Best try on Chrome browser.
Path of Lyssa is being written as part of a novelwriting challenge over the month of November. Please expect poor editing!
Current word count: 16,366
2 Friends
At some point, the sun rose. Lyssa missed it. The murky grey clouds hanging over the trees of the forest didn’t allow much of the sunlight down to her level, even as midday approached. All she knew was that at some point, passing through a narrow clearing around a ditch coated in leaves, she looked up and saw that the night had passed. She smiled and took a hearty breath of fresh air. Crisp and new, cleansing her pores and wisping through her hair. Around her, some chirruping birds let out their tiny choruses, safe in the knowledge that, stuck to the earth as she was, Lyssa was no threat to them.
So, she’d walked all night. Lyssa believed she should have been fatigued by now, but instead found her steps yet springing, her heart still beating, her focus clear and her mind sharp. Closing her eyes and basking in the gloomy sparsity of the sun, she took stock once more of the shred of power that sat deep in her reserves. Tomas’ essence was sugary and sweet, just like the young man himself. And his presence inside her was giving lift to her boots that pushed beyond her need to sleep. Maybe she would never have to sleep again! That was well, since Lyssa had no clue of how far she would have to travel before she was reunited with the lovely man in her dreams. She’d hate to waste time with something like sleep if she could help it.
Lyssa raised a hand and placed it fondly over her tummy, over the deep weight of her womb. She had not known she was hungry until that hunger had been sated. Now, she felt warm content seeping through her muscles, the likes of which she hadn’t thought to long for. And yet the void demanded more. She had so much space to fill. Lyssa let out a little shiver of delight and anticipation, briefly joining the birds in their song. Hopefully this Ducal Rout was nearby, and with it the villages that Tabitha had told her about. Those villages would have people, and those people would have what she wanted. She licked her lips.
A scuffling of feet in the undergrowth ahead caused her to open her eyes sharply. Or perhaps she wouldn’t have to wait! Perhaps a tasty traveller would happen upon her in her journeying! She prepared for her prey a welcoming smile.
It fell away at once. The creature had once been human, she believed, but had lost the soft wetness of its vital form long ago. The skin was purple and black, wrapping up spindly bones tightly like the bread and cheese in her satchel. The eyes were sunken, rheumy and dull, though they latched onto Lyssa with enough keenness to show her that she had been seen. The hair was sparse, a fallow field’s harvest. And on this fragile frame sat a heavy breastplate made of dented, grimy bronze. The long leather coat, stained breeches and mangled boots beneath looked more like a workman’s attire. But the heavy, ironheaded club the creature was dragging in its wake was no tool for labour. Those spikes were meant for human heads, and they were already stained black with old blood.
The ghoul, since that was clearly what it was, lurched out of the trees towards her, snapping its few remaining teeth with a click of bone. Lyssa took a matching step backwards. She reached into her satchel, taking up the knife she had stolen from Tabitha’s. It looked small indeed compared to the weapon of her enemy. The blade, though sharp, was unlikely to penetrate that bronze surface. And when Lyssa looked down her arm at the proffered weapon, she saw that it was shaking fearfully. She was no fighter, it turned out.
Biting back a curse, she turned and ran, making for the safety of the trees. They aren’t nimble like living people are, Tomas had said. That meant she could likely outrun one, or maybe lure it into a trap of tree roots. But Lyssa’s heart leapt into her throat as she neared the treeline, and a great slam of wooden concussion exploded from in front of her. She tumbled, falling back onto her rear and dropping the knife into the thick grass. A long arrow was protruding from the trunk of the tree beside her. If she’d been going just a lick faster, she’d have been pierced through.
Lyssa turned. A second ghoul was approaching her from the south, also wearing bronze but this time armed with a great longbow. How those cataractfilled eyes were able to sight her so adeptly, Lyssa had no idea. But she knew she only had moments left to live. The ghoul wordlessly tugged a new arrow back along the taut line of the bow and clumsily took aim. At her back, the sound of crunching leaves as the clubwielder also approached. Lyssa scrambled, trying to take cover behind the nearest tree. But the hem of her skirt was now caught on brambles, and a hard yank with her hands wasn’t freeing her. Heart racing, she writhed against her natural bonds. And the twin ghouls drew ever closer.
As panic overcame her, Lyssa threw out her hand towards them.
“Stop!!”
And something left her. The sugary flame in her void spat forth its cargo, letting it shoot invisibly towards the ghouls. The vital energy sank at once into their emaciated, desiccated bodies. A drop of rain on a parched plain. And… they stopped. The ghoul with the bow slowly lowered its aim towards the ground, and the one with the club let its arm hang limp. Both of them, for all of their decay, held an expression of blissful, serene calm. Their eyes on her were peaceful. Lyssa spat out a manic laugh. What manner of sorcery was this?
But she couldn’t wonder for long, as a dark shape burst out of the trees to the south of the glade. Lyssa caught a flash of faded blue, the rich brown of wood and a sparkle of metal. She fought back a wail in her throat. Another ghoul? If so, it was much faster than these others!
But this one was roaring. Lyssa stared as the figure ploughed into the dead archer and slashed a curved axe down into its shoulder. The heavy iron crunched into the bronze armour and cleaved the plating messily, then passed straight through to the bone. The ghoul collapsed forward under the mighty weight of the attack. As it fought to right itself with its one remaining arm, the warrior pulled back on a large, circular wooden shield, studded with metal around its edge. A vicious slam downwards brought the shield’s rim onto the back of the creature’s head. A smashing of bone, and it was still.
Next, the bluegarbed warrior lunged for the ghoul with the club. Their steps were powerful lunges, a backandforth that suggested they were meaning to keep out of any likely blows coming their way. But the ghoul didn’t move. It was still staring at Lyssa. As such, the warrior’s upward crescent swing met no resistance as it severed the creature’s head from its neck. The head landed softly in the grass, then the body toppled lifelessly over.
Lyssa stared up at her rescuer. He was very much alive, which was a relief. He was three or four years older than Tomas, by her reckoning, making him closer in age to herself. A ruddy young man, with hair thick and black like bracken tied at the back of his head. A wide set of shoulders, held tall and strong by a suggestion of tight muscle beneath his clothing. Red cheeks from the exertion of his combat, and brown eyes like the richness of the earth. His tabard was navy blue and marked with a white symbol that Lyssa’s eyes couldn’t pick out from the grime and tear in the old garment. Below, a coat of chain that disappeared under leather gauntlets, a pair of tight trousers and metaltipped boots. His shield was unvarnished, a labyrinth of cuts and scrapes. And his axe was a nasty, threatening curve of metal that extended over his knuckle. The deadly iron looked blunt and old, but the weight of the young man’s attacks had ensured it was none the less effective.
“YYou alright?” he gasped down at her, wiping his brow with the back of his glove. He had a crisp, musical voice, made slightly gravelly by his fatigue and the rush of battle.
Lyssa finally pulled herself free of her brambles, then rose quickly to her feet. The thorns had sliced through her skirt, leaving a great rip up one side that, when standing wide as she was now, indecently exposed some of her leg. She recognised the flash of interest in the lad’s brown eyes as he quickly took notice of her exposed skin. And suddenly, Lyssa was afraid no longer. She beamed that smile she had been preparing.
“Now that I have been rescued by a handsome warrior?” she said. “Oh, I am very well indeed!”
The young man swallowed a lump in his throat, and Lyssa watched the movement of his neck muscles with keen attention. Then, the warrior grinned a flatteringly foolish grin.
“Great!” he laughed. “I’m relieved!”
At his back, a new shape emerged. The woman was of an age with the nameless warrior, and dressed in a long, tan travelling dress of thick wool. She had wavy hair down to her shoulders, red like the honey from Tabitha’s cottage, that she held in place with an iron circlet about her temple, and she had a halfcape of deep green tight about her shoulders. Lyssa caught the shine of some sort of jewellery around her neck, dangling beneath the hem of her cape, as well as the glimmer of curiosity in her pale blue eyes on seeing Lyssa. A glimmer that hardened as she also took in the smile of the young man. The older fellow unconscious on the girl’s shoulders, Lyssa barely registered at all. But a wary, predatory sense at the back of her mind took note that this girl would have to be unusually strong to carry a middleaged male on her back as she did.
“It’s not safe,” the girl stated firmly. “Come with us.”
“It shall be my pleasure.” Lyssa grinned, unable to hide her excitement. There was no reason to turn these two down. She needed a place to recover from the closeness of death, and her void was now empty. Both were maladies that these two new friends could help her with. Two new friends to play with… how thrilling!
“My name is Lyssa!” the darkhaired woman introduced brightly, and Claire couldn’t help but narrow her eyes. She’d sprung back from a near death experience awfully quickly, especially for a young woman of nobility, as she appeared. Her dress and belongings were rustic, but that gorgeous black silk she had for hair, her creamy cheeks and highsociety manner of speaking all spoke of a rich upbringing down in the cities. The grace of her movements, even the idle gestures she made when conversing, were careful and arresting like a dancer’s.
But those eyes. Claire stared into Lyssa’s eyes and decided that the best description for them was shaded ruby. A red so deep as to appear brown in natural light. She might not have noticed were it not for her keen attention and suspicion, and she was sure her friend hadn’t spotted the unusual hue yet. Claire had seen nothing like it in all her life.
“I profess that mine shall be tough to swallow,” Lyssa said with a coy wink that made Claire’s heart skip in her chest. She pushed the organ back down into obedience at once. “I have no memory from before yesterday, when I was discovered naked and alone in the depths of this very forest. My name is all that I have, save the charity of a pair of good folks living to the west of here.”
“Memory loss?” Claire asked, her mind instantly recalling the long tome of ailments she had spent much of her life reading. Amnesia was a rare condition, so the likely culprits were few. “Did you receive a blow to the head, perhaps?”
“Nay, I cannot say so,” Lyssa replied with a shake of her head. “I have no injury on my scalp to speak of.”
“Then maybe it was magic!” Charisse was not covering his fascination for the pretty girl at all. He had also recovered from their skirmish against the ghouls with unusual speed, Claire noticed. “You might have been the target of an enchantment! You practise magic yourself, Lyssa, is that right? That command you issued to the ghouls?”
“You’re a mage?” Claire’s eyes widened. She’d never met a mage before.
Lyssa hesitated before answering. But beyond the tiny gulf of her pause, her nod was sharp and confident. “In training, but yes,” she replied proudly. “I have a manner of power to my name. Though if you are seeking a demonstration, I must unfortunately let you down. Mine reserves are lacking after our little commotion. Perhaps later,” she added, leaning forward with one hand in the grass and setting her ruby eyes on Charisse through her long eyelashes. “I shall show you my powers later, if you like.”
Charisse looked far too excited at that prospect. Her friend was very dear to her and was the single most reliable person in her life, but Claire told him often enough that he didn’t always think before committing to action. Action such as allowing himself to be vulnerable in the presence of a beautiful stranger.
Claire spared a glance up and over the fallen tree the four of them were using as cover from the rest of the forest. Her augury had shared that there were yet ghouls wandering nearby between here and Arram’s hovel, but they must have been a short distance away as there was currently no sign of them. That allowed them a moment to catch their breaths ahead of the next step of their extermination. And then they could get the poor man home. She ran her eyes over Arram’s pale face, sleeping restlessly in the grass beside the fallen oak. His thick shirt was stained red with his own blood from the ghoul’s slash on his shoulder, but Claire had bound his broken arm against his stomach as best she could. A simple rejuvenating poultice from local herbs had sped the process of his body restoring its own blood, so now he simply needed rest. Peace for his mind would lead to restoration for his body. So said the words of her creed, and she had seen them play out reliably time after time.
“My name is Claire, Lyssa,” she said now, thumbing the silver oval on its chain around her neck.
“And I am Charisse,” said her companion. He smirked in preparation for the coming jibe, and Claire put on her own smile to help him dull the sting of any mockery Lyssa might throw at him. But the woman merely smiled in polite return. Claire and Charisse shared a brief look, and he shrugged. Maybe down in the city, Charisse wasn’t a common name, so Lyssa didn’t know it was usually reserved for girls.
“We hail from a village north and west of here,” Claire explained. “We have been travelling east for some days, towards Ducal Rout.”
“We were a touch sidetracked when we happened upon Cecile, who lives not far from here,” Charisse picked up. “It is well that we agreed to seek out her missing husband on his hunting trail, for we also chanced upon you!”
“Fair in countenance and moral both,” Lyssa smiled. “How heroic.”
Charisse blushed at this, naturally. Claire should have been more sympathetic, since he so rarely received this sort of attention from anyone back home. He was owed a little flattery. Still, it irked her. There was something far too calculating about the way Lyssa was doling out her praise.
“We need to press on and clear the route ahead,” she stated firmly, and was pleased to see a resolute straightening in Charisse’s shoulders at the reminder of his duty. “Safety demands both of our talents, and I cannot provide support for Charisse with Arram across my back. Lyssa, would you watch over him until our return?”
“We won’t take long,” Charisse said with a smug smile. “A few ghouls won’t get in our way.”
“AAh, of course.” For the first time since meeting her, Lyssa appeared ill at ease. She frowned, her smile growing crooked on her full lips. “I would be happy to assist this heroic deed. Only… as I said, I am lacking of my… magical capacities at present. And I am… not so confident with a blade.”
“If you aren’t seeking to engage, the ghouls are not so great a threat,” said Charisse with an easy shrug of his wide shoulders. “Their vision is poor when their target is not in motion, and they are mostly deaf. Remain low and still, and they shall not harm you, Lyssa.”
“Here, perhaps I can ease your mind in thanks for your assistance.” Claire reached back into her rucksack, resting against the side of the fallen tree, and drew forth her sheaf of papers and portable writing set. She got to work, using the wooden surface to ensure her penmanship was as clear as it needed to be.
“What is this?” asked Lyssa while she worked. “Magic? Are you a mage, Claire?”
“Not quite,” Claire smirked.
“Claire is an adherent of Oculus AllSeeing,” Charisse explained for her. “She was studying spiritual support and medicine under a local abbot back in our home village. And Oculus favours her with gifts of foresight and knowledge in return for prayers.”
“And that is… different to magic?” asked Lyssa with a tilt of her head.
“Spiritual adherence is about requesting the rules be bent,” Claire said as she scrawled out the last of her prayer onto the paper. “Magic is about breaking them yourself. One draws the ire of the beings of antiquity, the other their favour.”
She looked up, blowing on the ink and folding the little paper over, then handing the prayer to Lyssa. The woman still looked mighty confused, enough to bring a sympathetic smile to Claire’s lips. She was awfully cute, even when perplexed.
“Tear this down the seam if you are discovered, and I shall sense it,” she explained. “Charisse is a fast runner. He can be with you in the blink of an eye should you need him.”
“You can count on me,” nodded Charisse.
Lyssa was staring down at the folded paper, rubbing the rough parchment with her fingers. Her dark eyes moved to the soft breathing of Arram, then down to the axe at Charisse’s belt. And then she smiled. Claire had to admit, her smile was a little like the sun coming up. It was enough to rid Claire of the last of her anxiety at leaving their wounded charge in this strange woman’s care.
“Thank you,” she sighed. “I shall endeavour to be worthy of your trust. Fair well against the enemy, Claire. Charisse. And return to me swiftly, I beg.”
Charisse tried to say something heroic as he rose to his feet alongside Claire, but he began to stammer. Claire grabbed his arm and pulled him away in the direction of Cecile and Arram’s hovel instead, and he stumbled as he obeyed. Soon, Claire’s companion adopted his usual, heavy stride, one hand on his axe and the other looped through his shield. The unrelenting, stubborn pace typical of the man she followed. But his smile was fresh and new.
“I like her,” he said with a grin as they pressed on through the trees.
“I could tell,” Claire replied with a sour frown.
Now alone with a comatose man, Lyssa let out a sigh. She hugged her arms about her shoulders as she peered about at the gloom lying thick between the trees. She had wanted Claire and Charisse to trust her, so she had spoken boldly and confidently. But that had been a ruse. And with the grim visage of the ghouls still fresh in her mind, her ears pricking needlessly at every rustle of leaves around her, she knew that ruse to be flimsy indeed. Without a shred of power to hold on to, she had no weapon at all with which to face any further threats. Stay still, stay quiet. That was all she could do.
In a bid to distract herself, Lyssa peered down at the wounded man that Claire had been carrying. Arram, she had named him. A swarthy man, thick of hair and stout of frame. He had been hunting, or so Claire had said. Lyssa didn’t see a bow or trapping kit on him, so perhaps he had been forced to leave those behind in his flight from the ghouls. He had thick facial hair, trimmed below his chin but full under his nose, and she could see matching growth at his chest where his white shirt was open at the collar. His breathing was deep and restive, a rhythmic rise and fall of peaceful slumber, though his pale skin, made all the paler by the stark, bright red of his stained shirt, was evidence of his weakness and injury. She decided that Arram must have been in his forties, perhaps early fifties, making him older than herself, Claire and Charisse by some two decades or so. How would he handle being rescued by a cohort of youths, she wondered, tapping her lips with one finger. Her mischievous smile was genuine as she considered. Was he likely a proud man who would boast first of his own skill before admitting to needing aid? Or was he old enough to know his own frailty, respectful of the young ones who had saved him? If Lyssa was to attempt to turn his heart towards her, what approach would she require? Bold or humble? Aggressive or seductive? It was a fun little game, and thoughts of ghouls left her far behind.
ero
