Chapter 23 Harkin
Chapter twenty-three
Harkin
The turn of the season slipped away with little fanfare. Bare limbs of trees made a striking impression on the flat gray sky, and our breath fogged around us in billowing, frosted puffs.
Seren had made excellent progress in her training.
She was able to wield her mágik with little instruction now that she had mastered the basics, and we were able to work in tandem.
I bolstered the path of her projectiles with a strong gust of wind, nudging them and speeding their flight until their aim struck true and fast. We moved, backs pressed together in a fighting stance. Hands raised and mágik flowing.
We were a sight to behold.
Our formidable tree enemies—having been thoroughly inspected for Tünécris—did not stand a chance between our combined might, and when she didn’t think I was looking, I noticed a small smile creeping across her face.
Seren was beginning to enjoy this feeling, the control she could have over her power. I could see it, and I wondered if she had yet admitted it to herself. It grew more likely by the day.
The weeks whiled away, and I thought she was ready to take on an actual, living opponent. Fortunately for us, the Váracis Erva was not lacking in malevolent creatures. Perhaps we might find another Sziravit. I was sure Seren would not mind a second chance to face the spirits.
I broached the topic carefully over a shared meal, which was the time she was most often amenable. “I think the trees have grown tired of our antics.”
Seren narrowed her eyes at me. “Speak plainly, please.”
“Please?” I could not help the smirk which curled my lips.
“Harkin.” Her tone held a note of warning, but I could see the way she held back her grin. She pressed her mouth into a frown that was entirely unconvincing.
“I think you’re ready for more. I propose we venture a bit further from our little glade and seek out a more worthy adversary to practice against.” I steepled my hands in front of me as I waited for her answer.
Seren considered this, her supper forgotten on the table before her. A flicker of emotion crossed her face: fear, uncertainty, and then resolve. “You’re right. I am ready.”
“That easy?” I lifted my brows in surprise.
“Shall I change my mind?” She asked around a mouthful of fluffy bread.
“No, no! I couldn’t agree more. Tonight, then.”
She waited beneath the first fall of snow.
Flurries drifted down from the darkened sky as if in slow motion.
They landed in Seren’s hair, catching on her eyelashes as she blinked up at them in wonder.
I watched her for a few moments more, equal parts enraptured by her and proud at the ease with which she summoned her mágik, those subtle silver threads of power winding around her and through the falling snow.
She smiled when she noticed me, and my heart stuttered. I wished it wouldn’t.
I bounded over to her, raising her sword between us. It was the last blade of hers that I still had in my possession, but she had more than earned it back. I knelt before her, presenting the blade with a flourish.
“I believe this belongs to you, Guardian Corso.”
Seren rolled her eyes, but I saw the joy sparkling beneath the surface. I felt it as her fingers brushed mine.
“Guardian Corso is no more,” she reminded me. “But thank you. For the sword and for everything else.”
“You’re welcome, Ren. Now, let’s see what the Váracis Erva has in store for us.”
We traveled on foot through the dark forest paths. Seren lit our way with her mágik, and I was grateful for it. The night was dreadfully quiet under the softening of snowfall.
The Váracis Erva was void of adversaries that night, so I regaled Seren with tales of various creatures. She was most fixated upon the tale of the Vámpír, bloodsucking creatures of twilight and death.
“Are they human?” She asked, torn between disgust and curiosity.
“They once were, but Vámpír lose their humanity when they turn.” I stopped her with a light touch at her wrist, and we turned back in the direction of home. We had gone far enough for one night.
“Turn?” Seren tilted her head so she could look at me as she walked.
I smiled, pleased by her interest in my world—in the world we now shared. “The Blood Countess is the leader of the Vámpír. It’s said that she turns humans into her companions through the fatal sharing of blood. A rather morbid way to make friends, I imagine.”
Seren laughed loudly into the white night.
Our first opponent came days later in the form of a Lidérc, a ghostly creature of malicious and nightmarish intent.
The beast flickered in and out of its corporeal form as it shuttered toward us in a flash of brilliant firelight.
When it paused its movement, the Lidérc took on an almost human shape which was somehow far worse.
Seren lashed out prematurely. A wave crashed over the underbrush—sending wildlife scurrying—but it did not touch the creature.
“Lidérc cannot be harmed in their incorporeal form,” I explained. “We must wait until it is still and then bind it with our mágik. They cannot be killed, but they can be banished with an impossible task. It will be condemned to wander until it has found another victim to terrorize.”
The Lidérc reached us in a wash of flame, and Seren raised her arms to shield us with a wall of cooling water. The creature backed away, considering. As it stilled, it shifted back into something resembling a man—though its limbs were disjointed, head cocked too far to one side.
We struck in tandem. Bands of silver power wrapped around its limbs like chains and a focused wind battered it to the ground.
“Alright,” I panted, muscles shaking from the effort of holding the Lidérc. Blood rushed through my veins, overthick with adrenaline. “Give it an impossible task.”
“Like what?”
The creature bucked, the jagged bone of its arm slicing through my shoulder with ripping force. I cried out.
“Be creative,” I grunted through the pain.
Seren huffed—eyes wide—and I laughed despite the position in which we found ourselves. Despite the blood which dripped off my elbow into the snow and earth below.
“Lidérc,” Seren called, voice loud with false confidence. “I order you to find a dragon and ride upon its great back.”
The creature shuttered and shifted, reaching for me one more. It lurched toward me, sinking its teeth into my wound for one blindingly painful moment, before jetting off into the night in an arc of blazing fire. It disappeared into the distance, a shooting star of sorts.
“Fuck,” I muttered, cradling my bleeding shoulder.
We trained for days in this manner, battling all sorts of minor beasts. I could not help but admire how well we fought together, especially as our opponents grew more fearsome, and I could not help but look forward to the way we bandaged each other's wounds in the warmth of the firelight.
On our final night in the Váracis Erva, a chilled breeze cut through the trees. Heavy clouds drifted across a full moon. The forest was alive with activity in the early hours of the evening, until it wasn’t. Bone deep silence settled over us, and the world went dark.
Light bled from the moon, sucked away in a leeching attack as a hound-like figure crossed its path.
“Markoláb,” I whispered, resting my hand against Seren’s forearm as we came to a halt. “We must be cautious.”
“What happened to the moon?” Seren asked, unnerved. Her eyes darted back and forth as she attempted to track the creature in the new dark.
I kept my voice low as we crept forward, approaching the place we had last caught a glimpse of its furred hindquarters. “The Markoláb is a rare beast known to consume the moon and the sun when hunger gnaws at its belly. I have never come across one before, but I have heard tales.”
“Consume?” Seren appeared distressed as she considered this, and I did my best to stifle my laughter.
“It’s only temporary,” I assured her. “The Markoláb returns the moon or sun to its place in the sky when it has absorbed enough energy to continue on.”
“How often does this happen?”
“A handful of times a year.” I shrugged. “The lapse only lasts a few moments.”
Seren hummed a thoughtful sound. I could not tell if she was more impressed or disturbed. She summoned a wisp of silver mágik to light our path, and when the moon returned to its rightful place above us, she did not release her hold over her power.
A low growl rumbled through the trees, branches shaking in anticipation. The forest floor crunched under heavy paws, sticks cracking under sharp claws.
“We need to leave.” I drew Seren closer to my side, any humor in me long quenched.
She pushed her mágik further out, illuminating the forest around us.
The Markoláb was upon us before we could react. Seren was pinned against a tree, at the mercy of the beast. I was sent sprawling in the opposite direction, only able to watch as the creature loomed over her.
My collection of wounds prodded at me, sharp and threatening to bleed anew. I struggled to regain my footing. “Goddesses, protect her.”
Seren summoned bursts of bright light, honing them into spears as she struck toward the flying hound. It opened its gaping maw, saliva dripping over its moonlit teeth as it inhaled her mágik directly into its throat.
“Harkin!” Seren cried out and summoned a wave of water instead, knocking the creature back, but it only advanced again. Snarling and snapping, it approached.
“I’m coming,” I gasped. Adrenaline rushed through me, drowning out everything but the need to keep her safe.
I lurched between them, pulling the threads of my own mágik.
I pushed against it with a gust of icy wind, and though I did not know if it would work on the beast, I tugged at its emotions, willing it to calm.
The Markoláb fought against my control, thrashing its head and gnashing its yellowed fangs. Its shoulder knocked into Seren, sending her sprawling to the ground. Her temple struck a rock, and blood trickled down her cheek. She swayed, her fear mingling with my own.
I pushed harder, imbuing the urge to relax and leave peacefully into its tense body. Anger and fear and deep, deep hunger rose within me, as if it were my own, the bridge between us yawning wide. I panted in exertion, forced to my knees.
Seren dropped her own mágik—spent—and with one final surge, my will overtook the Markoláb’s. The creature sagged and took to the sky, returning back the way it had come.
The sounds of the Váracis Erva returned, punctuated by the sound of our gasping breaths and the hollow shine of the moon—there as if it had never left.