The Phoenix Sword: XIX

Autumn's Mist

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The soreness gnawing at my legs tore at me, and it took a great deal of determination to ignore it. Rajka huffed, nervously biting the crisp air as dawn approached; faint rays of the sun reached outward on the horizon. After a full night of fleeing from our pursuers on horseback, alternating between crossing the plains at full speed and carefully ascending and descending plateaus and rock mounds, the chase left us sore and weary from hours endlessly spent in the rough saddles.
“How are you feeling?” Arcane asked as he led Shastri to Rajka’s side to get closer.
“I have a feeling my legs are raw, but other than that I can uphold.”
“Spite said we should arrive in Lyndis shortly after sunrise. We can rest there and wrap your legs if you need bandages.”
I suddenly wished I had not mentioned any discomfort. “I’ll be fine,” I retorted. Hesitating, Arcane eventually nodded and strayed back to his original path, rendering an equal distance between Spite and me. I appreciated the quiet—sleep deprivation only intensified my bitterness, and I did not desire to speak words unintentionally. Instead, I allowed my mind to drift as I rested into Rajka’s spinal contours, ignoring the sturdy saddle.
“Autumn’s Mist.”
The voice startled me as I spun to face the direction of the detached speaker, only to meet with absolute nothingness.”Who’s there?”
All of a sudden, a chime penetrated the silence, the delicate noise tolling repeatedly. The same voice continued, “Do not outrun time. Once the bells begin to chime, fate is in your own hands. It is up to you to search for the path, even if you must travel in pure darkness to reach it.”
I continued to glance around for the source of the voice, frustrated by the riddled words. “I don’t understand. What are you trying to tell me?”
“That is for you to decide, Autumn’s Mist.”
The presence seemed to leave, and I was left in solitude.
“Autumn’s Mist.”
Jolting upright, I found azure eyes staring at me in concern. “Are you all right?” Spite inquired from his mount atop Phalo, who began a steady pace beside Rajka.
Blinking away my dazed fatigue, I replied, “I think so. What happened?”
Spite shrugged. “You just looked really spaced out.” Giving a faint smile, he assured, “Don’t strain yourself, we’re almost there.”
I gave a curt not and waited for Spite to drift back into his own path before I released a sigh. The frequent nightmares that struck me seemed to drain any remaining energy, and exhaustion was beginning to take its toll. I fought to stay awake for the rest of the early morning, until, exactly as Spite predicted, Lyndis peaked into view at the sun’s ascension.
A sudden excitement fluttered in my chest at the sight of crystalline waters that flickered and lulled in the greater distance—the Nefaria sea. After travelling in desolate rock plains and weathered plateaus since we crossed into Balator, even the mere sight of the brilliant sea was deemed a relief worth savouring.
Quickening to a canter, the horses relented to our eagerness as they hurried across the weathered ground, the stones becoming a cool grey instead of warm browns and reds as we got closer Lyndis. As we neared the cerulean province, we slowed to a collected pace in order to pass through the gates.
“Halt!” The gatekeeper called out, and we obeyed his command. “Who are you, and what is your business here?”
“Leave the travellers alone. I have asked them to come,” a hoarse voice interrupted as an elderly man weaved his way through the gatekeepers. The stout man leaned on a wooden cane and glanced up at us under bushy eyebrows, a knowing glint in his eye; a silent order to play along in his act. “Follow me, my guests.”
I took the lead behind the elderly man, each of us following closely behind through the crowded marketplace of Lyndis. The town was bustling with merchants and children, travellers and seamen, and it seemed as if the stony ground branched out into docks and ports like a web around the land. Bridges connected the town together in a labyrinth of countless stones and canals, where down below personal wooden vessels drifted along the gentle streams that were etched throughout Lyndis in a maze. Little lanterns hung from elevated mounts, such as posts and roofs, but they were unlit prior to nightfall, where they would illuminate the town like thousands of fireflies.
Despite my longing to see the city, I felt a little relief when we reached a cozy-looking house, nestled on the other side of one of the canals. The horses’ hooves clacked on the cobblestone, their ears flicking every which way as they listened to the cacophony around them. I dismounted Rajka, patting him appreciatively as he nickered, blowing gently onto my hair. At the old man’s request, a stable hand eagerly took our horses and led them off elsewhere to be kept and nurtured as we remained on foot and approached the quaint house’s doorway that the man now held wide open.
“Come in, come in. Have a seat. Here, let Lucell take your weapons and gear.” He hurriedly waved us in, shutting the door behind him. A tall, lanky man moved from the entryway, carrying himself stiffly and awkwardly as if he were unused to his body. Moving cautiously, he approached me first and reached for my quiver and bow, then hesitated when I did not offer them.
Shifting the weapon’s weight against my shoulder, I shrugged, and attempted to make my voice sound less cold. “I’ll keep these with me.” As an afterthought, I quickly added, “If that’s all right.”
Lucell’s eyes flicked from me to Alana, noticing her for the first time. His eyes widened, but he made an effort to stay calm and carry on with his task. Lucell fervently nodded his head, and with careful movements, moved on to Spite and Arcane, retrieving their weapons and piling them inside of a chest nearby. A flash of metal caught my eye, but it disappeared just as quickly as it had appeared, and a moment later the old man’s hand was resting on his stout cane once again. Spite shuffled his feet, a light yet visibly forced smile playing on his features. I could tell he was resistant to surrendering his knives to strangers.
“Come now, have a seat,” the elderly man gestured again. “Tea, Lucell! For the guests.” The younger man fled, silently ducking into another room.
Spite flopped down into the nearest chair, tipping back his head and sighing. “I never want to see another saddle.” He quietly chuckled to himself, folding his arms behind his head and closing his eyes.
Arcane took a hostile approach as he slowly lowered onto another chair, perched as though he were ready to jump at any moment. Hardly a moment before he was seated, he demanded, “Who are you?” his eyes were locked on the old man. I remained pressed in the shadows, leaning against the wall, and studied him as well.
The elder man tapped his cane against the wooded floorboards. “There’s no need for that glare, lad. We’re friends here.” Arcane remained unchanged. “You can call me Iursch.”
Spite broke in with an amused laugh. “How did you know we were coming?” he sounded nonchalant, even uncaring, although his questioned was the same one we had all been wondering.  
Iursch chuckled. “Oh, that? It was only to fool the guards. Lately, they’ve been pestering young travellers that wish to pass through the gates.”  
Arcane crossed his arms and raised a brow, but refrained from making a comment. Lucell slipped into the room, practically bending over as he delivered the several cups of tea, distributing it particularly nervously and even spilling some onto Arcane’s lap. He apologized repeatedly, to which Arcane merely dismissed with a wave of his hand. Next, Lucell approached me with lowered eyes. Before he could pour the pot of brewed tea, I held out my hand with a flat palm facing outward. Lucell lifted his gaze, watching me intently, though I had no words to form.
“You don’t want any, miss?” Iursch noticed my refusal with a flat look. “Lucell, fetch the lass some water, at least. She looks a little pale.”
I shifted so my leg was touching Alana, allowing myself the small comfort of a familiar presence. She sat on her haunches, watching Lucell patiently. “No, tea’s fine.” I looked at Iursch. “I’m fine. Just tired, I guess.” Accepting the offered cup, I cradled it in my hands and mumbled, “Thanks,” as Lucell retreated. As soon as his back was turned, I watched him weave through the room, seeming to almost hurry to get out of the way.
Iursch clapped his hands together and took a seat at the head of the group so he was facing us. “Enough of this idle banter!” he said, though he was grinning gleefully. Rubbing his hands together, he started, “So, tell me lad, whereabouts are you headed to?” he directed his question to Spite.
Arcane abruptly cut in. “That’s none of your business, old man.”
Iursch raised a brow. Spite rolled his eyes and answered, “We’re headed to the Umbris Isles. It’s been a long journey so far. Together, we came all the way from—” his rambling ceased, and he spat at Arcane, “Hey, that hurt!” he barely finished his sentence before Arcane kicked him again, this time less discreetly. Iursch did not seem to notice.
“That certainly sounds like quite the journey for young folk like yourselves. Don’t tell me you’re hunting for the Red Grave, too?” he raised the question in disbelief and even shook his head as if he found it amusing.
“The Red Grave?” The words sounded almost familiar on my tongue, though it felt more like recalling the taste of something I had never tasted.
“Oh? You don’t know? ...Ah, never mind. It’s not important.” Iursch shook his head again, sighing. “It’s just a foolish rumour based on a legend.”
“Wait.” Three faces turned to look at me, as if truly noticing my presence for the first time. Resisting the urge to step back from their scrutinizing stares, I said, keeping my voice firm, “I want to know.”  
Iursch hummed quietly as he contemplated how to respond. Finally, he clapped his hands together, though more gently this time, and replied, “Very well.” In turn he looked at us, preparing his decision carefully. At last, he said, “Very well, I shall tell you. I shall tell you the legend of the Red Grave.”