EVER AFTER, IF there was an
after for any of them, he would regard that night at the campfire as the most
pivotal time in his life.
His
name was Damin Mur and he was known as the Marsh Devil, but this night he would
become the one who ripped masks off. Was there a name for such a creature? Unmasker?
Was that a word? Soulslicer? Was he to be known as the Devil Delver?
They
were silent after the meal – leftovers from the morning’s rabbit stew – and
thus the crackling from the fire was louder than usual. Damin noticed it, and
then realised the snapping of burning twigs did not quite cover the terrible
sense of expectancy in their surrounds. It felt as if the self-contained world
of Arc was waiting, was listening, and was judging. Was it judging him? Or would
it use what he discovered in this silence? Was he the harbinger it needed?
Lyra
lay with her head on his lap, her eyes closed. She seemed relaxed to the
others, but he felt how tense she was and knew she was as aware of his inner
struggle. Siri was curled up on his other side, reading a scroll from Joseph’s
personal store in his saddlebags. The Messenger loved reading, and so did his
sister.
Damin
glanced at her briefly and understood she was the one who would gift to him the
Ilfin image. Not only was she relaxed and therefore open, but she would
understand why he delved her if she sensed an invasion into her thoughts.
Lowering
his chin to his chest, Damin closed his eyes and concentrated. Hopefully, the
others would think he was in deep thought or dozing where he sat.
Siri’s
mind was made of light. The brightness she had inside initially astonished him.
His sister was a Healer indeed, and she walked in goodness. He smiled, loving
her even more.
Then
he saw it.
The image. He knew it was the one
he sought, for he had not seen the like before. A silvery-blue curved triangle,
a leaf at each point and inside, a triple curl design; it shimmered before his
mind’s eye as a mark of benevolence.
A
triskelion.
The
Ilfin image was beautiful, and it filled him with joy. It meant there was
nothing anyone needed to fear from those with that genesis. Even slave masters
under this sign upon the plateau were redeemable. He hoped so anyway.
His
inner joy threatened to overcome his outer self. Vibrations rippled over his
skin. Lyra lifting her head slightly revealed she felt it as well. Of course,
she understood why it was happening, and gently squeezed his thigh in support …
and warning. No one was to become aware of his reaction.
Forcing
motionlessness upon himself, Damin breathed as if entering a deeper kind of
sleep. The continuing silence surrounding them told him no one suspected
anything. Siri ruffled the parchment as she further unfurled it; she remained
unaware also.
He
focused next on Lyra and saw the triskelion immediately. Lyra and Siri had now
established the pattern he sought when delving for Ilfin. Shifting his
attention to Horin, he saw the entire image around him. He was overtly Ilfin
and made no apology for it.
Attis,
markedly quiet the last few days, was asleep not far from Lyra’s feet. The two
of them spent a few hours talking on the ride towards this rest site, and Damin
wondered now what passed between them. All he knew was that Attis seemed to
have taken on the role of Lyra’s protector.
Abruptly
he was wary of what the boy’s mind would reveal and chose instead to move on to
Hanna. Her image was Ilfin. Joseph? He delved there, but nothing came forth. It
meant the Messenger was blocking his quest, but probably not deliberately. He might
be thinking on something else intensively, which created a barrier. He would
return to Joseph.
Kay
was next. Already Damin suspected the westerner might be the Glonu among them,
based purely on where he came from, but the Ilfin image swirled inside him.
Damin inhaled another slow breath, aware that he would now fully trust the man
from the west.
Lifting
his head, he gazed casually around. The night was dark, and their fire was
therefore a bright and flickering manipulation of the inkiness they dwelled within.
Siri allowed her scroll to furl and then curled into sleep. Hanna and Joseph
started a murmuring conversation. He could not hear the words, but the low
rumble served to push back the expectancy of the night.
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Come, reader, join the great march today …
According to legend, a paradise awaits across the plains, a sanctuary that has survived every impact and every battle. Known as Arc, it is a place of isolation, a place to restart civilisation.
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