Black Dawn - Chapter 16: Onward to Hope

Sinfa and the Rangers of Ys race through the Modukaz, hoping to find The Cloudracer where they left it, while Turim and the others try to catch up.

Armageddon TM and its characters and story are copyright Terry Tibke. All rights reserved.

Music & SFX

[The Lone Wolf] by Alexander Nakarada, [Chase Scene] by David Fesliyan, [Nordur] by Alexander Nakarada, [Conspiracy Theory]  by David Fesliyan, [Buzzkiller] by Alexander Nakarada, [Blood Pumping] by David Fesliyan, [Celtic Borg] audioblocks, [Dark String Trailer] audioblocks, [Resolution] by Alexander Nakarada, [Kaleidoscope] audioblocks, [Wonderful Tonight] by x, [Mystical Rhymes] audioblocks, 

monster bite by LucasDuff, Drinking & swallowing soup by mariekedekoker, untitled_toilet handle.wav by Zigzag20705, Footsteps on concrete by NachtmahrTV, Footsteps on Stone by Fission9, Audioblocks Sound [See Previous Episodes for All Other Effects]

Jake Utter [Voice Actor] - Voices Turim Gliderlance

Andrew Embers [Voice Actor] - Voices Sand Rocketblade

Demetrius Hazel [Voice Actor] - Voices Lasertooth and Darf Bloodshedder

Kobe Markworth [Voice Actor] - Voices Thunderclap and Gulanis

Sean Valley [Voice Actor] - Voices Strevan Pickaxe and Dithkanir

Hayley Craig [Voice Actress] - Voices Jaffrine Maplebow

Morgana LeFaye [Voice Actress]- Voices Tartara Silverwing

Tallent [Voice Actor] - Voices General Panthis Obsidianfist 

JJtheJetvox [Voice Actor] - Voices Meineken Shadowstar and Aurthil

Brittanie Arwen [Voice Actor] - Voices Sinfa Songbird

The Worlds Okayest DM [Voice Actor] - Voices Pond Grimslug

Ben Habel [Voice Actor] – Voices Lakalith Paledust

Maia Harlap [Voice Actor] – Voices Lala Truffleroot and Kithria Wraithchasm 

Aaron Anderson [Voice Actor] – Voices Aldor Steelaxe and Dark Elves

Chris Bellinger [Voice Actor] – Voices Gundak and Dwarf extras

Alexander Doddy [Voice Actor] – Voices Rail Markrune

Transcript

Chapter 16—Onward to Hope

Sinfa and the rangers moved at a phenomenal pace through the forest. Strevan and Jaffrine did their part to track their way back, kneeling to the ground and snuffling at the earth. Strevan held a torch for light in the darkness. Jaffrine spoke to the grasses and the leaves to ask the way at times. But having to find her way once already—it was Tartara who knew best. She flew ahead most of the time, watching for signs she recognized and warning them of fallen branches and stones in their path.

Sinfa tried to push on with raw will, determined to make it back to her airship. She kept going over the list and order of things she needed to do to make the engine and props flightworthy again. It better have an engine still, she thought glumly. If The Cloudracer had remained unmolested.

But though she tried, she often fell behind, finding it nearly impossible to keep up with the rangers. She’d more than once felt like giving in to her weariness and falling to the ground. The others did their best to keep her upright and moving until at last something more had to be done.

Jaffrine stopped and turned to wait as Sinfa stumbled towards her. Both Strevan and Tartara halted just beyond.

“I can’t . . . go any further . . .” Sinfa took in deep gasps. “How do you keep up your strength?” She pulled her cap off and ran her fingers through a burnished redhead of sweat-soaked hair.

“I am sorry my friend. We walk the island from end to end at least once a day,” said Jaffrine softly as she reached forward to touch Sinfa’s cheek. “Sometimes we run, if there’s a need, though Strevan’s not fond of that either. I’m trying not to overuse this talent on him. But for you, I’ll do my best to help.” Then Jaffrine spoke soft words and placed her hand on Sinfa’s brow.

As a glass pouring out water, Sinfa felt all of her weariness flow away. It was slow though, and in her nose, she smelled the scent of fresh meadow flowers.

“Is that better?” asked Jaffrine.

“Much,” said Sinfa, trying to hide her puzzlement. “Thank you, but how—”

“No time for that right now,” said Jaffrine. “Come. There’s still a great distance to go.”

For as many rumors as she’d heard and as much time as she’d spent with the rangers, Sinfa hadn’t seen Jaffrine do anything like that before. For some time after, she didn’t ask what was done to her, but she knew it was some unnatural thing of magic—a thing she wasn’t able to identify and categorize the causes of the effect. Magic was mysterious, and Sinfa didn’t like when she didn’t understand how things worked.

They kept on throughout that first night.

When Tartara returned during the early hours of the morning with news of a bubbling stream that ran across their course, they decided they’d better get some food and drink, and try to dry off a bit before continuing. Rather, Strevan more or less said this all by himself, and Sinfa was tired enough not to argue.

Rain still dripped from the boughs, trickling out of the near-dawn sky above. The ground was covered with a springy turf and dappled with shrubs and long grasses that grew in clumps around clusters of various trees. But they were able to find some mushrooms like those that the dwarves had found for the travelers, and gathered some herbs while they did so.

“The best I can do in haste,” said Strevan, kneeling over the fire he was building, “is to make a soup of it. Sorry.”

Sinfa sat down on a stump nearby, watching as Strevan removed a pot from his bag and several pieces of wooden dining wear.

“I carved these myself,” he said. “A long time ago.”

Jaffrine glanced back from her spot, standing near the edge of their camp. Sinfa thought she had a cheerless look on her face. “Tartara,” said Jaffrine. “Why don’t you—”

“Already on it!” piped Tartara. Then she darted off into the woods.

While they waited for Strevan to cook their meal, Tartara flew around the area. She wasn’t gone long, but it was long enough that Sinfa wondered if she was lost.

“We’re okay. The woods are scarce,” said Tartara when she’d returned. “I didn’t see anything but one large black grizziak.” She buzzed over and landed on Strevan’s shoulder.

“I wish we had time to hunt the bear,” grumbled Strevan. “I’m hungry beyond the satisfaction this soup’s going to bring. How are you feeling though, Jaff?”

“I’m more than happy with the soup,” said Jaffrine, eyeing him again. “Thank you, Strevan.”

Sinfa rubbed her arms, watching them.

“Besides, we have no idea how plentiful the black bear is in these parts,” added Jaffrine, looking to the grey trunks all about them. “It is one thing to rid the land of a beast that has become a nuisance or pest. It’s quite another to slaughter an animal in ignorance.”

Strevan nodded his head, looking ashamed. “Sorry.” He paused, quiet for a moment before he went on. “I haven’t traveled so far from home before, especially with so little in my belly.” He blew into his tinder and the smoke scent filled Sinfa’s nose.

“Think naught of it,” replied Jaffrine, coming to sit on a rock as Strevan’s fire leapt to life. “We haven’t killed any creature yet, thus the forest remains our companion so far. But do not do so, nor speak of doing so, to me.” Her mouth was tight, and her eyes focused.

Sinfa thought she looked very serious. And they were all exhausted, but she had a different sort of weariness on her face.

Strevan glanced at Sinfa, then back to Jaffrine. “How do you feel now,” he said quietly. “And I don’t mean about being exhausted. I mean about all of this? Being so far from home.”

Jaffrine let out a long breath. “It remains as complicated as it did when I voted against coming—that night on the airship.”

Sinfa found she’d been staring at the fire.

Strevan nodded, silent for a bit. He flicked a chip of wood into the flames and sat back with a grunting breath.

Tartara spoke up. “It’s too big, Jaffrine. We can’t let something like this go.”

“These are the things all the old tragedies begin with,” agreed Strevan quietly.

“Trust me, Strevan. I’m well aware. That’s why I continue to support what Turim’s doing. What Sinfa here, is doing. But I can see also, the warnings Rail has always pushed at us. I can feel it. The Dragon Army is too close, and something’s not right on Ys.”

Sinfa raised her eyes out of her reverie. “In nearly every scenario I can logic through, bad things are going to happen. But all of them are much worse, and happen much faster if the Genovans lose this fight.”

Jaffrine started down into the orange crackling tongues now. “But so too will the island we’ve sworn to protect be put in terrible danger. Those we know and care about—your families—” She took a calming breath. “Just know this will continue to be the impasse I struggle with, even still.”

They ate quickly in the firelight, stowing their conversation. Then they washed the soup down with water from their flasks and refilled them in the dark stream Tartara had found beneath the trees nearby.

The sky had brightened from blue to pale tones. Morning had come already. Dozing close to the fire, Sinfa had managed to dry a little. The others looked in better shape too. But long before Sinfa’s boots had lost their sogginess, Tartara got them up and going once more.

“Time to move,” she squeaked gently.

They trekked for two days in this fashion, always with great haste, sleeping in the roots of the trees for short hours during the night, a fire to help keep them warm, and took turns keeping watch for beasts or worse. But watches were quiet, and none of them ever saw more than crickets and owlings.

They were making good time, thanks to Jaffrine’s spells. But at night the druid—though Sinfa was never a minute or two behind—was always first to sleep.

At last, the third morning had become midday.

Tartara gave them signs that she’d begun to recognize shrubs, “That boysenberry bush! I know that one. I ate a few of those after you were taken by the dragonites.”

A light path made itself known within an hour, and they followed it. The excitement began to grow. Soon they all started to recognize arrangements of the large monoliths of rock. The trees about them grew sparser, and Sinfa, at last, remembered the area where they’d been captured, just inside the forest’s edge. Her joy was chased away as she recalled the pain, but only for a moment.

“Be wary yet,” warned Jaffrine, examining the glade as she leaned on her staff.

“Hmm,” mused Strevan aloud. “I don’t see anyone or anything strange.”

Beyond the trees, the wind gently blew the grass. And sitting tall amidst the stunted boulders and broken stone was The Cloudracer.

“We made it!” shouted Tartara, speeding ahead into the open grassy clearing.

Sinfa couldn’t help herself. She ran toward The Cloudracer, her heart swelling with excitement. As she came to its hull, she made her way through the deep grass to the rope ladder, still hanging to the ground, just as she’d left it.

Well, mostly as she’d left it. Over a week’s worth of growth in the rains had sprouted up beneath it, and she noticed the earth beneath it now—disturbed by the crash, she thought. It was also clear that birds had used it as a perch. She frowned, but even that didn’t stop her.

Already, the list of tasks she was about to perform as quickly as she’d ever done, lined into place in her head like beads of an abacus. She looked back to see the rangers coming into the grassy clearing, smiles on their faces as well. As she began to climb the ladder, she checked as far as she could see again, as if she might see Turim and those who traveled with him. She was glad to find they were alone—she needed time.

“It seems our friend has missed her creation,” said Tartara as she zipped back and forth from Strevan and Jaffrine, up past Sinfa who now stood on deck.

“Indeed.” Strevan laughed.

Sinfa smiled as she breathed in. Her cheeks hurt. She took a few steps to the other side of the deck to look upon an odd sight.

A mound of earth was piled up high, amidst steep banks, surrounded by tall timbers. Several more trees had been felled about the area as well. What was strange also, was that it didn’t look like woodsmen had hewn the trees; their roots remained attached.

Sinfa wondered if maybe the wind had laid this place to waste. That didn’t make sense though—not on this scale or with trees this large.

While Sinfa puzzled over this, Tartara passed her and flew out to the mound. “Wow, there’s a deep hole in the center,” she said. “I can’t see how far down it goes, but it’s deep.” She shouted down it to hear her own voice. “Hullooo!”

Jaffrine and Strevan now stood at Sinfa’s side. “Remember what Turim said,” warned Jaffrine, calling out to Tartara. “We’re not so familiar with the creatures of this grey forest—”

But the druid’s words were cut short by a roar that stopped their hearts as it rattled the silence of the wood. The birds ceased to chirp about them, and the companions stood absolutely still.

Sinfa felt herself held in place by a gripping fear.

Then a noise came from deep within the earth. At first, it was slow and grating, but quickly it became faster. Tartara slowly fluttered away while still facing the mound. Her eyes grew large in anticipation.

“I hear it coming from inside the mound,” said Tartara still backing away. “Something big!”

Jaffrine gripped the railing, her jaw set.

Sinfa’s eyes assessed the area. Her breath quickened, pulse racing. She actually heard Strevan swallow as his hand went to his bow.

The sound grew like a thousand beetles, all side-by-side, struggling to get out of the tunnel. Sinfa thought she heard a similar sound coming from below deck. Suddenly, bursting forth from the hole like a geyser, came a creature both great and terrible to behold.

It snapped out at Tartara. But the flittering fairy flew off as quickly as her little wings could carry her, narrowly avoiding its razor-sharp teeth.

“What is that?!” cried Tartara.

The part of the creature that was above ground was many times the height of a man, and its mouth could easily have swallowed all four of the travelers in one great gulp. Deep green, its body was covered in a thick, insect-like carapace.

Sinfa took one glance toward Strevan, meeting the same sort of questioning look in his eyes. They weren’t sure what to do. And what would Jaffrine say? Did she want to keep this creature alive too, just like the black grizziak?

“It is a forest wurm!” shouted Jaffrine. “Turim warned us of them!”

Sinfa swallowed her panic. She wasn’t going to wait for Jaffrine to decide. “We have to draw it away from The Cloudracer! If we don’t stop it, it’s going to stop us—and quick!”

Strevan, apparently agreeing, notched an arrow, letting it fly in the same instant. The shaft sprang forth and grazed off the crusted plating that lined the creature’s sides and back, which only angered it further.

It slid more of its length out onto the forest floor from what appeared to be its den. It roared a screeching peal and gnashed its sharp teeth, swift for a beast of its size.

“Off the deck!” yelled Sinfa to the others. But her voice was weak as it came, caught in her chest.

Strevan pulled back hard on his bow with another arrow. This time he focused all his being and let forth again.

The arrow dove deep into the beast’s gaping mouth, piercing the soft flesh of its palate. The creature reared in pain.

Then Strevan came running. The three of them sped down the ladder and away towards the trees. Tartara zipped after, the wurm right behind her.

Sinfa got as far away as she could, trying not to feel helpless. She waved her arms at it. “Jaffrine! Can’t you do something?” She hoped Jaffrine would prioritize their lives over the life of a single monster this time.

Jaffrine took several steps, moving up against a clump of thick firs nearby, standing at the edge of the shallow bowl the creature seemed to have made. “If Strevan can keep it at bay, I will! This spell is long in preparation, however, so be warned!”

The forest wurm drug itself around the front of the airship, its sections digging into the ground to pull it along like a centipede, and at the same time weaved itself in a serpentine fashion. Sinfa cringed as it barely scraped along the front of the hull and came towards them.

Strevan and Sinfa backed away, but kept themselves between the creature and Jaffrine.

“The eyes,” Sinfa heard Tartara say to herself.

The fairie dove forward, zipping over the grass. In one great lunge, her fist daggers pierced the thick membrane that covered the creature’s mucousy orb.

It screeched once again, now bellowing a cry of pain that echoed through the forest.

Then it lurched abruptly, rearing its head back, and slammed Tartara through the air.

Sinfa could only watch as the little fairy shot across the woods. Tartara didn’t catch herself in time. She struck a mighty trunk and fell, her wings slowing her slightly before she hit the piney loam of the forest floor. She didn’t move.

“Tartara!” yelled Strevan.

The wyrm writhed, crashed into a tree, and knocked the timber down with a thunderous cacophony. Then it resumed its crawl toward them.

Sinfa was about to run when Strevan interceded. “Stay back,” he managed to choke out.

Sinfa stumbled on a loose rock as she moved away, dropping awkwardly to her knees. She looked up to see Strevan, his wits still clearly about him despite the fall of his friend and fellow ranger. His face was red, as he shot again into the beast’s mouth.

“Bleed beneath the arrow!” he shouted.

It was fiercer than Sinfa had heard him speak. What had happened to Tartara seemed to be fueling his courage. She imagined him as the young boy he was in the Hymn of Duragil. When he saw his friend die then. She wondered how afraid he must’ve been. She shook, wondering how afraid he was now.

The creature roared again. It rose into the air, plummeting headfirst toward Strevan. The big ranger dove away, narrowly avoiding the wyrm’s teeth and powerful jaws as it dug deep into the earth.

Instead of pulling its head back out of its hole, however, the wyrm kept going deeper into the ground. It sent chunks of earth spraying into the air as it dug, covering Strevan in dirt and mud. The long body wound out of one hole and down into another.

Strevan kept scrambling away, tumbling, rolling. But one of the sharp serrations that lined the edges of the wyrm’s plating caught him in the back and he let out a growl of pain.

“Strevan!” Sinfa found herself shouting.

Finally, the tail whipped about, and then it was gone, lost to the depths of a new hole it had burrowed. The ground rumbled at its retreat.

Strevan backed a good distance from the creature, moving closer to Jaffrine. She was sitting on the ground now, drawing pictures and dropping bark and leaves around it.

Then the ground was still.

“It looks like it’s gone back to the depths,” spoke Sinfa, her breath seeping from her lips like smoke beneath a door.

Off to her left, Strevan’s wound on his back was bleeding down his shoulder. The serration had cut through his cloak, but he didn’t look like he intended to heed it yet. He headed for the fallen Tartara, crunching across a smattering of dry leaves.

Then there was a grinding roar.

The wyrm burst from the ground mere feet in front of Jaffrine. She wasn’t startled, nor did she move or open her eyes as each section of the wyrm rose higher and higher into the air.

“Jaffrine!” screamed Sinfa.

The druid was calm, a gazing pool. She remained that way for several moments before her white eyes opened with a start, flaring with a lush green light.

Sinfa felt a buffet of wind. It came from—Jaffrine? From inside Jaffrine? She wasn’t sure.

The wind blustered, blowing Jaffrine’s hair and robes out from her. She stood, wooden staff in hand. The wurm still rose. But in a matter of seconds, it arched down for Jaffrine.

Sinfa watched with horror, unable to do anything. “Jaffrine! Get out of the way, now!” But her voice cracked hoarse.

There was no response. Jaffrine was focused, her spell had been cast and was draining her. Sinfa was afraid of what it might do to her—already spent from her magic use the past few days.

Then Jaffrine clapped her hands together.

The wind around her grew in intensity as the ground beneath the wyrm broke open. From the puckering sod came trunks of trees. They grew as though years passed with each instant. Trees pushed into the air around Jaffrine, their thorny branches impaling the wyrm, spitting it in several places. Along the earth crawled vines and brush, a writhing mass of vegetation spiked out from the center where she stood, and then trailed along the ground like petals encircling the stem of a flower. The trunks carried the creature high into the air beyond the canopy before they ceased their growth. Then all was still once more.

Jaffrine collapsed to the ground.

* * *

Turim and his companions followed Aldor from his comfortable underground mansion. They marched down the street, past several dwarven merchants along the lane, and toward the western gates of Dunarg.

These gates weren’t built with a stair, but a steep road of sorts that wound around slowly for beasts of burden and wagons to enter the city’s depths. After they’d spiraled up the road for some time, they passed beneath a wide, stone gate and returned to the wood of the Modukaz Forest.

“So nothing,” continued Turim’s questions for Aldor. “We can’t send a falcon or pidgeon?”

“I don’t know if you know this,” Aldor looked at him with a grumpy frown. “But birds aren’t overfond of living underground.”

“And the dragons at Karagard Keep?”

“Even with the few Shiningscales the dwarves trusted, we can’t get you anywhere close to the Keep now—and that’s if they’re alive. I’m telling you, you’ve not a lot of options.”

The light was dim. The sun had dropped not more than a few hours from the horizon.

“If we ride hard,” said Darf, commenting on their journey, “we should make it to the airship before night’s end.”

Turim exchanged glances with Meineken.

“I wouldn’t trust the ogre’s sense of timing,” mumbled Aldor.

Darf frowned, but then smiled as the corners of Aldor’s beard perked up and he chuckled.

A stone pathway led away from the gate, and beneath the dark trees, Gundak stood waiting. He had three ponies, one golden brown, and one white and black. There were also two larger horses: a dappled gray, and a cream one with dark brown patches. They wore saddles of fine leather and had saddlebags filled with traveling goods.

“Your requests have been filled, Master Aldor,” said Gundak when he saw them approach. Several armed dwarven servants surrounded him, and all bowed as Aldor drew near.

Aldor took his chief servant’s hand in both his own and shook it vigorously. “You are a dwarf of renowned speed and resource, Gundak! Many thanks. And my thanks to all of you.” He looked to each of the other guards. “I trust you to keep the mines safe. Though you may have a need to gather more of you to do so, I’m sorry to say.”

The guards looked alarmed as though Aldor had never given such a request.

“Is there something wrong?” asked Gundak, his tone serious.

Aldor almost chuckled. “I do not know how you may handle these tidings, but there are a great deal of . . .” He paused. “A great number of cavern spiders about the place now.”

“This is ill news!” said Gundak, putting his fingers in his belt.

The other dwarven guards looked to each other in both disgust and fear. Several of them spit distastefully.

“We’ll clear the mine of them before your return,” said Gundak with a confident nod. “You need not fear that. Yet I curse that foul breed of spider.”

“As do we all,” replied Aldor as he grabbed the reins to one of the ponies.

The companions then hastily mounted their steeds as Aldor spoke one last time to his chief servant. “Take care of the house. I don’t know when I’ll be back. My plans are rather open for now. I’ve put Droggin in charge of the new vein in my absence. May your beard grow long, Gundak. Goodbye!”

Turim, Meineken, and Lala all gave their remarks of gratitude. Darf grunted. Then they were off.

They rode hard through the Modukaz Forest, the ponies and horses bearing their burdens with pride and dignity. Foam covered their coats, but still they pushed on, the low boughs whipping against both the riders and their steeds. Soon Turim found small welts on his face and arms.

Darf rode in front, doing his best to follow the trails and feint pathways he’d taken during his walk to Dunarg. But apparently, he hadn’t taken much notice on his journey into the mountains, because they frequently seemed lost.

Turim tried to keep from getting too aggravated. After all, Darf was a gladiator and had little need of forest lore or skill at tracking. He cursed himself for letting them stop in Dunarg for so many hours though—that had cost them time. On top of that, he kept thinking about the Dragon Army at Karagard Keep. Were they out scouring the woods, looking for Knights of the Hammer? He had to balance speed with sharp awareness—something that grew more difficult as the sun continued to descend.

In this manner, they kept proceeding south for the most part, winding east and west at times as the terrain dictated.

The sun, which was already dimly shining through the thick canopy of firs when they’d departed from Dunarg, fired patches of golden orange through the breaks in the trees. Finally, it disappeared beneath the darkness of the horizon.

“Do we stop now?” asked Lala, still trotting along behind Meineken and his pony. “It’s nighttime. If it weren’t for the moon, I couldn’t see my own nose.”

“I don’t know,” grumbled Aldor, a ways ahead. “Darf, can you even see the trail?”

Darf was intent on the ground. “Maybe so, maybe no,” he replied.

“What’s that supposed to mean?” grunted Aldor.

“It means I can’t see a blasted thing,” said Darf crossly, reining in his overexerted steed. “Nothing useful anyways.” 

“We can’t stop just yet,” said Turim. He scanned the shadows of the forest, still alert. “We must be close.”

“You said we’d make it by night’s end, Darf?” said Meineken crossley.

Now they’d all nearly come to a halt behind the half-ogre and dwarf. Darf wagged his big head left and right, trying to catch some track or sign. He made no answer.

“Let’s go just a bit further,” said Turim. “Look up ahead, the trees are breaking.”

He didn’t wait for an answer from Darf, and gentled his steed forward again, practically shoving past them. He gave a glance to the skies. The time for niceties was over. He wondered why the Dragon Army hadn’t attacked already.

The others—complaining—fell in line behind him. Now they were merely following the light of the pale moon. The trees grew sparse, and at last, they broke into a clearing.

They rode all through the deep grasses they’d come to in search of the way.

Turim shouted in frustration, “Grrrah! We halt until sunrise.” He was afraid and annoyed they’d become further lost. They might run into danger in the darkness if they continued.

The moon smiled dimly all that night, illuminating the twisted trunks and gently waving grasses. The air seemed colder than the previous evening.

Despite the foul mood he was in, Turim was happy to have real food during their travels once again. The others were probably happier. Roast pig and fresh, sweet pumpernickel covered in light cream filled their bellies. It wasn’t long after eating that they drifted off, wrapped in warm blankets, sleeping on bedrolls they’d brought with them from Dunarg. Turim couldn’t help but think of the rangers and Sinfa and feel guilty.

* * *

Sinfa stood with her mouth agape at the sight. Tartara looked dead. Strevan’s cloak was drenched in his own blood. And Jaffrine—she ran to Jaffrine first.

Strevan hesitated briefly, but while Sinfa tended to Jaffrine, he turned and made for the fallen fairie as fast as he could.

Sinfa knelt beside Jaffrine. She had no idea what to expect—Jaffrine’s face was pale, and her fingers covered her eyes. But otherwise, she was alive. Sinfa helped her to a sitting position.

“Tartara’s hurt badly!” shouted Strevan, his gentle hands cupping Tartara’s fragile body.

Jaffrine held tightly to her staff as she rose, still very shaky in the knees. “Lay her down before me,” she said, her voice soft.

Strevan gently set her into a wide, dry leaf on the ground.

Sinfa looked at the small fairy with sadness. Her legs lay in an unnatural bend, probably broken and crushed, the rest of her body bruised and bloodied. “Oh The God,” Sinfa put her fingers to her mouth. “You’re going to make it. You can do something right?” she said, distrusting her own words. She didn’t know how a fairie could survive that.

Jaffrine first dropped a sprinkle of red leaves of an ancient oak from her pouch, then extended a hand out over her fallen comrade and began. “Dul maku di warrouste, me viro losetuth mao ledost!”

It didn’t matter now that Sinfa couldn’t understand what caused the magic to happen, it only mattered that it would help Tartara. She’d only known the fairie a handful of years, but she couldn’t imagine losing her now. Not like this.

As Jaffrine whispered, she continued to reach into her pouch, pulling first more dried oak leaves, then a powder of crushed silverwood berries. Some of the ingredients that she dropped absorbed right into Tartara’s pale skin, while others danced about her in the air, held aloft by a glowing magical force.

“Is she going to make it?” asked Sinfa.

Strevan sucked at his cheek, silently.

Tartara seemed to be growing paler. But then that changed.

The herbs and leaves swiftly dried to a powder and blew away. The pain on her face ebbed. Slowly, Tartara opened her eyes. The spell had taken effect.

Jaffrine fell to her knees, grasping her head and holding onto her staff. A small trickle of blood ran from her nose and she wiped it with the back of her hand.

Strevan too, now out of danger, slumped against the tree next to them.

Sinfa’s eyes took the pair in. “Let me bandage your wound, Strevan,” she said, taking action. “You’re losing blood fast.”

Strevan gave a weak nod. He was doing his best to remove his hood and cloak, but his hands were clumsy.

Sinfa helped him get it off and took a look at his back through his torn leather tunic. “It’s not too terribly deep. But I’d better sew the wound shut.”

“Do you have any shadethorn root, Jaffrine?” asked Strevan, his voice wavering.

Sinfa had heard of the root, but she didn’t know what it was for. Still, Strevan and most of the rangers’ skills at herblore were impressive. She’d seen him tend a doe in the woods once. Sure it wouldn’t make it, she saw that same deer not two weeks later, bounding happily through the Ysian woods. She sighed, missing home—and peace.

Jaffrine still held her hand over her eyes but managed to reach into her pouch. She fumbled inside a moment before revealing a beautiful purple floral bud. She held it out.

Quickly Sinfa took it and laid it in Strevan’s outstretched hand. “Do you want me to do something with that?” she asked.

Strevan began pulling at the root of the plant, then moistened it with his mouth. “Take this and press it with this cloth into the wound.” Then he spat chunks of the root into Sinfa’s outstretched hand.

“Gah!” exclaimed Sinfa, far less disgusted than she’d sounded.

She took the piece of cloth that Strevan tore from the corner of his cloak with his small boot knife and placed the substance in it.

“Thank you, lady Maplebow. I’m grateful, as always,” came Tartara’s voice. She slowly sat up testing her wings behind her. She flapped them into a blur then, shot up into the air, and then sat down on Strevan’s shoulder to observe.

“Strevan will have some needle and thread in his pack, I’m sure,” said Tartara, who seemed to be doing quite well now watching Sinfa and Strevan. “I’ll get it.” She flitted over to his bag.

Sinfa smiled, “I’m glad you’re okay.” She was still feeling astonishment to see her up already.

Tartara lifted out a small spool of thread, a needle stuck neatly into the end. “He’s quite handy at patching up tears or snags in cloth. Or the occasional wound.”

Jaffrine, steadying herself with her staff, gave a weak smile to Tartara. She breathed ragged breaths, clearly struggling to recover from the astonishing power that had coursed through her body.

Sinfa looked Jaffrine over. She’d live, but she was in pretty bad shape as well. “After I get some water boiled here and patch you up,” she said to Strevan, “let’s get aboard The Cloudracer. After all of you are fixed up, I’ve got plenty more to do before Turim gets here.” She gave a weak chuckle, “But one thing at a time.” She paused. “You three are amazing.”