Tragic Innocence

Chapter 52: The Journey Begins

            The portentous event finally opened before them like unrolling parchment written with evil incantations.  Enon’s last dying rays shown like melting gold above the wooly horizon of darkened blue shadows.

            Once the moons’ bright discs peeked above the distant mountains beneath a dazzling display of glittering stars, the trio of elves began preparing for their journey in somber silence.  Each had their own image of what lay ahead of the unknown, cold and dreadful.  Afraid.  Fear of the nameless perils that they would encounter.

            Would the menacing demons track them?  Hiding behind every thick tree?  Every boulder skinned by silvery moonlight?  Would they silently hunt them overhead, deep and dark in the night’s embrace?

            Another ambiguity stared blankly as well, each one with their mouths tight, heads full of sobering thoughts, visions of blood and death-filled agony.  What of gaining entrance into the impregnable fortress?  No one had dared, after all the many centuries of untouched land, to venture near the dreaded place.  All but for one brave soul.  The one who played so brightly in Pentulla’s forethoughts.

            Pentulla grimly filled her pack with necessities for the trek.  She had neatly rolled dry clothing, her bedroll, a leather flask filled with crystal waters, her braid she had looped several times around her fist, and other likely objects of aid.  She barely spared a glance through her lashes and spied Crow and Zolata.

            Crow examined his sword and swung it swiftly with a metallic song before sheathing it with one fluidic movement.  His brows were bunched together with deep thought, his eyes dark and unreadable.  She noted the spasm of muscle by his jaw and the straight jut of his nose.  Yes, he appeared the powerful warrior he had claimed to be, she can see it now.

            Turon.

            Pentulla shuddered as she was extremely grateful that he was on her side.  Zolata, was inscrutable at best.  Her brow was smooth, her eyes bright with determined zeal.  Her flowing gold-red hair had been secured by a leather beaded cord.  She wore an exhausted body armor pelt, accentuating her perfect, graceful figure.  The sorceress, oblivious to Pentulla’s vigilance, fluttered a tattered cloak about her shoulders, securing it with expert fingers.  She quickly sheathed twin blades at either hip and a quiver of arrows with an attached bow.

            Pentulla hid a secretive smile, her heart soaring with pride.  Did she look just as fierce as they?  She did not know… Feeling self-conscious, she decided to view herself within Zolata’s looking glass framed with twisting old vines.  She gasped, shocked at her very appearance.

            Crow raised his head, tuned in with Pentulla’s every movement and change of mood.  He watched her with fascination, fully aware of her metamorphosis.

            Pentulla gaped with wide and dazed eyes.  For there, before her, stood a true warrioress.  Her face was pale with dark smudges beneath her large eyes.  Her lips looked very small and fragile.  Her hair, cropped above the shoulder, was pulled back into a fierce plait, no décor of any kind graced the slivery twine.  Her body was robed a black tunic that hugged her neck and reached with embracing greed, her wrists.  Her legs were clad with the same likeness with sturdy traveling boots laced and buckled twice over.  She wore a heavy, flowing cloak, too, the color of night, broached with a large buckle of singed bronze.

            What had her mystified, was the emptiness she beheld within the depths of her eyes, once wistful and full of dreams.  A hollow sigh ripped forth from her lips as she reached absently for the dagger that had severed her locks and gazed at it unseeingly.  Harsh green, red and gold lights pierced through her lashes and her eyes watered.  With a defiant toss of her head, she quickly sheathed it at her hip and slid it carefully behind the folds of her hanging cloak.  With the smart toss of her thick stout braid, she armed herself further with the many weapons generously provided by Crow.