The King Trials 2: Beyond.
~Tandem~

Captain Elfort’s ship docks on the white shores of Tandem, the last port of Urium.

We have been ordered to wait on the ship until Primus Kelan and a select few go to retrieve new steeds and mules for our journey. In the meantime, they gave us; makeshift tents, bedrolls, satchels and carrier bags to relocate our belongings and pack only what we need. The rest are to be discarded.

I sense that during an arduous expedition through the unexplored breadth of beyond our realm. I do not see the value of keeping fancy fine dresses or expensive sets of Jewellery. But the jewels can come in handy if we come across a community of sorts, and I can barter them for needed goods.

My weapons I will carry on me. Daggers fastened round my thighs, my quiver is attached to my back hooked with an additional back strap to secure the bow, the spiked end; a safe distance from my head.

When we are finished packing all of our personal belongings. We take it out to the Skydeck to pile them with the meagre assortment of supplies, sustenance and possessions that belong to the Avangard. All of our combined effects are shoved together before the railing, the Herems and I mill around them idly. Vince sits on the floor with his one leg bent, a hand dangling off his knee, leaning against a pack of bedrolls. Markiveus and Dario rest against the ledge itself with Brennon standing tall beside them.

Solaris and I stand on Vince’s other flank with our hands crossed over the railing, staring out to the picturesque view of the ocean. Where the immaculate shores of Tandem melt away into the crystal-clear blue of the ocean, a brilliant sapphire where the horizon is undefined, unable to mark the boundary between sea and sky. The lapping surface glistens with pools of white, awash with sunlight.

The average temperature is warm, but it is doused by the cool ocean current.

“Is it wrong to admit my fear?” Solaris asks, his gaze sailing the sea.

I reply with a tiny head shake, though he isn’t watching. “Well, I’m terrified, so no.”

Solaris glances back at me with blatant doubt knitting into his expression. “You are terrified?” His eyes a perfect turquoise reflection of the sea, from where it starts at the shores and it gradually darkens to the depths.

“I will not repeat it again.”

He cracks into a half-hearted smile. “I only mean that everyone seems…pretty calm about this. Travelling in Urium is one thing, to domains within its borders is one thing. Beyond… that is an entirely different matter. And I feel that the High King should have disclaimed that in the event of the King Trials, you may face sudden death.”

“Would you have chosen differently?” I quiz, the wind kicks a lock of hair and it clings to the bridge of my nose. I swipe it and tuck it behind my earlobe. “If the High King had explicitly told us the mandate of the Trials, all what we agreed to when participating. Would you have chosen differently?”

Solaris’s smile wavers before it fails completely. “Well, that’s just it. I was never given the luxury of a choice. The High King decreed that the eldest pureblood descendant is to be sent. That is me. And my Regnum, my family, they all want me to win.”

Solaris looks back at me and we both mirror a forlorn expression.

“But what is it that you want?” We stare at each other for a long, considering while before a smile fractures Solaris‘s solemnity and we both burst into a short fit of laughs.

“Enough sentimental talk, more game talk.” He sneaks furtive glances off both of his shoulders. “Have you spoken with our new special guests?”

I bop my head exaggeratedly. “Yes, the twin Hitsches.”

“You mean the twin creeps.”

“Solaris.”

“What?” he says unrepentantly. “They marinate in their cabin all day and only come out at night. They have strange tattoos, not one commonly seen on a Hische or even medeis. Not to mention there is this dread that settles in my gut every time I see them.”

I shift my gaze back to the shores, up and to the widespread entrance of the dense forest.

“I am afraid a gut feeling is not substantial evidence to affirm your suspicions. How they seem might not be how they are.” I focus my gaze, watching the leaves swish, then a band of birds launch off the branches and take off into flight.

“They seem sinister, that is evidence enough. And for it, I do not trust them.”

In the treeline moving figures emerge. A few of them are mounted on horses and the others lead mules by their reins.

A few Piratas assist us with unloading our belongings off the ship and only burdening the steeds with only what they can manage, tying down various saddlebags. Only several carriers bags that are to be carried on one’s person, a weight that most of the squadron bears. The Herems and I only assume our weaponry. My bow and quiver are strapped to my back so the heft I bore is greatly alleviated.

There are only nine stallions, and four mules whose sole purpose is to carry essential supplies, whether it be blankets, medicine or sustenance. Primus Kelan, Duce Merian, the Herems and I ride horseback whereas the twin Hitsches and seventeen other soldiers are to trek on foot.

The farewell from Captain Eelfort is brief and terse. Before I know it, we are all organised in a riding formation; the Hitsches leading from the front, Primus Kelan follows with the Herems and I rowed in two lines with the squadron marching at the outer flanks.

We all peel away into the brink of timber. The Hitsches guide us through the dense, sun-dappled forest with vegetation rich in vibrance. A lattice of pale moonberries dangles from the canopy of green. The leaf-carpeted ground is crispy underfoot, crunching under the multitude of hooves with fallen branches that fleck the spread.

Silence accompanies us loyally. But that gives one the freedom to listen and hear the placid ballad of the forest’s soul, an orchestra of organic melodies. Branches creaking, wind whistling around trunks serenading the leaves to sway to its aubade.

I inhale a breath and welcome in the aroma of wildflowers, minty and herby smells that flavour with the air with a meadow sweet and earthy taste. The shafts of sunlight are like the beams of heaven’s delight.

Once darkness stakes its claim over all under the sky. We set up camp in an open grove, half of the squadron split to go retrieve firewood and dinner whilst the others remain to pitch up the tents for the night and establish a perimeter. At least the Herem are aiding by unpacking their own bedrolls. I take off my bow and quiver and lay it beside the horse I rid, an amber-coloured Arabian.

Vince beckons for my attention with a short whistle. I look back at him and he flings a leather satchel at me. I catch it at my chest and stare back at him questioningly.

“Come with me. I need ingredients.”

“For what?”

“Soup,” he says and dazzles with a full bloom grin, his teeth iridescent despite the surrounding gloom. “I am going to teach you how to cook.”

He jerks his chin eastward and makes a start in that direction. Reluctantly, I skim over our temporary encampment, observing all at work, even though my eyes search for only one in particular. My eyes spot him in a corner occupied in an intense discussion with his second-in-command, whilst he speaks, Reinsbure snaps frequent nods.

Shortly, I sidle Vince’s flank and together; we delve into the darkened forest. I sling on the satchel and allow the deep pouch to sit at my hip.

Vince leads me deeper in the woods, starlight glitters in the gaps of the canopy, unseen mammals purring gentle lullabies.

My eyes cling to the glimmers, the only glimpses of light that gives us way through the dark.

“Is there anything specific you are looking for?”

Vince shakes his head, his gaze completing a visual assessment of our environment. “I have never been this far from Urium, I do not know what kind of plants burgeons here. I am merely searching for edible vegetables or fruits to brew.”

My eyes dart to every scamper or scuttle I hear. Geographically, we are out of Urium, but these are still the outland territories that the Crown controls. Frankly, my comfort or more explicitly, my sense of ease was forsaken when we departed Sorcia.

“Why are you so quiet?” His question sunders my trail of thoughts.

I glance back at him and shrug my shoulders. “Perhaps, I just do not wish to vocalise how being here with you unsettles me.”

He makes a thoughtful sound, like he’s deliberating on what to say next. “If that were true, why did you come?”

“Because you commanded me to.”

“Or because you wanted to,” he retorts with a smile brighter than starlight. “Since when do you ever do what you are commanded. It seems someone is in denial of her feelings.”

I free an annoyed scoff. “You are insufferable.”

“And you are extraordinary,” he says so lowly like he doesn’t want anyone to hear. “Let us hope neither of us change.”

He looks forward and nods ahead. “Look, revrex.” He speeds up a few paces in front and bends down to his haunches. I move to stand at his side and look down at the tall crimson plants, round and bulging from the soil dotted with pink around the rough texture of its skin.

“This vegetable is loaded with protein and delightful mix to thicken any stew without a need for meat,” he says with a hand fluttering over a patch of them. “They are pretty big, just uproot two for me.” He tosses up a quick hand of remembrance. “Please.”

He lifts himself up and visits the base of a neighbouring tree.

I turn my attention to the task given to me. I step over knobbly roots protruding from the even ground to get closer, the vegetable protected by prickling briars. I reach out for the thick lock of leafy hair that spurts from the tip its head. I grip and pull, surprised at the rigidity like the roots of the vegetable are pulling back, conquering the tug of war. I yank out the bulbous vegetable and pack it in the satchel. Then I fit in another.

Vince calls for me with moon mushrooms cradled in his arms and a small collection of vegetables that I do not recognise. I open the bag open for him and he pours it all inside.

“Now…” he canvases the woods with a pondering look. “I need something saccharine to give my creation a sweet finish. Or something like a nescofruit to give it a delicious nutty zest.”

We venture onwards. Vince’s eyes are peeled open for any delectable discoveries to add to his creation.

“Vince.”

“Hera.”

“First off, I think you have earned the right to call me by my name,” I offer. “Secondly, where did a highborn Herem from the Regnum of warriors learn how to…cook.”

A humoured breath blasts from his nostrils. “I can only make a broth and roast meat over a spit; I would hardly call that cooking.”

He derails off our path to uproot a plant that looks like a cactus with tight clusters of bright-green cone-shaped heads. I open the satchel and he dumps them inside.

“It is a rite of passage in my Regnum,” he begins. He points over to an orange daikon. A fruit with a hard orange exterior but has a juicy magenta flesh. “For every descendant, when they are of age, they are sent into the wilderness of Emikrol for one moon cycle with nothing but the clothes on their back.”

Vince’s natural glow darkens and in his eyes something haunting unveils itself. “Since I was the eldest, destined to be my father’s successor, I was trained more brutally than my brothers. I was sent in when I was nothing but a scrawny adolescent that could barely pick up a sword.”

He chuckles darkly and his face grows grave. “I was alone, sent in to fend for myself, feed myself and survive by myself And I did. I went in a scared, naïve child and came out as something completely… different.”

Silence follows his words. And for a moment, he looks lost, but then his eyes find mine when he turns his head to look at me. “Forgive me, you did not come along to hear my foolish, sob story. I hope you do not think less of me.”

I bring us both to a stop. “If anything, I think the opposite.”

“I fear you,” he blurts. He approaches closer to me, his intentions echoing with every step.

I smile back at him incredulously. “The Emikrollian feels fear?” I ask teasingly.

His expression remains sombre. “The Emikrollian feels so much more than that.” He says ambiguously, his voice soft but his tenor is thick with emotion.

“Then why do you fear me?” I muse.

“Because I can admit things to you that I cannot even admit to myself,” he murmurs. A mischievous smile weaves through his lips. “But you should be wary, Hera.”

I snort. “Of you?”

“If you keep gazing into my eyes like that, you might fall in love with me.”

I shove him away from me playfully and I whirl back around in the direction of the campsite. “The heavens itself would have to fall for that to ever happen.”

“Is that because the Hera has fallen already,” he says to my back.

The question is like an invisible stumbling block in my path. I waver, recover, and move on.

“I was given wise counsel of late,” I say, thinking on Primus Kelan’s words. “It is dangerous to make assumptions.” A fierce shift in my tone.

“I was merely asking a question,” he states evenly, appearing in my periphery. “No need to become so defensive.”

By the time we return. Everything’s unpacked with makeshift tents neatly pitched on either side. Two bonfires are lit, our camp divided into Herems and the Avangard. Shockingly, the Hitsches chose to sit with the Herems and by no surprise at all, Duce Merian with the Avangard. Soon after, Vince sets up a travel size, cast iron cauldron over the fire, boiling the water inside. He then collects the needed utensils and a pile of serving bowls for after.

He retrieves his own dagger, and I hand him the satchel. One by one, he takes the fruit or vegetable, dices them up and pops them into the bubbling cauldron.

All of us are settled around the blaze, silently watching Vince slice each plant with practiced finesse and add it into his brew.

“Are you not going to peel the vegetables first?” Brennon asks, his face pinched in a frown, the breathing blaze revealing the copper shades in his loose tresses.

“The skin holds all the nutrients,” he says without looking at him.

After all the ingredients are added. Vince uses a large spoon to stir the wild blends of his broth. It does emit a rather pleasant smell. Although it takes a long time to cook and by the sight of the restless shifting of my peers, it’s evident that everyone’s growing increasingly impatient. But no-one is brave enough to disturb Vince. Instead, we all wait in a tortured silence.

Eventually, Vince starts serving. He uses a ladle to convey the soup into the small bowls, once the bowls makes its round to everyone else. He then serves himself a dish and occupies a seat next to Anthia.

“Well, how am I to eat this—possibly—poisonous broth. I need a soup utensil,” Brennon demands.

My hands cupped around my bowl. I blow a few cool breaths on the surface before I tip it and sip out of the bowl just like that. My eyes widen at the explosion of taste, sweet and tangy, richer than anything I have ever tasted. I have had many fine foods, but this soup rustled up in a forest is by far the most fascinating, thrilling my tastebuds. Even though it was blended with entirely different ingredients than the broth, he made for me in Sorcia. I can taste the stark difference, yet there’s a distinct medley of his blend that I know.

I sneak a look to the opposite bonfire. Primus Kelan seated on a fallen log, towering above everyone. His eyes are locked on me, the firelight reflecting in his inky eyes makes them look like a bottomless, smouldering forge.

I want to look away.

But I cannot.

The following day, we arose before dawn. It is a quick hustle of repacking bedrolls, unhitching tents, gathering scattered supplies and packing it all up to resume our travels.

By the time first light awakens, we are journeying through the woods. We are on the edge of the forest on the cliff-side of a steep slope, my stallion near the brink. My vision blurred by exhaustion, though my body is functioning, I am still coming into full consciousness.

Aurora.

“Hmm?” I say to Solaris on my left side. He looks back at me with a perplexed look.

“I was not speaking,” he says awkwardly, each word pronounced slowly.

Flippantly, I look forward.

Aurora.

The mysterious voice sounds again. But the voice is not external, it’s internal like a loud, subliminal thought in my head, echoing from the recesses of my mind.

Aurora. Be still and listen.

I focus my attentions to two out of five senses; I sniff deeply then I smell traces of ash, fresh ash, burning cinders, I inhale again and the smell strengthens. With it, a distressing sound that whispers in the wind, a silent cry… a distant scream, many screams.

I look beyond to my right, between the gaps of foliage; I capture glimpses of the black that smears the sky. I release a small amount of pressure on the right rein so that the horse bends in that direction. I veer off the path and guide the horse to the rim, emerging through the foliage to crest the brink. Across the gaping gorge there is a sprawling village on the edge, plumes of black smoke billow from the village, a vicious fire rampaging through the community.

Now I can hear the distant sounds of panicked screams.

“Duce Merian! Primus Kelan!”

On call, they both appear on my flanks and they witness the devastation for themselves.

“A fire of that ambit was not accidently sparked,” Kelan concludes. “The village is under attack.”

“And we must respond,” Duce Merian says determinedly. “Umtera is the last settlement under the Crown. About fifteen meters ahead there is an overpass that bridges the gap between here and the village.”

Duce Merian slants forward to look pointedly at Primus Kelan. “The purebloods will lead the charge. After all, all of what you see will belong to one of them and will become their responsibility.”

“You are mistaken, Duce.” My grip tightens readily. “It is all of our responsibility.”

Hastily, I return on the path. I hit the reins and stallion leaps into a steady gallop.

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