Chapter 2 Death whispers
“The alpha king is dead.”
Aeon heard the chilling whisper in the wind, but neither grief nor sympathy touched her heart.
“I hope his tyranny died with him,” she muttered under her breath. She blew a sigh of relief as she continued striding through the woods, while Socrates, her faithful friend, trotted silently at her heels, its jet-black fur ruffling in the breeze.
The first rays of sunlight peeked through the dense forest, casting a golden glow on the ground. Birds chirped softly, greeting the dawn with their melodious songs. The murmur and laugh of the wood winds joined the symphony.
Aeon gasped with delight as she spotted a colony of morel mushrooms in the underbrush beneath an ancient tree, as if they’d been waiting for her all along.
Just as she crouched, laying her basket down on the ground, a somber sound shattered the peace. The castle bells tolled their mournful resonance, piercing through the air. Their chimes reverberated across the valleys and hills, echoing against the cliffs.
Each melancholic peal seemed to carry a message, a profound proclamation that would alter the course of the kingdom forever.
Alpha King Percival, the very embodiment of tyranny and oppression, had met his end. Aeon knew the cruelty he had inflicted upon his subjects, the suffering he had perpetuated with an iron fist.
The news of his demise should have been a cause for celebration, for the end of an era stained with injustice. And yet, Aeon found herself grappling with a mix of conflicting sentiments.
She hesitated, torn between mourning the loss of a life and legacy, fearing the unknown that would follow in the wake of Percival’s demise, or remaining indifferent to the passing of a ruler whose presence had cast a shadow upon the land.
Her mind churned with uncertainty, wrestling with the complex tapestry of emotions that had woven themselves into the fabric of her being.
Her gaze wandered toward the marshes that stretched out beyond the woods. The sun’s golden fingers reached out to touch the gentle ripples on the water’s surface, casting a mesmerizing dance of light and shadow. In the midst of this ethereal spectacle, Aeon found solace, a sanctuary away from the chaotic world beyond.
With a resolute sigh, she made her decision. Though the bells tolled the death of the Alpha King, she would not mourn the loss of a tyrant. Nor would she give in to fear, for she knew that genuine change could only come from the strength and unity of the people.
But how? What would it take to unite a people cowering in fear each time the soldiers’ boots resounded in the streets?
She could only wish the next alpha king would change all that. Would the Crown Prince Herrick be up to the task? She wished the legacy of Percival would be nothing more than a fleeting memory.
The sweet fragrance of pine wafted into her nostrils as she moved gracefully through the underbrush, her fingers deftly plucking the delicate fungi.
Socrates barked as a sudden stillness descended upon the woods. The birds ceased their cheery songs, and the once gentle breeze turned into a gusty wind, rustling the leaves above her.
“What is it, Soc?” she chirped, her heart thrummed in her chest.
An ominous sensation gripped at her throat, and a sharp pain stabbed in the back of her shoulder.
Although the use of magic was strictly forbidden in the kingdom, Aeon had developed a deep connection with the elements in nature themselves. She understood the language they spoke, the subtle whispers of the air, the rumbles of the earth, the gurgles of the waters, and the cracklings of fire. They hinted at the presence of someone teetering on the edge of life and death.
Her gaze fell upon Socrates, who sensed the urgency in her heart. The dog’s ears perked up, and he barked incessantly, nudging her with his wet nose towards the banks of the marsh.
Trusting her instincts, Aeon followed Socrates, racing through the woods with a grace and speed that seemed otherworldly. The wind tugged at her hair and dress.
As they reached the banks, she halted abruptly, her eyes widening in shock.
Floating amidst the murky waters was a man, his body battered and broken. An arrow protruded from his back, evidence of a violent encounter. Aeon’s heart sunk, but she knew there was no time to waste. Despite her magical abilities lying dormant, she understood the power of compassion and the weight of responsibility.
“Get him, Soc,” she said.
The black hound jumped into the water and kicked his way, pulling on the man’s drenched tunic with his teeth into the bank.
Kneeling by the water’s edge, Aeon gently placed a hand on the man’s neck and felt a pulse. His breath was shallow and lips were pale.
“He’s alive… but barely. He’s lost so much blood,” she muttered. Her voice quivered as she checked on the wound where the arrow stood its ground. “The arrow went in too deep… I don’t think I can pull it out until the swelling subsides. We have to bring him somewhere safe and dry, Soc… help me. Over there…” She pointed at a clearing littered with a bed of fallen leaves.
The hound wagged its tail with enthusiasm as it sunk its teeth into the man’s trousers, while Aeon brought him up by the shoulders.
A quick scan of the nearby shrubs showed her a clump of narrow-leafed herbs. Ginger. She scampered toward it and pulled out a mature root, just what she needed to reduce the inflammation of the man’s wound.
She pounded on the fleshy rhizome until its tangy juices came out and spread it around the wound.
After a few minutes, she gripped the arrow with steady hands, her eyes filled with determination. She spoke softly, summoning the elements.
The wind grew still, the water rippled, and the earth beneath her radiated with warmth. Aeon gently pulled the arrow out with no effort. Blood spurted out.
She quickly ripped a piece of cloth from the hem of her skirts, folded it, and pressed it gently over the gaping wound. Then ripped another long strip, tying it over his shoulders and around his back, keeping the bandage in place.
The man’s breathing steadied, and color returned to his pale face. Aeon’s eyes gleamed with a mix of relief and satisfaction. She knew she had done what she could, but she also understood the precariousness of their situation. With Socrates at her side, she resolved to protect this stranger until he regained his strength.
She raced through the woods towards her house, careful not to make a sound to wake her mother, and took the wooden garden cart from the shed. She ran back to the marsh bank and loaded the still unconscious man into the cart.
“Well, Socrates… we cannot leave this man here, can we?” she said, catching her breath.
The hound wagged its tail and barked twice.
“That’s right… so, we’re taking him to the shed and hope that he’s not some crazy murderer on the loose.”