Page 11 of Light Locked #1

Face of the Forest

T HE SILENCE OF the forest was a reprieve, and the cool kiss of nightfall a more than pleasant one against Clea’s filthy skin and tired body.

After they’d rappelled down the wall, they’d continued at a full sprint into the woodland.

Her muscles were aflame with pain, and she sank down against an old tree as if it were her bed for the night.

As much as she hurt, she wanted to laugh with a nervous disbelief of how the day had played out.

Waves of relief and grief overlapped again and again, Clea catching her breath as she wiped the sweat from her face and buried her head in her hands to gather herself.

She was finally out of Virday, and this time she wasn’t alone.

More than that, Ryson’s recent antics and abilities inspired more than a small amount of confidence that he was a capable fighter and tactician.

He might be brutish, but she now felt something dear that she hadn’t felt in a very long time.

Nested in the deepest recesses of her chest was the smallest seed of safety, and she exhaled from that place for the first time in months.

Ryson was muttering aloud, removing his armor with a speed that would make one think the metal was afire. He discarded the pieces and pulled off his helmet. He was facing away from her, and in the dimming light, she strained to soothe her curiosity as to what he truly looked like .

Alert and attentive to his movements, she leaned to the left as his pacing nearly hid him behind another tree.

She could see now that he wore heavy black boots almost to his knees, loose gray pants, and a collection of strange attire on his back and chest. One belt accommodated a single gray sleeve that cloaked his left arm.

His right arm still bore the armor, and as he attempted to remove it, he faced her.

Something about his eyes gave life to the mask-like nature of his face.

The color was unusual, the radiance eerie, but there was an undeniable beauty in them.

Struck by the intensity of her own rapt attention, she recoiled into the reminder that cien’s most infamous mask was beauty.

Veilin in Loda were taught to fear it, even to the extent of avoiding illustrious clothing and jewelry.

Gold was the only permitted adornment, said to mirror the light of the sun and the radiance of ansra.

Many gemstones and metals were made scarce by contrast, silver especially.

When Ryson attempted to remove the last bit of armor, the sun’s rays grew dim enough for the forest to unveil its true face.

He didn’t seem to notice, but around them, the living trees wilted and died, and the grass melted into ashes.

She glanced down as a stick shriveled and curled into a pale rib bone beneath her fingers.

Withdrawing her hand, she lifted her head as the once green canopy evaporated into the sky and left the forest floor open to the red sunset that painted the woodland.

Now came the forest that she recognized, the one that had tried to kill her the night before.

The trees were dead; the air was thick with foul odors. The ponds were often poisonous. The entire world had been ravaged by centuries of warfare and poisonous fire, but one could only see the truth when the sun set.

Her eyes returned to Ryson as he cursed under his breath. He was still working to remove the final piece of armor wrapped about his arm.

His silver eyes and dark form created an eerie picture when lit under the sunset.

All the Kalex she’d met were harmless, but would it be a mistake to trust this one?

Clea struggled with feelings of uncertainty, unwilling to relinquish the seed of safety she’d latched onto a moment earlier.

She almost wondered if he would change as well as it grew darker.

He bore the mask-like face of the forest. Perhaps he too was a lure created from cien to draw humans forth and just as soon devour them whole.

Clea shunned the thoughts, but tugged her sleeves down over her wrists and pulled up the collar of her shirt as if her clothes were armor and not cloth.

As a whole, she reminded herself, Ryson was anything but alluring.

By his clothes, he looked like he’d been dragged from Loda to Virday by horse and he had the personality of a bucket of goat’s milk that had been left in the sun too long.

Ryson strained his arm, opening and clenching his fist as he rolled his shoulder once. “We’ve gone a decent distance, and you’re too tired to keep moving,” Ryson said. “Give me the bag.”

Clea tossed it to him. He snatched it out of the air and removed a smaller leather case from within. Clea flinched as he threw it to her. “Food and water. Eat and sleep. You will need the energy. Tomorrow morning, we will make our way deeper into the forest.”

Clea rummaged through the case as Ryson reached within the larger bag again and removed his cloak.

“The medallion, Ryson, you never told me how you managed to get it, or how you knew to get it, for that matter,” Clea said as she searched through their provisions as she removed a leather of water.

Ryson wrapped himself in his cloak, kicking the bag back toward her before he dropped down beneath a tree. All his movements seemed direct and aggressive. Clea supposed tolerating his sour attitude would be easier knowing that he simply seemed to be a sour person in general.

He explained his endeavor with what seemed to be as few words as possible.

Clea lowered the water from her mouth and wiped her chin free of loose droplets that had somehow escaped the skin.

His words filled her with an acute mixture of concern and confusion.

“You make all that sound so simple. It was left there? Unprotected? That’s impossible.

” As she watched him, she noticed how his eyes reacted to light.

They dimmed when he leaned into the rays of the sunset and brightened in the darkness.

In such mixed lighting, it gave his glances a flickering, almost fire-like characteristic.

Meanwhile, another drink from the water skin sent a river of water free onto her chest. She felt like a dog lapping water out of an open pipe, using her sleeve to pat herself dry as she inspected the water skin again.

There was a small hole near the top where water escaped with every drink .

“I wasn’t sure that it was your medallion until you confirmed it,” he replied in his monotone. His eyes seemed to narrow slightly in judgment as he watched her wipe her sleeve across her shirt and pat herself dry.

She rotated the skin in her hand and took another sip of water as her other hand searched her bag for the food they’d bought.

She said nothing for a while, wrestling with the ideas and the doubts.

The confusion was only further irritated by her tired brain and the fresh grief of King Odell’s death.

He was in his later years, close to death by any standard.

The city would adjust and so would she, but the experiences of the day still felt overwhelming.

At least everyone else was safe now. Whatever Ryson’s intentions were, she owed him a debt for saving her.

She took a bite of a dried mixture of grains and fruit packed into the circular disk.

She ate slowly, though every physical urge she had demanded differently.

The circumstances bothered her, but she hardly knew what questions to ask or even if Ryson would know the answer.

Something told her that tomorrow her brain might have the energy it needed to sort through it all.

“Thank you,” was all she could manage for the time being. Her words hung in the silence, but she didn’t expect Ryson to accept her thanks or reply. She’d already gotten the sense their relationship would be one sided, and at this point she didn’t have the energy to care.

She drank carefully a final time and then returned the leather to her bag.

After she’d finished eating, she packed her things neatly and nestled them between the roots of the tree behind her.

She removed her hair from her braid and rebraided it meticulously.

The practice was a soothing ritual, and felt necessary despite how eager she was to sleep.

Somehow, this ritualistic braid at the end of her day was the only consistency in her life, and tonight would be the safest night of their journey.

As they ventured into the colder climates, the dangers would intensify with the setting of the sun.

Free as she was tonight, new trials would begin tomorrow.

“Since we will be traveling with it, I feel it would be in our best interest for you to tell me what you do know about the medallion,” Ryson said, just as she finished tying her new braid.

Clea smoothed out her clothes and began clearing the area around her from twigs and leaves. “I know very little. My mother and I came to Virday following rumors of its existence.”

“Your mother came with you?” He issued the question with practiced analysis, like she was filling out a form. She made him wait for an answer, resenting his cold questioning in the wake of her exhaustion.

“It’s more like I came with her,” Clea replied. “Our convoy was attacked by a hoard of reaping shades on the way here three years ago. She sacrificed herself so that I could live.”

Ryson didn’t say anything for a moment. She half expected some sign of humanity.

“So, where did the medallion come from?” he asked.

His response grated at her. She adjusted her bag between the tree roots before lying down and resting her head on it.

Ryson would be guarding her, and they were still on the outskirts of the forest where beasts were scarcer.

She wanted to take advantage of the little rest she could get while she had the chance.

She closed her eyes and recounted what she knew.

“Legend has it that the medallion is a prison for a large amount of cien that once threatened to destroy the world. The cien in the forest is plentiful, but it isn’t concentrated.

” She took a moment to yawn, reciting a well-known description that took little effort to recall.

“Its power is limited by its vast dispersion, and so it can do little more than try and draw humans into the forest. When the sun sets, the cien escapes from the trees but remains dispersed in the air. When it gets attached to a host and begins to collect, it becomes much more dangerous.”

“That I understand,” he replied, and she heard that nagging impatience in his voice again. He sounded impatient if he had to say more than a few words, impatient with the process of speaking itself. “But how and why was this much darkness sealed? You know nothing about its origins?”

“Nope.” Clea yawned again. It felt so good to see only darkness. She forgot Ryson’s question but kept talking anyway. “This medallion, the Deadlock Medallion, is unique,” she mumbled.

And one of the most powerful cien objects ever created. Her thought echoed her mother’s warnings, but she didn’t say them out loud.

Ryson didn’t ask any follow-up questions, and grateful for the silence, she meditated privately on thoughts of her room and her plants. She loved falling asleep to them, surrounded by real life that reminded her how to persevere. She cradled her hands into the safety of her chest.

Those plants had all her secret, private thoughts and questions.

When she’d been locked in her room in Loda, she’d spoken to those plants too.

They’d been silent friends, but beautiful listeners, teaching more through their own existence and growth than commands, demands, and expectations.

It never mattered what questions she asked, what ideas she challenged, they simply kept growing on beside her.

Her eyes cracked open, reminding her that now there was nothing but dead trees, ash and a murky shape in the darkness behind the trees.

She didn't startle at it. She knew what it was, and so acknowledging it, she closed her eyes again.

It was a totem. At least Lodain people called them that.

They were often heaping masses of rock or steel, taking every shape and size, scattered all throughout the woods.

Many claimed that they used to be buildings or machines, things with more meaning before they were broken beyond all comprehension.

Now they were nothing but reminders of civilization that had once claimed every inch of the woods.

There was no life here. Not in the woods. Only ghosts of another world that had suffered a brutal end at the edge of a warlord's sword. The life she had was inside her, and she hoped that would be enough, trusting exhaustion to ferry her through her fears and into the dark den of sleep.