Two seas would collide in the forest. One of the battle-worn and the other of the battle-ready.
Feet crashing in the ocean of mud below, raging in both directions of to and from. swashing around the trees, with the natural tone of breaking sticks and gusts slapping across their ears.
As they grew closer, so would the coming truth of what happened the night before. Slowly, the ball of fate was beginning to unravel.
A man in front, holding onto the stretcher with all the might he had left, his stamina waning from the strides Yurn and Robert were taking to get back to the manor, gliding over fallen trees, skirting the gaps, squeezing the stretcher through, hoping Uill would stay locked in place.
Their arms were aching, their legs throbbing from the building of pain, ready to give, pushing on, fighting against the allure of stopping for a moment.
In the distance, just ahead of the warding totem.
Yurn: I see something ahead. It looks to be the guards from the manor! (calling out to the others behind, breaking his words due to the strain on his lungs.)
Uill wasn't a heavy man, even with his missing leg. Though the search, the find, and the unknown all rolled into one, it was a burden for them all.
Shouting behind Yurn shot up.
Robert: Keep it up; I'm not stopping until I get to that manor! FASTER! (shouting like a coachman at his horse to stay on track, commanding Yurn to push on.)
Both men picked up their pace, ready to wash into the coming of bodies, aiming for safety beyond the sight of relief. Galloping ahead, the tow melded into one; they indeed sounded like a horse, but their hearts weren't in the run; their hearts were racked with fear, carrying their ware, the broken man in the middle.
Trailing behind the three in front, getting further away with every stride, were Vayreban and Alvin. Now they could see the line of men ahead. A question shot from the gruff fellow.
Alvin: Stop or go, my Lord? (questioning while running.)
Vayreban: If you stop, you will have wished that thing had killed you. I'm seeing my son and daughter again. GO! DON'T STOP, NOT UNTIL WE GET TO THE MANOR! (shouting.)
The two men in front could hear the command of their Lord. The five rolled past the coming of guards; both seas were now meeting, and both waters were heading back to the manor. One won over the other, pushing them aside and back, pulling all the guards with it like a rip tide.
A confused line of men looked at the blur of the five rushing by. The relief was shouting at them to stop, words of comfort and safety mixed in, and a name was thrown into it all—a name that only fell into a void of the determined focus of safety.
The words that darkened thing spoke of mulled over in the mind of Vayreban. Over and over as they passed the warding totem, continuing through the brush, ignoring nature's hands once more,
Ahead was the broken wall.
"When his love finally fades, I shall not show you mercy, only despair; Juillius Vayreban..."
Vayreban: Who are you? (Thinking in his head, worried about what it all meant.)
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In the main hall, Eral was rushing from side to side. This time, he wasn't moving the crates back and forth. Only shouts of frustration came from his lips, the crates feeling the wrath of his incompetence and disorganised nature.
Eral: Yarrow, purified water (clicking his fingers), condensed lumin... Where is it? Come out, come out. (eyes hovering over the crates, glancing through the gaps, hoping it would catch his eye.)
The growls of frustration were now rising, and the echoes of crates being pushed around filled the room. The clattering of escaping glass bottles rolled along the floor, and the sliding of wood on polished stone marble screeched along, clattering against the piles he hadn't searched just yet.
Eral: Come on, where did I put it? (frustration growing.)
Then the small taps of feet came from behind him, as did the unsure voice of a child.
Rubern: Is this it? (holding something.)
In the hands of the boy was a small jar filled with sparkling dust that glittered with a turquoise colour, resembling finely grounded stone mixed with transparent jewels.
The healer stopped his wild rummaging and turned, now staring into the hands of Rubern.
Eral: My boy! You are a lifesaver. (grabbing the top of his head and kissing his hair.) Mwah, you will make a fantastic assistant. (Taking a hold of the jar, holding his prize in his hands.)
Rubern smiled at first, then recoiled at the affection of the man, rubbing his head and wiping away the kiss of the healer from his hair.
Eral wrestled through the crates, fighting his way to his room; cursing at them all. Partially leaving the boy on his own as the door to the healer's room was wide open, but both were out of sight of each other. The outside mess didn't rival the explosion of horrors that lay in the room ahead; as Rubern peaked in, he saw more bottles on the floor than the family wine cellar.
Rubern began to pick up the contents of the crates that were tipped up all along the floor—the bottles that rolled to freedom and trinkets lost to the madness, after being tipped up.
He was cleaning up after the healer until a hand grabbed his shoulder. Turning, now facing the red-haired woman on the stairs.
Louvan: Young Lord, let me do that (taking the bottle from the boy's hand). Please go to your sister; Hyrne is with her. Eral is a messy person; this needs a maid's touch!
A voice shot from the room beyond the war-torn boxes.
Eral: I won't say no to that! (Laughter filling the main hall.) And I am not! Well, a little
Rolling her eyes at the lewd comment.
Louvan: One day he will wake up tied to a horse heading for the forest (whispering to Rubern).
Both of them giggling.
Eral: You wouldn't, would you? (concerned.)
Louvan winked. She comforted Rubern with a smile and shooed him up the stairs with her open palms. She turned and began to clean up after Eral's madness. She looked into the wooden box, and something caught her eye. The soft complexion of the maid turned into a scowl aimed at the direction of the open door.
Louvan: Eral, are these my washcloths? You stole them! (muttering.)
Eral: No… They just look like your washcloths. (sarcastic.)
Louvan: These are mine! Oh god, they are mouldy! Eral! (disgusted face.)
Eral: I need them for a special mould that only grows on damp grover fur; it's for the church!
Louvan: Use yourself; some days I think you are a mould I can't get rid of!
Eral: Hey! Words hurt… even for the old and mouldy like me. (laughing.)
Even Louvan broke into a smile at the healer's antics.
Rubern made his way to his sister's room once more, hearing the playful fight behind him. The manor bustled to life for the last time, the laughter echoing into the far ends of the main hall.
Another force would follow, reverberating around the room, which never saw a peaceful sight.
Before Rubern's feet could meet the top of the stairs, the front doors once more slammed open, all heads spinning to the commotion.
The wave of men burst into the main hall. The ones who left for the forest and the ones who returned. All of them were flowing in from the main door, now washing into the barracks, completely ignoring the two still souls looking on.
Louvan stood, preparing herself to warn Eral. Before her words left her mouth, the man dubbed the healer of the manor was already running towards the mess that came in from outside, following the trail of destruction.
Eral: No need; I am already on it. (holding several bottles in his arms, all glistening in a turquoise colour.)
His body disappeared around the corner, heading for the barracks. Eral had already set up a makeshift triage when he learned of the screams.
Louvan quickly gathered the strewn items and hustled them away into whatever crate in arms reach, no longer taking care in finding the right spot or preventing anything from being stacked on each other.
She had her own goal now: making sure that food was freely flowing.
Everyone had their part to fill, even Rubern. As he returned to his sister's room, knowing a time would come to see his father, he saw him, and that was enough for him for now.
A part of him wanted to run down and grab his father, hugging him and holding onto his cloak, but a memory shot through his mind. When he was young, his father scolded him for doing such a thing.
"The men needed to heal, not to be bothered by the worries of a small child, even those of the heir to the manor," were the words of his father. He focused on Amelia now, being strong for her, and praying inside that all of the men would be fine.
He entered the room, telling Hyrne that his father had returned.
Both of them lit up, one more than the other, the girl with the golden hair and emerald eyes, chowing down on her Grover soup special.
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In the forest, two eyes were burning now, looking at the warding stone.
Unknown voice: Soon, even you shall be free. (Distorted.)
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