XXIV – Of the Beasts Skin Am I #4

Owin lunged at the man with the bushy eyebrows, sword in hand and a cry of hatred bursting from within him.

But before he could draw near enough, a crimson light from his right, where the other man stood, struck his face.

He touched his cheek; the burning was unbearable and his hand was drenched in blood, yet he cared not; he attempted to lunge again and, before he could pierce him, a purple glow enveloped both Windar and the others.

That luminescence also reached his body and, paralysed, he began to rise until he was suspended in the air with his feet barely touching the ground.

The four faces before him closed their eyes and moved their lips in unison to whisper a kind of vibration.

He first perceived it with his ears and was stunned despite the low volume.

Then, it began to repeat incessantly within his mind: 'Ogkahom jeyat jkëäroma nema.

Tuätoëihä torllihä. Sjhmajim misun fosjlëdkisa nisa.

Pehaskajam niemad täjkänisa. Tuätoëihä susihä.

Vahom äthöëdkisa nisa. Tëlëmkesja jahtat däofkëltëhemisa. '

He did not wish to, yet he must. He squeezed his eyelids shut as he drew in a deep breath to fill his lungs and, holding his breath, focused.

He was afraid, yet he had to free himself.

'Forgive me, my king,' he thought, and allowed the electricity coursing through his body to expand and fill him completely.

His hands began to vibrate. He dropped his sword and clenched his fists. He felt a heat rising from his feet until, upon reaching his chest, he opened his eyes.

From every pore of his being, an emerald light emanated and coloured his pupils. He stretched out his arms and opened his hands. Thus, like a stampede of buffalo, that rebellious, verdant energy struck his attackers.

Time slowed, and as the three men and Windar, a broad smile upon her face, fell backwards, the barrier protecting them from the storm vanished, and with it, Owin’s consciousness.

He returned to the present, distraught; holding his breath so his sobs would not be heard, he reviewed his life and poured the remaining water to clear it.

He felt Maltón’s warm hand upon his shoulder as the magic that stained his fingers a brilliant purple corrected him.

The weariness of those hours of practice to control his spells weighed heavily upon him and ensure they did not go awry—and he relived the frustration of how easy the spells came to him, yet how fatal they proved if he did not remain focused.

The sorrow of seeing his master die weighed heavily upon his heart once more, and he recalled when Windar had advised Narg to consider him for the council.

Then the pride he felt at the cold steel of Santiana upon his shoulder as she bestowed the prestigious title upon him, but also Windar’s dark smile—the one she flashed at him as she fell backwards after his attack—convinced him.

'Thou art where thou oughtest to be,' the voice of Windar’s memory whispered in his ear and, like a slap upon the back of his neck, his mind cleared as he recognised the invisible threads around him that bound him to his doom.

He concentrated on translating that incessant chant: 'We call upon the jaws of destiny. The raven falls. Open your eyes. Come to us, saviour. The wolf falls. Devour the light. Your feet upon the earth, come to us.'

'It is I, of the beast’s skin I am and I am made,' he thought, and Gwion’s touch upon his knee roused him from his stupor.

'It is in our hands, friend,' he said, and he sighed raggedly. 'Narg or humanity, or both.'

He resolved: he would help clear his king’s name, slay Windar and then, like the hero he was, take his own life. Or so it was his plan—to cling to the life he had just condemned.

Under the urgent orders given by Narg, they prepared to set off upon the return journey whilst he recounted his out-of-body experience in detail.

'Windar has Tyr’s golden cup. When I drank from it, I had the revelation.'

With Santiana sheathed and his cloak and crown in place, he set out to leave the library when he espied his daughter following him.

'You are not coming,' said Narg, staying her. 'In my vision, you died before my very eyes. The darkness will devour you!'

'I am protected by Frey,' retorted Celtión. 'The darkness could not harm me. It was out of fear that you admitted my exile was a mistake; do not push me away for the same reason.'

Narg removed his hand from her shoulder, bowed his head and embraced her. She remained motionless, lost in his arms.

'Wilt thou let me fight at thy side?' she whispered to him.

Narg, with as much pride as his chest could hold, nodded firmly as he vowed never to be parted from his little girl again. Celtión placed Perkolon’s manuscript and the small vial containing the last drops of the water of wisdom upon the table, and returned his embrace.

A tiny pebble clinked against the glass as the sphere rolled across the table. Pelit watched it. Farfal listened to it. Tobert tucked it away among his belongings.

'Your Majesty,' Kuopio interrupted, and Narg raised his head to look at him after a weary snort at the fact that they would not even let him enjoy the moment he had waited five years for, 'we ought to cancel the celebration and issue the announcement.'

Narg’s confusion evaporated and he was grateful to have his advisers.

He had not thought of that, and it was important to prevent the lords from going to celebrate, not for the sake of keeping the secret, but because if the leaders of the kingdoms on the two continents were to die, they would die together.

Celtión hastened to take on the task, but Maed stopped her.

'It is the council’s duty. I shall do it.'

'Can you write?' she retorted.

'According to Gwion, I am not as skilled at composing letters as thou art, yet I can accomplish the task,' he upped the ante, tilting his head over his shoulder to regard Narg behind him.

'I deem it meet that thou depart forthwith,' spake Pelit unto the king, who smiled at the memory of beholding them dispute, unawares to the sarcasm veiling Maed’s threat. 'As an emissary, if thou wilt permit, I shall attend to it.'

They gathered their belongings and resolved to meet again in the courtyard by the stables. Milkron hastened to the kitchen to prepare a packed repast for them. They could endure the journey without sleep, for time was of the essence, but it was essential that they ate.

Narg paused in the doorway. The cold dawn air swept in and made him sigh. With a clear conscience, he enjoyed the lights of the winding paths on the hillside that were still glowing, whilst, behind him, the dawn was breaking.

They went on their way, but, taking heed that Narg might not hear him this time, Maed stayed Celtión. With his head bowed, to hide what he felt must surely be his silver eyes, he said:

'I hope thou art not behind all this. I would not wish to be the one to break my brother’s heart. But I shall not hesitate.'

That very night, amongst the ravens that flew over Lepontia towards the kingdoms to announce the cancellation of the birthday celebrations, one bore in its talons a note addressed to Old Minister.