Fire Emblem Fan Fiction ❯ Fire Emblem Tellius Saga: Book 1 ❯ CHAPTER 31: HERONS ( Chapter 31 )

[ Y - Young Adult: Not suitable for readers under 16 ]

 

The mercenaries didn’t stop marching until they were deep the forest. The woods seemed unnaturally dark. The trees were lifeless. Mud pulled at their feet.

“I believe this is the place where we ended our search yesterday,” Soren reported. Ike held up a fist to pull the caravan to a halt. He then circled his hand as a signal to establish a perimeter. Elincia and Sanaki had chosen to join them today in their own carriage, which was surrounded by Holy Guards. The pegasi’s white legs and armored chests were covered in foul-smelling black mud.

Ike turned back to Soren, who’d already withdrawn the maps to track today’s search. He smiled. “I realized something a couple of days ago,” he began, “Even in this forest, you always know exactly where you are, don’t you?”

Soren said nothing. It was true that he’d developed a strong sense of direction somewhere in the course of his life. He was a far cry from the lost child he’d once been, wandering the sea of trees. This would normally be a valuable skill, but now that Ike pointed it out, he felt a sinking feeling in the pit of his stomach.

His sense of direction was unusual—perhaps too unusual. I have good instincts, he thought but couldn’t bring himself to utter the sentence aloud. ‘Instinct’ described the minds of animals. Soren had long chosen to depend on logic and higher reasoning.

“How do you do it?” Ike glared at the blighted forest as if it were a new opponent. “I think it’s the lack of color, but these woods are starting to look the same to me.”

“Yes, that is a problem…” Soren agreed, not wanting to draw any more attention.

Nasir approached, and for once Soren was glad to see him. “Ike, we’re approaching a large clearing. I think we should have the apostle and some of the others wait there,” he suggested courteously.

Soren and Ike glanced at the royal carriage and convoy wagons, which were sinking into the mud as they spoke. “Good idea,” Ike nodded, “Even if we find the heron today, there’s no need for them to tramp through the forest with us.”

 

The pegasus knights and half of the mercenaries were left to guard the royals and temporary basecamp. The rest fanned out with orders from Ike, designed by Soren. It didn’t take long to cross paths with Oliver’s soldiers, who were clearly more prepared today and had managed to arrange something resembling an ambush. This suggested Oliver was getting nervous, which pleased Soren. It meant they were getting close.

The pathetic human senator, the vengeful Serenes prince, and the guilt-ridden child empress—they were all actors in an amusing drama. Soren didn’t particularly care about the outcome, but he did appreciate the distraction. (After all, Ike couldn’t accuse him of being depressed if he found him hard at work in the morning.)

The downside, however, was the stage this drama played on. The dead forest slowed his feet and could confound his senses if he wasn’t careful. Some of the molds even released poisonous spores when brushed. Then there were Oliver’s soldiers, who crawled between the rib-like trees like glittering insects disturbed from a decomposing body.

“Damn, they just keep coming!” Ike groaned. “How many soldiers does this guy have?”

“There is no telling,” Soren replied. “He is a duke and a senator. He holds peerage, and that means he could command many men.”

Nasir crept over to join them, and Soren scowled in unwelcome. Even though he didn’t fight, the dragon had insisted he tag along instead of staying with the royals. “Perhaps we, too, should call in a few reinforcements,” he proposed, “What do you think?”

“That’s not a bad idea,” Ike admitted.

Soren agreed it was a good idea and wished he’d had a chance to suggest it before Nasir’s interruption. Although it would mean decreasing the guard around the apostle and princess, they needed more bodies if they were going to finish their search before nightfall. There were simply too many soldiers, so they’d been forced to regroup and search as one.

“And while we wait, we could take a breather and reorganize our attack strategy…” Ike glanced around at the exhausted mercenaries. They hadn’t been attacked for several minutes, but Soren knew that could change at any moment.

“Let’s do it.” Soren finally said. “I’ll tell Marcia.”

“Thanks.” Ike nodded. “Have her ask for three volunteers.” 

Once Marcia had disappeared over the trees, Soren accepted a ration of hardtack from Mist and tried to gather his strength. They’d retreated to an area they had already searched, and it was unlikely Oliver would pursue them. However, they were no closer to finding the heron or the duke by sitting here. Soren was restless to resume the search. He was about to approach Ike and suggest they dispatch a small exploratory team, when a sudden high-pitched ring echoed through the forest. The soft peel seemed to come from all directions at once.

   Soren glanced around, trying to determine what had caused the noise and if anyone else had heard it. Lethe and Mordecai had been sitting on a jut of stone, keeping their feet out of the murk. But now they leapt to their feet with noses raised and eyes darting. Several yards away, Muarim’s dark green ears were swiveling as if trying to isolate a sound. He furrowed his brow and whispered something to Tormod. Nasir and the swordsman Stefan were also glancing around in interest and mild confusion. To Soren’s surprise (and disgust), not a single beorc seemed to realize anything had occurred.

   Lethe was striding toward Ike now, so Soren meandered his way to eavesdrop. Mist was currently speaking with him. To Soren’s relief, she was trying to explain a strange sound she’d just heard. If at least one beorc had heard it, perhaps Soren wasn’t so strange after all.

   “That sound you heard, was it high-pitched, like the chiming of a bell?” Lethe asked.

“Yes, it was! That’s it exactly!” Mist confirmed.

Ike frowned. “I didn’t hear a thing.”

“It created only a slight disturbance in the air,” Lethe explained. “It could only be heard by those possessed of extraordinary hearing.” She smiled at Mist, and her head was cocked to the side as if impressed. “So, your sister’s hearing is on par with that of the laguz?”

“Wow! Did you hear that, Brother?” Mist glowed with pride and excitement. (Soren felt quite the opposite.)

“Don’t let it go to your head.” Ike cuffed her ear gently. She ducked and pouted. “A sound that beorc can’t hear...that’s interesting.” It was indeed interesting. No normal bell could have made that ring; Soren doubted it was a bell at all.

Nasir approached, and fearing he might accuse him of eavesdropping, Soren moved farther away and pretended to adjust his tome’s binding. But he was still close enough to hear, and he concentrated to catch every word:

“It is said that those of the heron clan are practitioners of seid magic,” Nasir was saying. “Perhaps this sound is related to that?”

“Seid magic?” Mist repeated, “What’s that?”

After his laguz research, Soren could certainly answer that question, but he left the role of tutor to Nasir and moved even farther away. He could just barely hear Nasir’s explanation: “It involves arcane songs known as galdr. The effects of galdr on the listener depend on the lyrics and melody. For example, it can restore lost strength and vitality to those who hear it. And if the singer is of royal blood, the galdr may be powerful enough to move the listener to extraordinary feats. I’ve even heard tales of galdr that could give one the speed to do the work of two men.” He chuckled. “The galdr grant many powers.”

“Wow…” Mist breathed in awe. “That sounds incredible, doesn’t it, Ike?”

Enhanced skills are worth nothing if they must come from a laguz, Soren thought bitterly. 

“Yeah,” Ike answered, “But even with all that power, they were nearly wiped out by beorc.”

“Right…” Mist became suddenly morose.

“Herons are highly attuned to the forces of balance. Even if they had the means to resist, I doubt they would have used them,” Nasir explained.

Soren glanced over furtively. The dragon bowed politely and took his leave of the others but stopped only a short distance away. He pretended to become absorbed by another task, but Soren could tell by his limited movements that he was not. His body was still attuned to Ike and the others. He was eavesdropping too.

Soren turned his eyes and ears back to Ike. “Anyway, we leave as soon as our reinforcements arrive,” he was saying. “Duke Tanas must not succeed. Let’s rescue the heron while there’s time!”

“Alright!” Mist saluted.

“We should head toward the ruins in the northeast,” Lethe suggested, “I sense something odd there.”

Ike bobbed his head. “Got it. Thanks for the information.”

“It is nothing. It is only natural to aid one’s companions.” The blush of her cheeks didn’t match the rigidity of her body or the sternness of her expression.

“I couldn’t agree more.” Ike smiled warmly.

Lethe dismissed herself with a salute that put Mist’s to shame, but there was also a smile tugging at her lips. The cat-woman had certainly changed. Soren glanced at Nasir and found he’d frozen in his task and was now turned toward Ike and Lethe. His expression was one of sly satisfaction. Soren didn’t like it.

 

Once Marcia and the others returned, the Greil Mercenaries resumed their search, now heading northeast. As expected, Oliver’s soldiers intercepted them, but eventually they reached the ruins, which made a decently defensible position. While the injured rested in the central tower, the others fanned out and eliminated any scouts who got too close. Ike sent Jill back to check on the royals and collect another three reinforcements. While they waited, Soren and the others searched for the source of bell-like sound.

“Hey, what’s this?” Ike exclaimed suddenly, and both Soren and Nasir ran to his side.

“What is it, Ike?” asked Nasir.

“Look here.” Ike bent over a splash of brilliant green grass—a square foot of life in the dead forest. He was spinning a large white feather between his fingers. “This is the only place in these ruins where I’ve seen healthy grass growing. And I found this.” He offered the feather to Nasir rather than Soren

“Of course,” he breathed, glancing around. “So this is where…”

“Where what?” Ike asked impatiently.

“This way,” Nasir replied, waving for them to follow. “Come with me.”

Soren didn’t like it, but he followed.

“What now?” Ike muttered, as if debating whether they were headed toward a clue or another setback.

Nasir led them away from the tower—and beyond the protection of the mercenaries—to another ruin. He was glancing around more assuredly now, as if remembering the area, when a sudden flash of white light suddenly drew their attention.

Soren turned to a stone wall overgrown with now-dead trees and calcified vines. On the ground in front of it was a puddle of surprisingly clean water, where the light had reflected. There was a narrow gap between the trees and the stone, and from here emerged a snow-white figure. Her bare feet stepped past the puddle and onto the brittle black ivy that grew over the broken steps. A cascade of white-gold hair fell over her shoulders, and her folded wings quivered slightly. She was wearing a flowing white dress, miraculously unsoiled by the swamp.

“A heron?” Nasir murmured. He seemed surprised, but he was right. Standing before them now was a royal heron—and not the one from the duke’s mansion. She seemed younger, and her eyes were large and soft. She glanced at the trio dreamily, and a stream of ancient words fell from her mouth. Soren didn’t catch any of it.

“Um…that’s a girl.” Ike pointed at her tactlessly. “Nasir, you said the male heron we met was the only surviving member of the royal family.”

Nasir seemed to battle his own astonishment, and Soren enjoyed his discomfort. “I believed it to be true. To find another survivor, it’s a miracle.”

The heron girl said something else and turned to leave.

“Hey, wait, please!” Ike lunged after her. “I must speak with-”

The heron princess dropped her dreamy expression as if seeing the world around her for the first time. She stumbled in fright, turned in a circle, and backstepped into the puddle. She uttered something panicked in the ancient language and promptly fainted.

Ike caught her. “C’mon, wake up,” he fussed, patting her cheeks.

“She’s lost consciousness,” Nasir observed.

“Even if she were awake, I think it is obvious she doesn’t understand the common tongue,” Soren noted.

Ike frowned at her sleeping face. “I wasn’t trying to frighten her…”

Soren said nothing, merely following Ike’s gaze. Like the other heron, this creature was undoubtedly beautiful, but unlike him, she was gentle and vulnerable. She almost didn’t seem like a laguz. The longer he looked, the more she reminded him of someone else, possibly someone he’d met a long time ago, but he couldn’t conjure a face or name.

Before he could ponder the matter further, a voice called him back to the present: “Oh, ho, oh! I’ve found you at last, my beautiful treasure!”

Soren and Ike snapped to attention, but Nasir was already calmly watching Oliver enter the ruins. The duke was flanked by five soldiers on either side. “It’s about time you showed your bloated face, Duke Tanas!” growled Ike.

Oliver pranced forward. “No mistake about it. That is the spectacular work of art I paid so much to obtain...”

“You claim ownership, do you?” Ike stood, holding the heron in his arms. Her wings and gown swept the forest floor.

Oliver stepped forward again, but more cautiously this time. Soren drew his tome and pressed open a page of unused Elwind spells. Nasir fingered the knife on his belt but didn’t seem inclined to draw it (or transform, which would certainly be more useful). Even if Ike dropped the heron and drew his sword, they were outnumbered and in trouble.

But Oliver didn’t give the order to attack, apparently transfixed by the heron. Something moved at the end of Soren’s vision, and he caught sight of Boyd’s backside as he ran back to the tower. Hopefully they wouldn’t have to wait long for the others to back them up.

“No wait…” Oliver gasped, taking another step. “Something’s different… This is…a female? You mean to tell me that yet another lives? How spectacular!”

Ike hoisted the woman over his shoulder and drew his blade in one fluid movement. “Watch it,” he growled.

Oliver seemed to get the hint and started backing up. “Men!” he yelled, “Bring me that heron, but do her no harm!”

“You’ll never have her!” Ike declared. Rather than placing the princess on the ground, he adjusted her so she was more secure. He held her in place with one arm and spun his sword with the opposite hand, perhaps as an indication that the soldiers not underestimate him. The heron didn’t seem very heavy, but Soren still worried for Ike, who at the age of sixteen, wasn’t quite large enough to go around fighting while carrying other people. Not to mention her puffy wings entirely blocked his field of vision on his left side.

More of Oliver’s soldiers poured into the ruins, and the duke himself disappeared. “Will this corpulent windbag never learn?” Ike sighed.

Soren knew they wouldn’t last long on their own. Apparently Ike and Nasir realized this as well, because they were slowly walking backward. One of the soldiers lunged at Ike, but he deflected the attack. Another of the soldiers was notching an arrow, but Soren planted his feet and cast Elwind to kill her. Nasir deftly avoided a lance strike, but he didn’t even try to counter.

Just then, the trees behind them exploded with splashing, snapping twigs, and guttural cries. The mercenaries came charging to protect their commander. “Form up, troops!” Ike called. “We must protect the heron!” Everyone cried even louder in affirmation. Then they fought off the nearest soldiers while making a protective ring around Ike.

 

The fight was long and hard. Dusk descended, and then night. The cool air sucked the day’s warmth from the forest, except for the pockets of swamp gas where the mercenaries were assailed by hot, noxious fumes.

Oliver’s soldiers came at them will an arsenal of formidable weapons whose blades and arrowheads were soaked in an herbal toxin called venin. The mercenaries had encountered the poison before, but only ever from bandits. Soren hadn’t expected to see imperial regulars using such underhanded tricks. Then again, he supposed honor was not a weakness known to soldiers choosing to fight for their local duke rather than their holy empress.

To make matters worse, both Titania’s old stallion and Mist’s new mare got themselves stuck in the mud where they whinnied pitifully. Their distraught riders were forced to leave them to fend for themselves while they continued on foot. As the battle wore on, the situation only deteriorated. Nephenee’s spear snapped. Mordecai ran out of energy and was forced to revert to his human form, barely avoiding fatal wounds as he retreated. And Muarim was barraged by fire mages whose magic was particularly lethal to beast laguz. He roared in pain as he burned but managed to cling to life. When the mages were finally vanquished, Tormod and Zihark rolled Muarim’s body in the mud to put out the flames.

All the while, Ike was handicapped since he insisted on carrying the princess himself. He did borrow some belts and strips of cloth to tie her to his back like an overgrown baby, but he still refused to retreat. He took blows so the princess would remain uninjured, and Mist was never far from her brother’s side, healing him even as he fought.

Rhys, meanwhile, struggled to save everyone else’s lives. He used his staff when he could, and when he couldn’t, he bound large gashes and burns or forced vulneraries and bitter antitoxins down his comrades’ throats. When he needed to defend himself, he would utter a spell from the new Ellight tome he’d picked up in Sienne. Even if he didn’t have the power to kill his enemies, the burst of light was a signal for the others to come protect him. 

Eventually the soldiers stopped appearing. The mercenaries spread out to search for Oliver, but he was gone. “Blast! Duke Tanas has escaped again!” Ike kicked a tree root in frustration.

“Ike, trying to fight with that heron on your back is not a good idea,” Soren warned. He was carrying a torch while the pair searched. The heron still hadn’t regained consciousness. “Why don’t we take her to the apostle before moving on?”

“We’ve finally got Duke Tanas on the run!” Ike argued, kicking another root as they walked back to the ruins. “I don’t intend to stop until we’ve captured or killed that monster!”

Soren exhaled his frustration. “I understand, but shouldn’t we at least let someone else carry the heron?”

“Truth be told, she’s unbelievably light.” Ike shrugged and adjusted her weight. “I barely know she’s there.”

“Is that so?” Soren asked suspiciously. It would be just like him to exaggerate and insist on carrying her.

“I think she weighs…” he said, touching his chin as they reentered the vicinity of the main tower. “Oh, I’d say about half as much as Mist.”

“What?” said Mist, who was attending Muarim’s burns a couple yards away. She stood and crossed her arms. “That’s not funny, Ike!”

Ike winked at Soren, who understood the call for back up. It was a game he wouldn’t usually play, but for Ike, he complied. “Oh, I see,” he agreed.

“You see? What’s that supposed to mean, Soren?” Mist threw her hands to her hips. “You know Ike’s making fun of me, don’t you? He’s just a big jerk!”

Ike chuckled, “Alright, maybe I exaggerated a bit. But she’s still lighter than you.” He poked Mist playfully with his free hand.

She giggled. “Well, what do you expect? She’s a bird!”

Soren felt his exhaustion ebb at the sight of such mindless teasing. Ike’s shirt was sliced to ribbons and Mist’s hands were covered in blood up to her elbows. Yet the siblings didn’t seem to notice these things.

Soren straightened his posture. As tempting as it was, there was no time to relax. As Ike’s advisor, it was his job to get the commander’s mind back on task. To his dismay, Nasir beat him to it. Slinking up to Ike, he said, “If this conflict is going to drag on, I think it best for us to call additional reinforcements.” Mist and Ike became instantly subdued. Soren felt a pang of annoyance but said nothing.

 

Ike ended up calling together the entire mercenary army, and the fighting resumed. However, the battles were not as intense as before, and within a couple hours, they located Oliver. He was surrounded be the remainder (and strongest) of his forces.

“Enough already!” Ike called. “Lay down your arms and surrender. We will let you live!”

Oliver’s voice rose from beyond the enemy lines.  “No! Never! I’m not giving up! I’m not finished yet. Out of my way, penniless wretches. Your very existence is an insult to all that is beautiful!”

Rolf fired an arrow toward the voice. “Eeep!” was Oliver’s high-pitched response. Fighting instantly broke out, and Soren began chanting again. He, Tormod, and Ilyana were using Fire spells now, and their magic lit up the night with sudden bursts of flame.   

Not long into the battle, however, Soren heard the peculiar noise again. He froze, letting the incantation he was composing die on his lips. Glancing at Ike, he saw that the princess was still passed out. If the noise really was part of a galdr song, it wasn’t coming from her.

“*Meteor bomb! Fly to my enemies. Know where they are and fall upon them in hellish rain!*” Soren heard a mage chanting and recognized the incantation. It was Meteor: a long-distance fire attack. Although he’d rarely seen it conjured, he had an idea where it was going to hit. He narrowly dodged the fiery orb and managed to push Sothe out of the way as well. “Keep your eyes up; fireballs incoming!” he warned the boy before sprinting off.

The mage shot off two more meteors before Soren came too close. He switched to Elfire but seemed to have difficulty aiming at midrange. Soren didn’t slow down, uttering his spell as he ran and delivering it as soon as he was close enough: “*Spirits of wind, slash the flesh before me.*”

When the threat was neutralized, he turned his gaze to the treetops. That sound had to come from somewhere. A sudden flurry of darkness brushed against the night sky, drawing his attention. Branches rustled, and Soren watched a large brown feather flutter to the ground. A terrible shriek rent the air and three enormous birds broke from the canopy. Following them was the heron from the duke’s mansion.

The hawk laguz fell upon the soldiers with slashing talons and snapping beaks. Soren ran toward Ike, trying to warn him. “Ike! Incoming!” he called, but the hawks’ ambush was hard to miss.

The largest was flying straight at Ike, but Soren was too far to do anything. He watched him raise his sword with his free hand, still refusing to drop the princess. He held his ground, but the hawk glided harmlessly overhead, ripping into the soldiers behind him. Apparently these laguz were on the mercenaries’ side. At the very least, they shared the same enemy.

“Who are they?” Ike asked when Soren finally reached him.

“I don’t know,” he panted.

Just then, the heron prince alighted before them.

“It’s you!” Ike exclaimed.

“Who is that you carry?” he demanded.

The princess began to stir for the first time since Ike had picked her up, and he rushed to detach her. Although he stood her on her own two feet, he was still supporting most of her weight. The prince exclaimed something in the ancient language. The princess whispered something drowsily in reply.

“How is this possible?” The heron’s ferocity seemed to diminish. “How did you survive all this time?”

Before the girl could make what was sure to be a meek and unintelligible response, the great eagle landed beside them, shifting into his human form before his talons met the ground. “Leanne? Do you know who I am?” he demanded, grasping her shoulder opposite Ike.

This man was surprisingly tall and broad—like a tiger laguz with wings. He wore black boots and white canvas pants (both of which were spattered with blood), a large leather belt with a shining gold belt buckle, and a vast green coat. It was unbuttoned, revealing his bare chest and a necklace of feathers. Like Nasir and Lethe, he was the kind of laguz who carried a knife on his belt, apparently never without a weapon. On his head was wrapped a large red band, over which his dark brown hair was a ragged mess, and on his left ear a gold chain hung from cuff to lobe. His laguz markings took the form of a white streak across his cheeks and the bridge of his nose and a second streak that crossed it just below his left eye and extended to his neck. Scars and bandages crisscrossed his arms and knuckles, and Soren couldn’t help thinking he was the picture of a Phoenician pirate.

It was enough to bring out the child in him, and he took an involuntary step backward. Ike, however, held his ground, and the princess wasn’t intimidated in the least. She managed to pull most of her weight off Ike and twittered excitedly in the ancient language. “…Tibarn,” she finished.

“That’s right. You remember my name. Have you been here by yourself for all these years?” the man laughed heartily.

Leanne spoke again in the ancient language.

“The forest protected her,” explained the prince, who closed his eyes as if in prayer. “It kept her asleep for so long… There is no way to express my gratitude.” Now he murmured something in the ancient language that very well may have been a prayer.

“You there, beorc,” Tibarn said suddenly. He pointed straight at Ike’s face.

“Me?” Ike replied, caught off guard.

“I am Tibarn, King of Phoenicis,” he announced, and Soren could hardly believe what he as hearing. Apparently this was not just a formidable laguz nor a dangerous pirate, but the actual King of Hawks. “Since the loss of their homeland, the Serenes royal family has been under my guardianship.” He dropped his accusing finger. “Who are you, and why do you aid the herons?”

While Ike explained, Soren took this opportunity to look around and assess the outcome of the battle. It hadn’t endured long after the hawks’ arrival. Most of the soldiers were dead, and the rest were surrounded as prisoners. Oliver was in custody was well. Blood stained the front of his silk shirt, and he appeared unconscious. Rhys was tending him while Titania stood between them and the two other hawks. She had her poleax in hand, which was probably the only thing stopping the king’s henchmen from finishing the job.

Satisfied that things were under control, Soren turned back to the conversation. “She is trying to atone for the crimes of her people,” Ike was saying.

“No. I cannot believe that,” the prince replied angrily.

The Hawk King rubbed his chin and said nothing.

“Pathetic apologies and half-baked platitudes are easily spoken!” raved the heron. “Humans burned Serenes Forest. They killed my family. I cannot trust them.” He pulled Leanne away from Ike with surprising grace despite the rage in his voice.

“Please, withhold judgment until you speak with the apostle. She’s waiting not far from here.” Ike was clearly trying to contain himself, and Soren was impressed.

“The Apostle is here?” the heron asked in surprise, and Soren finally understood why she’d insisted on accompanying them.

Ike nodded, and the herons and hawks consented to be led back to basecamp.

 

When they arrived, it was the early hours of the morning, and Oliver had regained consciousness enough to be led on a rope with the rest of the prisoners. Marcia had gone ahead to announce their return, and Empress Sanaki—adorned in all her finery—was waiting for them. She stood alone in the middle of the clearing, with Sigrun, Tanith, and the other Holy Guards stationed several yards away, looking nervous.

“You…you are the Apostle?” the heron asked in confusion. He walked up to her while Leanne, Tibarn, and the other hawks stayed a few paces back. Soren, Ike, and the mercenaries hung back even farther.

“I am,” Sanaki replied with dignity. She drew herself up to her full height and then, after a moment’s pause, began slowly and deliberately moving into a kneeling position. Although she was in a clearing, the ground was still moist, and black ooze soaked into the robes around her knees and feet. A few tiny gasps rose from the Holy Guards. “I’m…sorry.” Sanaki bowed her head all the way to the ground. “I am ignorant as to what words of contrition would be appropriate to one of the heron tribe. Yet I stand before you as a representative of my people. From the depths of my heart, I apologize to you… I am sorry…so truly sorry.”

“Em-Empress Sanaki!” Sigrun sputtered. “What are you doing? You are the Apostle! You cannot bend your knee to another!” Even as she said it, the rest of the Holy Guards mirrored their empress. Those riding on the backs of pegasi immediately dismounted to lay their knees and foreheads in the mud.

“Let her speak her heart,” Ike countered. Sigrun didn’t seem happy about it, but she bit her tongue. She was the only one not to kneel.

“I’m sorry… I’m sorry…” Sanaki repeated.

The prince’s glare was unabated, but Leanne stepped forward before he could answer the apostle’s plea. She spoke in the ancient language, her tone gentle, and Sanaki clearly didn’t understand. She picked her head up and stared in confusion.

“Leanne?” the prince asked uncertainly.

Leanne smiled, said something else, and extended her hand toward the child empress.

“You… What is it you want? Are you telling me to stand?” Sanaki asked. The frail heron bent down and grabbed her hand more assertively than Soren would have expected. She helped her up. “You…” Sanaki seemed lost for words. When she stood, the Holy Guards all stood too.

“Leanne!” the prince hissed.

She turned around and began chattering away in the ancient language again; her tone was calm but firm.

“You cannot ask me to forgive them! You were asleep… You don’t know what these humans did to us.”

Leanne narrowed her eyes. Her reply was brief.

“You…know?”

She nodded.

“Everyone is gone. That’s why I cannot release my hatred.” He switched to the ancient language, and they continued arguing for some time, until the prince finally said: “I understand. If that is how you feel…” Taking a long breath, he turned back to Sanaki, who’d been watching the conversation anxiously. “Apostle Sanaki, we accept your apology. We may not be able to release our hatred of hum- of beorc…but you need not let the fate of Serenes Forest trouble you any longer. You are absolved of that guilt,” he announced.

“Th-thank you…” Sanaki looked suddenly weak and fell to her knees. Ike jogged up and managed to reach her before Sigrun. He tried to help her rise (which clearly offended Sigrun), but the empress seemed to grow strong again and rejected his hand. She stood on her own.

Soren was surprised by the entire encounter. He didn’t understand why the princess had defied her brother, especially for a beorc’s sake. Certainly, she owed them for saving her from Oliver’s men, but she hadn’t been conscious for that.

For a couple minutes, the heron siblings conferred in the ancient language while the hawks guarded them with folded arms and steely expressions. When they were finished, they made formal introductions—the prince’s name was Reyson and the princess’s Leanne—and declared that everyone was invited to a special ceremony deeper in the forest.

 

When they arrived at a clearing at the heart of the ruins, the sun was a pale orb rising over the horizon. In the middle of the clearing was a large pedestal on which stood a stone altar. Reyson and Leanne mounted it and stood on either side of the altar, like mirrored statues.

The high-pitched chime Soren had heard earlier sounded again. But this time it was followed by more tinkling notes. The herons were singing. He soon realized these were the familiar sounds of the ancient language, but spoken in such arcane voices that they didn’t sound like voices at all.

The galdr grew stronger until he was sure the beorc could hear it as well. No one said a word. Even Soren was entranced. Before his eyes, the swamp began to change. In a shower of golden particles, the canopy became green and lush. The forest floor shimmered and sprouted life. Mudholes became purified and concentrated into bubbling streams. Colorful flowers, ivies, and mosses blossomed. New growth was everywhere, gushing with fresh scents. The air was suddenly much clearer and easier to breath, and it held aloft a fine mist that glittering with tiny rainbows wherever the golden sparks floated.

Soren couldn’t tell how long the heron sang, but he noticed the mercenaries relax over time. Dreamy expressions filled their faces. Their wounds were healed miraculously, and their exhaustion seemed abated. Goofy smiles and careless eyes watched the rebirth of the forest. If they were attacked right now, Soren had no doubt the mercenaries would all die laughing.

Suddenly the mist felt cold on his skin, and he shivered involuntarily. For whatever reason, he seemed to be the only person who felt this way.

When the herons’ last notes rang into silence, Sanaki sighed: “The Serenes Forest, beloved by the Goddess, is alive once more.” Similar sentiments were shared. Everyone congratulated each other, laughing in celebration, and the herons were praised effusively.

Soren crept to the edge of the merriment, and when he moved, he realized vines as thin as spiderwebs had grown over his boots. He kicked them off. Once safely away from the crowd, he overheard a voice he did not expect. Nasir was nearby, also observing the festivity, but he was grinning with satisfaction, not in wonder like the others. “Excellent,” he murmured to himself, “The gap between laguz and beorc has been bridged… I think this may be enough.”

Soren watched the dragon move away and didn’t realize how tense he’d become until Titania’s voice reached him. “What’s wrong, Soren? You look so grim.” The warble of laughter in her voice didn’t match her words. “What are you looking at?” she asked, trying to follow his gaze. But Nasir was gone.

“It’s nothing. Nothing at all,” Soren lied. He quickly stepped away out of a desire to lose Titania and possibly find Nasir again.

“Wait, Soren?” she called. “What in the world is wrong with him?” she sighed before being lost from earshot.

He didn’t turn around or offer an answer, but her words did bring him back to his senses. Everyone else was happy. He was calling too much attention to himself with such a dark mood. He couldn’t search the crowd as he was now. He had to avoid the eyes of suspicion—as he always had.

Leaning against a freshly moss-covered tree, he considered what this victory meant. Sanaki’s missions were finally over, so it stood to reason the war for Crimea could finally begin in earnest. The Greil Mercenaries would have a part to play, which meant Soren did too. He may not have understood Nasir’s murmurings or cared much for the conciliation of laguz and beorc, but he would do his job. This was just the beginning of the bloodshed, and he would make the most of it. With this thought in mind, Soren pulled his weight off the tree and returned to the happy mercenaries.

 

 

End of Book I

The adventure continues in Book II