Grivo's "can of tortured sadness" was a jar filled with gray dust claiming to be magick with white sparkles occasionally showing themselves especially if held up to the sunlight. It was a bright, early morning and it took Argenton and Danlen an hour and a half to find the flattened path back to the base camp in Tawny Forest.
"Should make sure you don't accidentally break the thing," Danlen said riding Veilie, his peacock, on eye level with Argenton. Apparently, he didn't want to walk because it made him feel too mortal.
Which is a stupid reason. Was I really friends with this guy? Argenton had remembered when they first met, but how they ended up becoming friends was vague to him. Danlen and his guitar grounded him in the present, connected him with the past, but what about the two of them? Where was the memory with them together?
I should be remembering more about that.
Right? I should be remembering about Danlen, he thought to Sarvy, especially if what you say is true.
Sarvy poked her head out from his shirt pocket. "It'll come in time," she telepathized.
Do you know something? he asked.
She was silent.
Sarvy, what is it?
"It'll come in time," she answered.
He guessed it was the blocked memory. Since it wasn't something by magick, he could only hope his mind would unlock that door for him soon. It was important. He could feel it.
Once they neared the camp, Danlen announced he wanted to get his sword that he left in Septent's office when he was in there before the attack.
"The attack?" Argenton frowned. "But I—"
"Shortly after you returned home, Haunters attacked." Danlen directed Veilie toward the camp. "And everyone left to base two. Not big enough for the amount, but enough. Then as I was running to chase a Haunter, I saw you running."
And that's when he was calling me.
But the carnage here didn't make sense. Haunter black goop residue scattered throughout the clearing, and splattered on windows and walls. Danlen, who had the skill of a First Tier, wouldn't leave messy carnage like a greenie. Either he, for some reason, wasn't on base when the attack came, or he didn't participate. First Tiers always became leaders for small groups of Seconds and Thirds and greenies, so it would be strange if he didn't participate.
Unless he was on patrol? At his little lonely house?
As Danlen flew Veilie into the base camp, Argenton noticed the gate was kicked in. Not a Haunter crashing the gate. The lower half of their bodies could pass through objects without breaking them. They could leave residue behind, but it was unlikely. He bent down to get a whiff of the goop.
Pungent, but stale. How long ago? He took another whiff. Years of training came back. A week, maybe two. It never rains here anyway, but Haunter stench keeps fresh for at most a week. So, maybe two weeks ago.
"Fimzle, was I away for that long?" he muttered and wandered into the camp, passing cabins with broken glass, doors, and torn roofs. Those could be explained. Greenies did have training in combat, but they never got much practice in magick battle. Unless their captain father just happened to know some sick someone who kept a few Haunters for "fun".
Now I remember that guy. Argenton nodded and stopped in front of his cabin. With the memory of the sick Haunter keeper came that same flashback of standing over the body of a man struggling with his life. As one last retaliation, the man drove his dagger into Argenton's thigh and that was where that scar came from.
YOU ARE READING
There Lives a Beast in the Burning Heart ✓ | a novella
Fantasy[An Ozel Emla Tale] At midnight, fire mage Argenton loses memory of yesterday. It's a curse that's eating away at his sanity. All he knows is that he's a loyal soldier protecting citizens of Noier from forest beasts called Haunters. His father also...
