Chapter Four

Her father uttered a few words, which she didn’t deign to hear, marching back to the dance and drums. Rhythms had stopped, and a stillness pervaded the environment. Most of the villagers had stopped dancing, a few still rolling in circles, high on weed that the merchants brought from the other lands. She remembered to steer clear of those. They always looked like trouble. 

There, at the corner around the fire, she could vividly see the face of Old Glinda, the only old woman who could still talk crazy and not reap the harms of it. If there was one thing that Old Glinda was good at, it was storytelling. The old woman would spin such webs of fascinating tales and people would avidly listen to her. 

The old lady was wrapped in her shawl, drying her hands at the big fire. Everyone was settled around that woman, whose face held stern expressions. She looked at the night sky, her eyes glimmering with the stars there. Blanchett found it best to settle down too. She needed some of her stories to get her mind off her pa and her sister Scarlet. As she looked around, she realized Neyru was nowhere to be found. Where had he gone?! 

I have seen him going into the woods, she remembered Scarlet’s words. Come to think of it, it was a suspicious thing that he wasn’t here with the rest of the village. She couldn’t find his troublesome woodcutter father, nor could she find his bedridden mother. He had one younger sibling, a spoiled brat whom she couldn’t see either. Perhaps they all had retired to their huts...sleeping while the remaining villagers sat around Glinda. 

“Glinda, tell us the legend of Sahmal once more!” one of the rambunctious kids asked.

The legend of Sahmal invoked a sensation in her which was deeply unnerving. 

Glinda straightened her back, as if readying herself for something important. The old woman’s face shone with an expression, as she glanced at the people and kids around who revered her stories like they were sacred. She took a deep breath, staring into the branches burning crackling under the fire, as someone added more of them

“The tale of the two brothers starts from the legends of Sahmal, the old ruins that lie far away from this village. But...today, I shall not be repeating the old stories. I shall be adding to them more elements...to the entire fable! 

We all know about the white-hearted Maxwell, and the vengeful brother Boris. However, the stories that we have received so far, are only half-baked. We keep hearing that Maxwell ventured into this valley, and set up a small tribe in Sahmal. He ruled peacefully with his people until Boris’s betrayal. 

However, none of us knows the big secrets that Maxwell and Boris, both were the magic practitioners. They prayed to the old gods, and venerated their divines through sacred shrines located in those ruins…” Glinda paused for a moment, her eyes connecting with the girl sitting far from here, cloaked in red from head to toe. She then resumed after a short breath. 

“Maxwell and Boris had gifts in their bloodline. Where they came from...I shall not tell, for that is the story for another time. Maxwell’s patron deity was Fulgor, the god of light. Boris venerated the goddess of darkness, Vespera. Despite the opposite natures, the light and darkness complemented each other. Although both the brothers had set a successful life, both for themselves and for their people, soon a day would come which would test their resolve. 

The clan of Maxwell and Boris wasn’t the only one that inhabited this valley. There was another tribe, their warriors fierce and their practices outright inhumane. They were bloodthirsty, bearing no competitor…”

“What was the other clan, Glinda?” one of the women asked. Whispers spread around, as Blanchett realized that the woman had made a mistake. No one mentioned the name of that clan, nor did people ask Glinda about them...not that she didn’t tell, it was that when she used to tell, the kids wouldn’t sleep at night. 

“Well then, let us dive deeper into the tale of the gods that ruled over this valley. One was the Flugor, the other one was the Vespera, and the third one...the god of mischief was Malum…!” 

The mere name invoked unnerving anxiety and fear. Some of the people got up, praying to Fulgor for deliverance while heading back to the huts. Blanchett couldn’t help but feel Glinda’s stare connecting with her every few seconds later. She was adamant that this old woman was scanning her from head to toe. 

“The gods are the designers, and we mortals are their playthings. Malum had a gift of showing his people his own presence. His hunters were the swiftest predators in the entire valley, their eyes glew in the dark and they could travel with the speed of wind. In some legends, his most devout followers didn’t even need to rely on weaponry, their claws and sharp fangs all sufficient for taking down even the mightiest of the prey. They became known as, “Achylis”. 

Achylis didn’t take chances, nor were they merciful. One day, Boris and Fulgor returned with their hunting party, finding an upheaval in their village. Every second person, woman and child had been killed in cold blood, and there were warning signs on the walls around that warned them of the consequences of staying longer. Boris and Maxwell were struck with immense grief, and ire. That night, a council meeting was summoned to discuss whether to stay in that valley, or to move on. Boris wanted to launch a full-scale attack, believing in his own strength. On the other hand, Maxwell wanted for no more deaths, wishing that his people would instead leave…” her eyes became watery. Was the old woman crying? 

Blanchett was becoming more and more absorbed into the story. She knew a twist awaited at the end. Such was Glinda’s skill at storytelling. Even the bored listeners would find themselves immersed in her words.

“When the matters of the mortals couldn’t be settled by the negotiations, the gods sprung into action. Interestingly, Verpera spoke to Boris, urging him to launch an attack on the Achylis...whereas Fulgar prioritized safety for his followers. That was when Boris decided he would split up from Maxwell completely, leading his own band of followers. He had been granted a ritual of power through his visions. 

Interestingly, Fulgor was also active in granting power to his followers. The powers he granted them was of protection. Maxwell was able to channel the power of the spirits, and was granted the power to perform magic…” her statement was interrupted.

She had to quieten down, along with the rest of the people. Something was in the air…it was around those woods at a distance, in the fire and in the gaze of people.

Blanchet threw her head around, wanting to know why everyone had stopped at once. She could only notice fear…

Before she could get up, a heartrending cry of the wolf echoed in air, unsettling everyone around.