Ashtik: The Champion of Black.

Chapter Ten: Step Softly.

            If ever a wise man comes forth and tells you that the gods are ill, and the world is dark; tell him what Ash knew from her first step. Tell him to look out at the sky above the canopy. Tell him to drag a lung of flowered air. Tell him to feel the crimson grasses beneath his feet and the rain-scented winds against his bare face. The cruelties of war, and the strife that makes progeny of life, fades behind the sapphire sun. It drowns beneath the hope of sunrise, and the warmth of sunset.

She had no place in a city, this first march confirmed it. They had made quickly for Duke's crossing, and hadn't tarried even there. They didn't know when they would be made the devil, but they held no intent to face the false retribution the Veytors offered them so gladly.
Duke's crossing seemed tiny on the horizon already. She had never seen it from this side. She supposed she had never seen anything from this side. Ashtik had lived at the westernmost edge of the northernmost kingdom and had never deigned to look out beyond her wooded hunting grounds. Now she stood a world away, little more than a week after her world had begun to shatter. It had been a slow process till now. A hint at destiny here, a suggestion of struggle there. Now?
Now she fled her home with an army of zealots at her heels and her baby sister at her arm. Now she raced off to build a worldwide alliance against some nebulous, world ending, threat. Ashtik, as she had been in the weeks prior, now known more so as the Sparrow-Knight; the Black Champion. What would be next? The Black Heretic? The scourge? Maybe 'the mild annoyance', if she proved lesser than her fate-weaver might hope.

Sujin, the apprentice enchanter, had told her the trek would be short. Maybe two or three days. The first began in silence. Even Evara's tireless tongue tripped and twisted as she tried to talk of matters beyond their ongoing trials and torturous tribulations.
It was only as they reached the first forest that Ashtik remembered her final gift for Evara. She looked over at Sujin whom she had claimed as some sort of pack animal. He marched along with the chest purchased at the blacksmiths.
"Enchanter." She whispered quietly enough that Evara didn't hear. He stopped in his tracks at her slightest beckon and seemed almost ready to bow despite his heavy load.
"Ashtik, how can I help?" He asked, matching her hushed tone. She motioned for him to keep walking as she ruffled around in the chest mounted to his back. The book had been gently placed at the very top and she drew it quickly.
"Thank you." She whispered to the slightly confused man.

Ash sprung along the crunchy forest floor as she closed the gap between herself and her unusually pensive sister.
"Pssst," she whistled an inch from Evara's ear.
"Huh?"
"I forgot to give you your present." Ash beamed.
Evara cocked a brow at her sister as she unslung her crystal string bow. She half chuckled as she said, "no you didn't." Her smile was quickly wiped, however, as her eyes came upon Ash's hands. The dusty, musky, little old book seemed held together by sheer stubborn pride. It had the spine of a cowardly worm and seemed steeped in twice as much dirt; yet Evara looked upon it with eyes reserved for an engagement band or the keys the world's greatest castle.
"Magic?" Evara muttered breathlessly.
"Don't blow us up, ay?"
"I-" Evara tried to say. She took a steadying breath before her little steel eyes fixed within Ash's own. "Thank you." She whispered with power in the words. It was a thousand thanks in a thousand languages, all spoken in a single broken breath. It was awe, it was elation. It was fear, and all things fearful. It was joy, and all things joyous. If beaming eyes could light a fire, the world before her would be but a simple sconce.

She tore through the pages with the fervour of a mad prophet. She consumed each letter as though they dripped with the only water in a vast desert. She could barely contain the words within her mind and found herself reading them into being, into words aloud. She muttered every line and sang every spell. She recited every sentence and prayed with every footnote.

The whole day slipped by and she only stopped her worship of words as the sun failed to light the words any longer. She broke her avaricious gaze from the bountiful tome some place deep within the quickly darkening woods.