Stormchild: Emeline and the Forest Mage

Rise of the Last Apprentice: Masters

Slap. Creak, creak.

What was that, where was she? Straining her ears, Denirya heard birds chirping, a soft wind sighing through trees and rustling leaves, and someone breathing. As a child she'd learned the advantages of being thought asleep. Once she'd heard Mama talk about Papa with their neighbor Gyidr, whose shack leaned against theirs when the storms rolled in from the coast, whilst pretending to sleep.

Slap. Creak, creak, creak.

But by the Immortals, curiosity was her bane, and she could never keep her eyes shut for long. Opening one eye, she glimpsed an old man clad in sturdy white robes pacing a wooden floor. Every second or third step creaked. The slap came from the other side just above her head, a wooden shutter smacking the window sill when the breeze yanked at it. Wait, what? Where was the alley, Yviä and Tesh, the green-eyed stranger? Was this the afterlife? Was this man one of the great Fathers? The traitorous thought came before she recalled she'd denounced the Northern gods.

'Ah, you're awake.' The man had caught her with her eye open and walked closer.

Denirya dug in her sleeves. The knives were gone and so were the sleeves, with bandages and a white shift as compensation. Dear naked Fathers' asses, what the hell was going on?

'Where am I? Who are you?' Panic laced her voice though she tried to mask it. Never take an assassin's knives.

'Be calm, child. I am the Forest Mage, and you are safe.' The man's eyes were green, as green as the handsome stranger's had been, but his were older, smaller, wrinkled around the edges. The lines of his features were stark and sharp. 'You sustained some injuries, but your recovery has been speedy, and soon you'll be yourself again.'

A foreboding in the bottom of her belly warned that this man was dangerous and cunning. A shiver of awe sent goose bumps trailing up her arms. Not once had she met someone whose appearance alone could strike awe into her heart the way this man's did. This was a first. This man was powerful, and not like Yviä who, it struck her, seemed a mere child, an ant beside this dragon. This man's power rang true and deep, and in that face-slap moment she realized she wanted it more than anything. With a power so glaring, she could heal Mama. The respect due her would be commonplace, and her enemies would die choking on their fetid words.

'Are you alright?' The man leaned forward, stretching a palm to her head, and she cringed from it instinctually.

A throbbing pain started up at her temples as if it'd only just noticed she was awake. A groan floated from her lips, and her lips felt suddenly distant, as if she was drifting away from them. But that was impossible, wasn't it? With all the energy she could muster, which wasn't much right then, she urged her hands to her eyes, but the damn things wouldn't move. Blurry shadows leaked in at the corners of her view and swallowed her into darkness. Again.

#

A rushing wind howled in a myriad of trees that could only be the Grù Forest. It meant a storm approached. A crisp smell drifted in the air, the smell that came with the rain. When Denirya opened her eyes this time, it was dark. Though shadows cloaked the room, she recognized it as the same one in which she had met the Mage who crackled with power. Trees surrounded the place, rustling at each window, a green horde whispering of the storm to come. The walls, ceiling and floor were made of wood a light yellow wood. Voices came from another room, both sounded mighty familiar.

'So you killed them?' It was the Mage's voice.

'I could not leave witnesses.' That had to be the stranger from the alley with the glowing eyes.

'You know Shehëk would be up in arms if he knew we'd defiled his oh-so-holy Blood Moon Festival in his oh-so-holy City.'

A sigh. 'You are too brazen Ajivr,' the Mage said. So that was his name. There was a pause, and Denirya heard the crackle of fire devouring wood. 'Very well,' the Mage said, 'continue.'