The Tale Teller

Ch 35

 They walked until the forest swallowed the moon and the black birds turned white. Black beady eyes lost their depth with these birds, and an ominous air hung around them as if every leaf Vaun stepped on released a new pocket of danger. Lorel had claimed these white birds were a rare sight, but with the passing time, the now-familiar black ones seemed obsolete in favour of their much larger friends. The lack of light should have made them hard to spot, but their prim feathers almost glowed as the green steam curled into the air like a chimney's first bellow of building smoke. They sat the size of eagles, and in their presence, Vaun felt as small as the mice such birds preyed upon.

The steam was rising, thickening. It was ethereal as it danced through the trees like a Faydura entertainer, draped in loose cloth made to sway in the sea breeze and catch the fading sunlight. It stung Vaun's eyes until he could feel the watering on his cheeks.

As the small party donned their masks, Vaun tugged his cloak about his lips. With a glance his way, Loral tugged a pin from her hair, letting half of it fall about her shoulders as the pin moved to clasp Vaun's makeshift mask in place. He knew it wouldn't be as effective as their fashioned ones.

He looked to them now; rounded cups covered in a thick black skin. Beneath that skin was a skull, hollow to give the mouth space to exhale, yet complete with the shape of the animal it had once belonged to. They tied around the back of the head with braided grasses or rags. It was a crude image upon their faces, but as the air grew short and Vaun's mind began to stumble, he knew this was survival.

The Bard was silent as he walked at the other side of the adolescents, and they too spoke no words. A voice was starting to echo though, a whisper that first came from behind one shoulder and then the next. It sounded as cold as the falling snow, with a breeze that chilled Vaun to the bone.

It was close, as though it's owner's breath blew against his ear with a lover's call. It wasn't a call of warmth though but of cold steel.

Vaun's head snapped to the trees, the forest so thick that the darkness met him almost immediately. He looked to the path ahead, no more than an overgrown trail of falling snow and green steam. He even looked to the sky. The voice grew louder, clearer, until his next breath was speaking it's owner's name.

"Celise?" Vaun looked again. Again.

It was definitely her voice. She sounded frantic, scared. She was calling his name. No matter how hard Vaun searched, she wasn't there, though why should she be?

Before he knew it The Bard was stopping the march to take Vaun by the shoulders. His hand fell over Vaun's lips and nose, and Vaun let it. He shook him roughly, barking out a line that was too muffled by the mask to hear. As he did so, there came another voice. Opan. Vaun couldn't hear what he was saying, especially as his words faded into a cry from a thousand other people. Their faces were flooding to the front of Vaun's mind like a splash of water in the morning. It was a rush so severe that he couldn't stop himself from batting The Bard's hand away to clutch at the growing tension in his forehead. Vaun knew, as fickle as The Bard could be, he wouldn't cover his mouth without reason. It was likely to block out the steam. In pain, with the echoes increasing until Vaun couldn't bear to keep his watering eyes open, he didn't care.

Ash was by his side in seconds, tugging at Vaun's arm to haul him up from where he didn't know he had dropped. Where his knees hit the ground, the snow soaked through the worn fabric of his breeches. The cold came as the awakening he needed to let the boy pull him up, The Bard took the other arm whilst his hand went back to Vaun's lips.

The rush was a blur as they moved deeper into the forest until Vaun's lungs could finally breathe. His head still hurt, and his throat constricted in a way where he couldn't pause a never-ending cough, but eyes dried and the voices disappeared.