Two Masters (epic progression fantasy)

Chapter 16: The Lord of the Wild

Six days. Or was it seven? Revin was losing track. Snow fell. Again. Creatures moaned and roared. Occasionally, leaves rustled and snow crunched softly behind him, but when he looked, no beasts were revealed. Only snow dropping from the occasional tree. Had the branches been disturbed? Or were they just overladen?

Sleeping was almost impossible, despite the large fires he arranged. He was deaf and blind without Blackfire. Naked to the elements and to the predators. Had he really relied on Blackfire that much?

He jerked, looking around for a sound. He rubbed his eyes. How much sleep had he gotten? Two hours? Maybe? It was getting harder and harder to think straight. Blackfire wasn't there to bounce thoughts and impressions off of. His mind felt as cold as the world around him.

Revin knew the wilderness. Back on the island. But this place was alien. Most familiar fruit trees were nearly barren in the cold. The rumble in his stomach made him miss Blackfire even more. No meat today. A sword wasn't a very good hunting weapon.

The orientation of the setting sun made north clear, when it wasn't covered by a haze of white clouds. Most of the time, north was almost impossible to discern. And all the mountains and trees looked the same. He scanned the sky for a column of smoke or any sign of civilization. He thought he saw one a few days ago but wondered if he had imagined it.

But, despite his roughly northern direction, Revin didn't know what he wanted to do. Would he go home? Face his father? Face the other monks as a failure? Waiting for Narazoth to come all the same?

Blackfire... Blackfire was gone. It didn't seem real, how could someone that was such a part of him just be.... gone? He tried to turn his thoughts elsewhere, lest the darkness return.

He turned to the Remnant of Remiveyn. He had pulled it from Ismander's things, along with the last bits of food. The Remnant of Remiveyn was an old, rolled up piece of leather with writing burned deep within. The grammar and spelling showed it to be old, even ancient. He had to read some sections several times and out loud for them to start making a little sense.

Ov north ov old Kerdun lay in maity opulence. Bespend the coin and mynd on metal and rotunds ov technical concording. Ov death and weyt were its weapons, crushing to earth. Men stood, then beknelt neath blades befallen...

The pathing sky their strength, their falling...

The flesh begone, souls bound in industry. Their end born ov death-dabbling, 'til maity lyfe-armor fails and death pierces. Lyfe ended though fleeing perishment.

The ancient grammar was hard to follow. Ismander had mentioned Kerdun's weapons only briefly. Revin wished she had spoken more of Narazoth's power sooner, but she probably wasn't expecting to die.

He wanted to talk it out with someone. But no one was there. He was even denied the basic companionship of Blackfire. His only friend. His closest friend. This time, like most days, he couldn't hold back the darkness. It overwhelmed him, urging him to just lay down on the earth. To just give up, to not expend another ounce of energy. For to care was to hurt. And to hurt was darkness. He wished he could return to the numbness, where his feet stepped on their own accord, and his mind wandered through fields of nothing. Much like this landscape. A colorless frozen landscape, devoid of life, thought, and emotion. Devoid of companionship.

He felt like he was the only man in the world.

✦✦✦

Revin descended another hill into a new grove of the dark pine trees. His shoulders were bruising hard from his pack. He wanted to drop the heavy weight, lay down, and sleep. But he had to find people, or he was going to run out of food. Revin wondered if this land had any people at all.