The Legend of Lost Aulta

22. The Perpetual Plain

FELIKS

Eadric called it "The Perpetual Plain." It made up 70% of Devola's land- a huge expanse of nothing, similar to a desert, but lighter on the heat and sand. It was gravel, ground rock, stretching out into the distance, and until the very end, Eadric said, you could not see anything in the distance, no water, no coast, nothing at all.

It was the perfect recipe for disaster.

They had walked for three days in something similar to a stunned silence. After the attack, nobody seemed to want to talk- there was so much left unsaid, lying in the air as thick as fog.

All Feliks knew was that he was useless.

He had not fully recognised it before. He had never had to be useful. He had been shut away his entire life, locked behind double doors, served brini on a platter in his huge bedroom with two beds and two bay windows, all so that he would not come downstairs and haunt the halls with what he could have been. He had been armed with guards on all sides, and when his body was weak he would be confined to his bed. He would spend the day reading or talking to Yulia when she came to visit him.

They would talk of nothing. Adventure. Childish fantasy. Love. Things that they never thought they would have. And now that it was in front of him, he was struck by the fact that he could not do it. He was not strong enough.

Those creatures had almost killed him. He was not strong enough, and everyone had paid for it. Staring at the bandages that peeked from above Yulia's collar, Feliks could only feel a bitter sting of regret, failure. This was the person that had been sent by the Gods. This was the person who was meant to protect everyone.

As he walked and walked, limping along pathetically, with nothing but an expanse of blankness to surround him, that was all he could think of. And he needed to stop it. He could not be a failure anymore.

On the fourth day, the group had been walking for hours, the sun blazing down upon them like a flame. Jackets and capes were abandoned, and tents were barely needed at night. The heat and the silence was almost driving Feliks insane.

"Ronyk," he said, eventually. The silence was broken, and the group all turned to look at him.

Halima had her skirts hitched up, and her eyes were dark with hunger. Eadric's eyes were similar, ravenous, though he did not seem to show it. Feliks felt strange when he looked at Eadric- his saviour. When no-one else could, the Chort Tsarevich had saved him, cradled him as he lost consciousness. Feliks did not know what to think of it.

Yulia and Ronnie walked at the respective front and back of the group- Yulia with Eadric at the head, and Ronnie at the back. He seemed particularly strange, staying completely silent and staring at his hands with wide, horrified eyes. For the past couple of nights, Feliks had sworn he had heard him in his tent, screaming as he woke in the dead of dusk.

"Yes, moi Tsarevich?" Said Ronnie. It was the way they had spoken to each other when they had first met. Nothing was right here, as though they were all worlds away from each other despite being only a few steps apart.

"I would like you to teach me to fight," he said, eventually.

Ronnie's eyebrows raised, his steps heavy on the dusty gravel below him. The sun fell brightly on his face, streaking across his freckles and causing his eyes to squint as though he was peering into the unknown.

"Da, moi Tsarevich," he said, "though I am rusty."

Yulia looked between them, helplessly. They were not speaking like friends, and Feliks knew this. The journey was harrowing, and the Plain felt like purgatory, floating off of the earth, not dead, not alive.