Authors: Licia Troisi
Megisto’s voice reached her as an echo. “Go in deeper, Nihal. Go in deeper.”
Suddenly there were people in Livon’s workshop. On one end, Livon, rummaging intently through an open trunk. Then a young girl, her ears outsized and pointed, her eyes big and lunar, a black sword at her side.
Vrašta Anekhter Tanhiro, Vrašta Anekhter Tanhiro, Vrašta Anekhter Tanhiro …
Here they come. Two Fammin, armed with axe and sword. They burst in, catch sight of her, laugh. The sound of clashing blades. Livon shouting for her to run.
Vrašta Anekhter Tanhiro, Vrašta Anekhter Tanhiro
. Livon fighting. Why doesn’t he flee? Get out of there! Run!
Vrašta Anekhter Tanhiro, Vrašta Anekhter Tanhiro
.
“Sink in deeper, Knight. Take control of what you feel and keep sinking. …”
Nihal knew it wouldn’t end well; she knew what was coming and she didn’t want it—she didn’t want it! Enough, enough! But she can’t move, she can’t do anything, so she screams, calls his name, pleas for him to escape.
Vrašta Anekhter Tanhiro, Vrašta Anekhter Tanhiro, Vrašta Anekhter Tanhiro
.
“Yes, Nihal, you’re almost there!”
At his shout, the darkness vanishes. In an instant of silence, she sees Livon turning toward her. He looks at her. Everything freezes. Don’t turn your head, Livon! Run! Don’t look at me! And now the sword, piercing through him. He continues to look at her, to look at her with his tender eyes. He collapses noiselessly and Nihal wants to scream, but she has no voice. …
Suddenly the scene is sucked into an abyss.
Thousands of howling faces, black, deformed, running toward her and contorting. The deafening sound of laughter. For a moment, Nihal regained consciousness. Overwhelmed with horror, she tried to block her mind, to make it stop. But her tongue was reciting the litany on its own now, the words fleeing from her mouth and calling forth new demons, surrounding her, dragging her away, pulling her by the arms, the legs, the hair.
“Control them, control them!” came the murmur of a faraway voice, a monstrous voice.
Control what? How could she control the kingdom of the dead? A thousand hands groping her, a thousand eyes staring into her eyes, hate amassing within her like a tidal wave. In her life, she’d never been so horrified. Her throat constricted. She couldn’t shout, she couldn’t plea, she could only go on droning that mind-numbing chant:
Vrašta Anekhter Tanhiro
,
Vrašta Anekhter Tanhiro, Vrašta Anekhter Tanhiro …
“Enough! Come back to your senses!” a distorted voice repeated.
How? Was it really possible to reemerge from that nightmare? Someone, help!
“Close your hands! Stop the spell!” said the voice.
Nihal could no longer feel her body. Where was her hand? Did she have a hand to close? She strained to release herself from the panic, but she couldn’t. Then she felt something and held on tight: cool air, two hands touching her face. …
The demons vanished; the dark dissolved.
The moon, with its blank stare, eyed her from above. Megisto was leaning over her.
Nihal could do nothing to slow her breath, couldn’t find enough air to fill her lungs.
“You’re back among the living,” the old man repeated.
For several minutes, Nihal lay there, her heart struggling to find its rhythm.
When she finally managed to sit up, she was still breathing heavily.
“This is what you have to face,” said Megisto, betraying no emotion. “I’ll be here tomorrow night, if you’d like to try again.”
Nihal nodded, rose to her feet, and walked away without a word, her legs trembling, her body gripped with cold.
When she reached Oarf in the thick of the forest, she fell forward and leaned her head on her dragon’s chest.
The following day, Nihal told herself she wouldn’t be going back to Megisto. Why should she have to go through that terrible experience again? She was trying to get her life back in order, and it was already hard enough as it was. The old man was right. She was still seeking her own path. That was what she needed to focus on, not on Dola. And yet …
She was the only one capable of defeating him. And she couldn’t run away forever. The moment to settle up with the nightmares of her past had arrived. Courage, that was what she needed. Courage.
And so, with her stomach in a knot, she decided to push onward. Destroying Dola was all that mattered. It was her chance to conquer the past.
The second evening, she thought she was going to die. This time her ghostly visions were joined by the spirits of her massacred people, her past horrors blending with the new. She was able to withstand the force, but could not produce the Inextinguishable Shadow, could not overcome the downward drag of her memories.
“Your own determination is all you have, Nihal. The will to resist falling into the abyss. That alone is your hope of salvation,” Megisto reminded her.
Night after night, Nihal returned to the clearing, despite her body’s protests. The moment the sun dipped below the tallest trees, she could feel her stomach knot up, wrenched with nausea, her temples pulsing violently. Night after night she gained ground on those monstrous visions. Gradually, she managed to remain conscious, the blue flame in her hands turning blacker and blacker.
“You’re close, Nihal,” Megisto repeated, and Nihal went on struggling to hold off the torrent of hate and pain.
The horrendous trial came to an end the evening before her final day of leave. When she opened her eyes and clawed her way out of the darkness as usual, a black globe shone in her hand, glowing darkly, just bigger than an apple and hovering above her palm. Nihal regarded it with wonder. She’d done it.
“This is the Inextinguishable Shadow,” Megisto said softly. “Before confronting Dola, charge your sword with this enchantment and it will be capable of piercing his armor. When you close your hand, the globe disappears and the spell is broken.”
Nihal made a fist and the light dissolved.
“Thank you, Megisto,” she murmured.
“Don’t thank me. The gift I’ve given you is lethal. Remember, if you attempt this spell more than once, it will be your death. Now, lower your head.”
Nihal did as told. The old man placed his hand on her and recited a spell under his breath. When he finished, he tilted her head back by the chin and looked her in the eyes. “You’ve come to a turning point in your search for the truth, Nihal. But the truth is a dreadful gift.”
“What do you mean,” she asked, perplexed.
“We must all seek out our own idea of perfection. Never forget that,” the old man replied. He rose to his feet. “Now go. Our time here is done.”
Sailing over the forest on back of Oarf, Nihal recalled Megisto’s words. What could be evil about the truth? All she had ever wanted, since the day her city was destroyed, was true understanding.
Prophetic hogwash
, she told herself, and spurred her dragon back to base.
Nihal’s mastery of the Inextinguishable Shadow had not come without its consequences. From the very first evening she’d faced the abyss, she’d felt restless, tormented by the same swirl of nightmarish images.
What have I got myself into?
As the village where she and Laio had spent two weeks faded in the distance, Oarf’s wings speeding them back to the Land of the Wind, Nihal only hoped she’d be able to finish what she’d started without betraying herself.
“So, are you thinking straight again?” Ido was waiting for her at the entrance to her tent, puffing on his pipe.
“Yes. Absolutely,” she lied.
The dwarf eyed her. “You look pale.”
“Just a little tired.”
Ido knocked his pipe against his boot, loosing a mound of ashes. “It’s lunch time. Let’s go eat something.”
Seated at a long wooden table in the mess hall, which was really just an oversized pavilion, Ido filled Nihal in on the past two weeks, all the while bolting down his soup. During her absence, the siege had persisted, but they still hadn’t gained an inch of ground. The battling began each day at dawn and didn’t cease until evening’s shadows carpeted the field. The number of dead was staggering—on both sides—but there was still no end in sight.
“At the moment,” Ido wrapped things up, “our only hope is to starve them out.”
“And Dola?” Nihal inquired casually.
The dwarf went on slurping his soup, Nihal’s inquisitive eyes fixed on him. He rested his spoon against the side of his bowl. “He left.”
Nihal suppressed her shock. “What do you mean, left?”
“Last night.”
For days on end, Dola had reigned over the battlefield, spreading terror and mowing down victims. No one had the strength to stop him. His armor was impervious to swords, lances were useless against him, and even when the archers barraged him with a thick cloud of arrows, he somehow managed to weave between their pointed tips. Then, without warning, the night before Nihal’s return, a sharp cry rang out over the encampment, an inhuman cry, like a bird’s predatory caw. Ido, along with nearly everyone else at the camp, stepped outside to see what it was. A black shadow rose up high above the tents, howling. Howling and laughing. A cynical laugh.
“Reid and I launched after him in pursuit, but a stream of flames took Reid by surprise.”
Nihal’s eyes widened. Reid was among the most valiant Dragon Knights at the encampment.
“Vesa was injured, too. In any case, we had no choice but to retreat,” Ido muttered in conclusion.
“Vesa? Wounded?” Nihal asked in disbelief. No matter how intense a battle, Vesa always landed without a scratch.
“Yes. And he wasn’t the only one,” Ido replied, lifting the sleeve of his tunic to reveal heavy bandaging. “Nothing too serious. Singed me like a chicken, that’s all,” the dwarf joked, though not without a trace of bitterness.
“And now?”
“And now, nothing. What’s important is that he’s gone and we don’t have to deal with him any longer. Wouldn’t you agree?” Ido asked, looking her in the eye.
Nihal lowered her gaze. No, she didn’t agree. She’d gone through hell to be able to face that scoundrel. And that’s what she was going to do, no matter what, even if it meant following him to the edge of the moon.
Ido must have intuited something. With a heavy sigh he drove his spoon like a spade into his soup.
“What?” Nihal asked.
“That’s what I’d like to ask you. What?” the dwarf shot back coldly. “I think I explained myself pretty clearly. But I have the feeling you haven’t changed your attitude.”
Nihal pushed her soup bowl away and leaned in toward Ido. “What is it about the idea of me taking on Dola that bothers you so much? Just tell me!”
Ido held her in a molten gaze. “I didn’t spend all that time training you just so that bastard could turn you into minced meat, Nihal.” The dwarf pushed himself up from his chair, and without looking back, made for the mess hall exit.
Out of principle, Nihal kept away from the battlefield. Instead, she continued to train on her own, regaining her strength. She was amazed at her own patience. Just a year ago she’d have jumped on Oarf’s back and taken off in search of Dola. But now, instead, she waited, fantasizing about her moment of redemption. In the end, her patience was rewarded.
One morning, a captain arrived at their encampment, sent as a messenger by a central garrison in the Herzli Forest along the shores of the Great River Saar. It seemed Dola had relocated to the Forest region and set up headquarters there. Leading a powerful army, he’d launched an attack on the Free Lands’ military outpost in the Land of the Wind.
“He’s well aware of the region’s vulnerability, given its vicinity to the Saar. Our fear is that he’s planning to attack the Land of the Wind from there, and then raid the Land of Water from the west,” the messenger reported. He spoke directly to the encampment general, but all of the Dragon Knights, as well, had gathered to hear his report.
At mention of Dola’s name, Nihal’s heart skipped a beat. The moment had come.
“Our deployments in the Forest region will need reinforcements. I see no other way. We could commit half of our troops,” one of the knights cut in.
“I’m not so sure that’s a good idea,” Ido countered. “We can’t just leave our territory undefended. Who’s to say that’s not exactly what Dola is counting on—a gap in our defenses to exploit.”
The captain interrupted him. “Knight, we’re dropping like flies out there. I don’t know how much longer we can hold out.”
“What do you propose, Ido?” the general asked.
The dwarf was ready with a response. “The Land of the Wind is the smallest of all the Lands. Its front is hardly extensive. By dragon, it can be crossed in two days. Which means we could afford to send minor reinforcements. A knight or two, to head up one of the garrisons. In the meantime, we could redistribute our troops along the border and lead an attack from the west, while ensuring that Dola is occupied in the forest.”
“Keeping Dola occupied is no simple task. And I think you know that better than any one of us here,” the general noted.
That was when Nihal rose from the bench where she’d been sitting patiently. “I can take care of him,” she said calmly. Ido shot her a scathing glance, but she was unshakeable. “Assign me a garrison of men and I’ll bring him back here.”
From the crowd of knights came the sound of laughter. “Drop it, Nihal! Don’t flatter yourself. Not a single one of us has been able to hold his own against Dola.”
“Am I wrong, or wasn’t he the one who just knocked you out of commission for two weeks?”
“I’ve learned from my mistakes,” Nihal answered firmly. “If we follow Ido’s plan, someone’s going to have to keep him occupied, right? And the garrisons near the Saar will need fresh forces to back them up. I think I’m more than capable of managing that much.”
The general seemed perplexed.
“You aren’t actually considering standing behind such madness, are you?” Ido burst out.
“This madness was your idea,” his superior observed.
“Yes, but … still, Nihal has only been a knight for so long. She lacks the necessary experience. Do we really want to place the fate of the Land of the Wind in her hands?”