devil inside you, young beauty,” he seethed at Ceychell. “I hope you don’t lead your people to ruin.”
“Get him out of here,” Ceychell yelled. “If he says one more word, take him deep in the forest and find him a tree.” Ceychell watched Bryndyke and Chandar yank Gonan out of the bedroom, heard them drag him down the stairs pleading, then the slammed front door.
She addressed the remaining well-wishers. “Please, go about your day and keep my father in your prayers.” She stared at them sternly. “Nothing more can be done now. Thank you for being here for my father.”
“Did Miraden really send that?” Vera asked, leaning on her thick cane, her wrinkled cheeks damp from recent tears.
“He did…” Ceychell answered but found her emotions eclipsing her composure and could say no more.
Each of the remaining villagers touched Ormus’s bed and whispered a quick prayer. As they left the bedroom, each of them touched Ceychell’s shoulder and told her, “We shall follow the hunter,” the traditional first words the people of Kaehrn recited to a new leader. They did not say the whole ritual out of respect for her father.
“Born under the Kaehrnstone,” Ceychell responded to them in whispers. It bothered her to respond while her father still drew breath, but she would not break the tradition.
Ceychell changed her father’s blankets and remained by his bedside with Curasca. She wiped his sweating forehead with cool, damp rags. She still shook from the incident with Gonan and found no comfort from her mother’s embrace.
“I will never know why that happened,” Curasca whispered. “And I pray to the Daughter of Forests to not abandon my Ormus. There is nothing we can do now but keep him comfortable and pray. I’ll leave you to read Miraden’s letter. I hope he has good news.” She kissed Ceychell’s cheek and exited the bedroom, leaving Ceychell alone with her father.
Ceychell opened the letter.
Ceychell,
I’ve tried writing more here on the island, but I’ve been so anxious to look for Kyradel that I can barely sit still. Then I received your letter. I was unbelievably excited! Then I read it and saw that it wasn’t even a letter to me… Thank you for crushing me again.
I’m recounting what has happened because it may be my last letter. I need to write this quickly. Gorgundi’s remedy for your father is cooling, and we will send it as soon as it’s ready.
Gorgundi talks to me often about what I must do, but he speaks in riddles. I’ve tried to ask him about the Ashengate, but his answers are so vague that I can’t understand what he’s saying. He says things like when the lidless eye opens, you must be ready to shatter the key. And the devils’ berthing can only be fulfilled in a world without children. I’ve almost gotten used to his cryptic comments, but I’m growing more nervous each day. Any day now, we will see this Ashengate, and I must know what to do. Gorgundi pointed many times to a section of water where a sandbar often appears at ebb tides. He said that the last time the sandbar was visible, the gate opened. I’ve taken Hellshy out to the shore, and it also points in the direction of the sandbar. But for now, we wait. I’m not sure for how long.
It is interesting watching how infatuated the tribesmen are with Simigrin. They call her Boonja and say it with a bit of reverence. They believe anyone who can command magic is an extraordinary being, strong enough to enslave those who can’t. They think she is a demigod. Several men brought her freshly caught fish. One even caught a fish with massive jaws. It was as big as a horse with glassy eyes and rows of sharp pointed teeth—exactly the kind of terror I knew lived in the ocean. Ten people helped the islander drag the fish to her. I think the poor man thought for sure she’d marry him for pulling the horrible trophy from the deep. Alas, Simigrin remains a maiden, but we all ate well that night. I have never tasted a more delicious steak than the meat of that terrifying creature. It was perfect with reed vegetables harvested from a nearby lagoon boiled in saltwater.
The few children who remain on the island carved trinkets for Simigrin, and the women asked to braid her hair. I’m not sure how many of the men have offered blessings to catch her favor, but it seems like all of them. She told me the attention was overwhelming, but she didn’t dare offend anyone. She often retreated to Gorgundi’s hut, where the others did not dare bother her. Rendeekra saw to that. Despite their affections, the islanders as a whole were not aggressive. I’ve not feared for our safety here at all. Especially after Simigrin whispered to me that she understands every word they say. She told me they love to gossip and talk about spirits and the Ashengate constantly…
Miraden and Simigrin sat near the fire in Gorgundi’s tent. He’d finally gotten used to the smoke. Gorgundi chanted quietly to himself with his eyes closed.
“What is it?” Simigrin whispered to Miraden.
He couldn’t help but think about Ceychell. He often wondered what she wrote in the letter Neandra threw in the chasm. He felt close to her, closer than he had in a long time. “It’s nothing,” he replied, but when he looked over at her, she stared right through his lie.
“Boonja,” Gorgundi said. He stretched out his long arm toward her. “I will take that necklace now. The sandbar rises.”
Simigrin withdrew the chain from her inside pocket, and Gorgundi scooped it out of her hands. The more Gorgundi stared at it, the wider the shadows grew in his eyes. Then he threw dust from a pouch at his waist into the fire. The flames crackled and hissed wildly. He reached his hand out to the wisps and then sliced his hand open with a tooth from the jawbone around his neck.
Miraden and Simigrin backed away from him. Miraden had no idea what Gorgundi said next, but he was crazed and shouted at the gate guardian’s necklace. It started to burn in his hand, and the fire slithered up his arm like a serpent.
Then Gorgundi screamed. Miraden didn’t know what to do. He finally couldn’t listen to him anymore and started to stand up, but Rendeekra pushed him back down. He looked up at the large spearman, who shook his head without a word. Soon, Gorgundi was entirely engulfed by the fire, and Miraden expected the hut they were in would catch fire, and they’d be running for their lives.
Miraden froze when Gorgundi grabbed him by both shoulders. He felt a painful jolt as his vision went black for a second. He reeled afterward while his whole body buzzed from the shock. He wasn’t sure what had happened. Something wasn’t right.
Then, as fast as the fire came, it sucked into Gorgundi’s skin until it burned only around his hand holding the necklace. The broken chain holding the red-and-black crystal burned wildly, and within its burning loop was a yellow flame and darkness that looked like an Ashengate. And then it went out, and the whole thing was over.
Gorgundi sat hunched and perfectly still for a few moments with his head hanging as if he slept. Then finally, he picked his head up and said, “It must be made whole to open the gate, and when it opens, upon their temple, you must shatter it.”
He opened his long, withered fingers and let the chain droop over his hand. The smooth crystal was flawless as though never cracked. Simigrin took the necklace, and Gorgundi said, “Be ready, Boonja—it comes, and you must turn our flesh to frost.”
Miraden and Simigrin exchanged a confused look. He really couldn’t shake feeling so strange, as though he were lost, and he thought she could tell. She put her hand on his shoulder. Then, a commotion outside the tent got his attention. Gorgundi stood up and patted his back, then said, “The bat is here.”
Miraden ran out to find the bat had returned with the case. One of the villagers removed the scroll from its case and brought it to him. Miraden opened it and immediately recognized Ceychell’s handwriting. He was so excited he couldn’t even look at the letter. He couldn’t believe she actually wrote to him! She finally wrote to him!
Simigrin ran up to Miraden. “Is that from Ceychell?” she asked.
“Yes!” Miraden yelled with enough excitement that she and the islanders stepped back. Miraden ran; he jumped through the air. He held the letter to his chest. Miraden sat down next to a palm tree and got comfortable. He opened her letter with utmost care.
Then he read the letter asking for help. She didn’t write a thing to Miraden. It wasn’t even addressed to him! He sat there for a long moment. Tear streams would have normally run down his cheeks, but he felt an emptiness instead. It was as if she could hurt him no more.
He then thought of Ormus. Even though her father was their Chieftain, he’d always felt he was the father of their village. He was such a good man. Ever since Miraden’s father passed, Ormus had treated him almost like a son, so long as Ceychell wasn’t around. Miraden would help save him at any cost.
When Miraden turned his attention up from the letter, Simigrin pulled back her hood and stared at him with concern. It was the kind of look you see in someone’s eyes when they watch you in peril.
“What is it? What happened?” she asked. She reached her hand out to him just as he stood up in a slump.
Miraden tried, but he couldn’t answer. He felt sucker-punched and just dragged himself over to Gorgundi. Miraden proffered the note, and Gorgundi took and read it.
Gorgundi nodded and chuckled to himself for a brief moment. “I know what this is.” The shaman rubbed his hands along all the large tooth piercings on his cheeks and nose and said, “This is a sickness a man gets when he has eaten meat tainted with insect venom.” He then said something to the villagers. Miraden watched as a few villagers left and then returned with a goat.
“We are eating to goat tonight?” Miraden asked.
“We can, but there is work to do to save her father,” Ormus said with a grin.
Miraden spent the next hour helping Gorgundi dress the goat and remove its bladder. As instructed, he carefully emptied and cleaned it afterward. Gorgundi was busy brewing something foul in his stew pot. It was pungent for sure. Gorgundi dipped a bowl into the liquid and set it aside to cool.
Miraden watched patiently until Gorgundi waved him over. He held open the bladder as Gorgundi carefully poured in the liquid, then Miraden was extremely careful tying the bladder closed.
“Go, now. Send your letter and that,” Gorgundi said.
Ceychell cried. She fled past the cats and dogs and out of her father’s home. Once outside, she realized how long she had been distracted.
Snow flew as her thin legs plunged into the deep drifts back toward the tree where the bat hung. When she reached the tree, the bat was no longer there. She dropped Miraden’s letter onto the snow, stared up at the sky, and asked the gods why they meddled so much. Why had they turned her into a monster?
Despite her anger, she asked them why they let a soul as sweet as Kyradel be taken by the ashenkin.
She grabbed the letter out of the snow and stumbled back to her parents’ house. As she passed Kyradel’s window, holding back tears, she looked at it closely and noticed a dark smudge just below it. She waded through the snow and wiped her finger on the darkness. The stain was frozen, but she rubbed at it until some of its purple taints spread to her leather glove. It felt strangely familiar, but she couldn’t place it.
Miraden sat at the shore late at night. Fully geared up, he rested just above the tide. He wasn’t sure when they’d leave, but he wanted to be ready. His bow and quivers sat beside him. Hellshy stood on end on the other side of him, stuck into the sand. He stared out at the sandbar just beyond the shallow blue water near the shore.
He thought of Gorgundi’s words while he sat there quietly. Tomorrow morning, the old shaman had said, they must open the gate of fire and enter. Gorgundi told him that they had lost most of their children and that they were the only hope to close the Ashengate permanently, and should they fail, the ashenkin would surely kill the islanders.
Miraden felt his quest had veered a bit off course. He felt no closer to Kyradel, but he continued to hang on to his secret hope that Gorgundi would help him locate her after he and Simigrin close the Ashengate. Every time he asked the shaman if he could sense where she was, he just chuckled and told him, “I’ve already found her, boy. You must be patient.”
He heard the sounds of feet shuffling through the sand and turned to see Simigrin approaching. She sat down next to him and sighed. “Apart from our impending doom, what else is on your mind, Miraden?”
“I am thinking of everything since I left Kaehrn. I’ve lived more in these couple of months than all my years combined, but I’ve felt constant fear. I don’t even know if the person I’m trying to save is still alive. And even if I do find Kyradel, what will be left of her? All night, I’ve thought, am I going through this gate just to be killed for no reason?”
“If you could stop ashenkin coming into this world, wouldn’t that be a good enough reason?”
“For the world? Yes. But not for me.”
“Why not? Don’t you care?”
Miraden looked at his normally quiet companion. He sheathed Hellshy and slapped the sand off his hands but said nothing.
“It’s Ceychell, isn’t it?” Simigrin asked curtly.
She rarely mentioned Ceychell, but this time it stung with jealousy. Miraden wasn’t sure why since she hadn’t shown any interest in Ceychell. “I can’t explain how it feels,” he said at last. “Yes, it’s Ceychell, but I want to rescue Kyradel more than anything. She is a dear friend of mine. But I honestly thought Ceychell would finally reach out to me. The hope of it has kept me going. But when I got her letter, and she didn’t even address me, I just feel like I’ve lost my reason to be here.”
“Perhaps you need to look beyond your own desires. I’m sorry she doesn’t love you.” Simigrin glowered and stared out at the sandbar, shuffling her feet in the sand.
After a few moments, Miraden said, “She used to, I think. But I’ve lost her by my own doing. Now I’m not even sure if I love her anymore. My love for her was my entire world. It was what I was desperately trying to save, and now it is gone.”
Simigrin put her hand on Miraden’s back. “I promise that if we make it out of that gate, I’ll show you all the wonders of my city, and soon you will not even remember her name. I hear that burying the past is the culture in your region, is it not?”
“It is, but I find myself living in the past. But… perhaps you’re right. Perhaps it’s time to look forward.”
“Perhaps, it is,” Simigrin said. Then she stood up and left him to stare out to sea.
Miraden awoke to a hand on his shoulder. A dark silhouette stood over him, blocking out the sunrise. The sky above the shadow was blood-red, and clouds swirled violently over the sea. He shaded his eyes with his hand and saw Gorgundi, Rendeekra, Simigrin, and a host of armed islanders standing around him. He grabbed his bow in alarm.
“My friend, Miraden,” Gorgundi said, “it is time to seal this Ashengate. I have seen our path.”
Miraden stood up and lifted his quivers from where he’d laid them on the sand. He strapped one to his back and the other to his shoulder. He felt no better than the night before, but he returned a stern, confident stare. He was nearing the end of his mission, and perhaps it would finally lead him to Kyradel. “Let’s finish this,” he said.
Even Rendeekra smiled at this as the giant islander stepped up to Miraden. He held out his hand and offered Miraden the restored amulet.
“There is an altar of flesh and bone on top of the temple,” Gorgundi said. “The amulet must be shattered upon it—it must be done, boy.” The old shaman made a throwing motion. “There will be many terrors there, unspeakable things. There will also be children. But these are only distractions. Breaking that necklace on the altar is the only thing that matters.” The shaman walked out to the shoreline's edge, where the sandbar was visible again in the ebbing tide. He waded out to it through chest-high water until he was again only ankle-deep in the sand. Then he kneeled in the surf. Rendeekra, Miraden, Simigrin, and the islanders followed him and crouched down in the surf behind him into two lines. Their faces were painted bright red, but on the front of their faces were drawn white skulls with horns. They each held a spear and mumbled a chant in their strange tongue.
