Chapter 11: Chapter 11

“Indenuel!” Martin shouted before a tree branch wrapped around his waist and threw him out of the cart. Indenuel fought against the branch, trying to get to Martin. Despite his worry about his own state, Martin was in his sixties. Being thrown from a cart could be deadly for him.

The horse moved around, alarmed. Another branch wrapped around Indenuel’s other wrist and flung him toward a tree. The wind was knocked out of him as he rammed against the trunk of a tree, the branches around his wrists the only thing keeping him upright. He struggled to get his breathing back. Martin was pinned to a tree next to him.

Men dropped from the trees, laughing. Indenuel looked at his feet as he tried to breathe normally. He tried to focus on the situation, but it wasn’t looking great. His hands were pinned behind a tree with corruptive powers as bandits began to gather.

“Calm, Indenuel. You can block corruptive powers. Any individual who has the same power can also block the corruptive ones,” Martin whispered.

“Even from individuals who had sold their souls to the devil?” Indenuel asked, glancing at the men coming closer.

“Yes, even then. And as much as you’ve heard that phrase thrown around, it is extremely difficult to sell one’s soul,” Martin said.

Indenuel swallowed as his eyes went wide. “But still possible, right?”

Martin turned to see the leader of the group. Despite the autumn chill, he had his shirt off. His chest had the mark of the devil, sharp lines that almost looked like an animal attack, but far more precise in its chaos. It covered his shoulders, torso and stomach in sharp, angry lines that never connected with each other. Instead of the pale color a scar would have, these scars were black as night.

Martin went still. It was the unfortunate answer Indenuel needed. The marked individual had the green eyes of a Santollian with shaggy dark brown hair and beard. The man approached Martin with eyes narrowed. Indenuel heard them, the demonic whispers, the corrupted version of speaking to the dead. Indenuel shrank within himself as the whispers started to grow. The whispers brought a primal fear within Indenuel that made him want to curl in a ball until it was all over.

“We have nothing of value and do not wish to fight. Please let us continue on our way,” Martin said.

A woman approached the leader. Indenuel could hardly look at her. The whispers were following her, and Indenuel could sense the demons around this woman. He shut his eyes tight. With a sinking heart Indenuel realized the truth. The man wasn’t the only one marked.

The woman whispered something to the man, and the man started laughing. “Martin the Healer? Is it true? To what do we owe this honor?” He bowed in a ridiculous and mocking manner. The rest of the group started to cackle.

Martin looked at the leader with compassion in his eyes. “I do not know your life story. I do not know the reasons why you sold your soul, but I assure you, it will bring nothing but hurt and unhappiness.”

Indenuel stayed silent, staring at his feet. If he didn’t see the woman, he would be fine. It was what he told himself. He chose to ignore the demonic whispers, trying to keep the fear from overtaking him.

“You are very much mistaken, sir. It was you and your pointless religion that brought the hurt and unhappiness. You and your other High Elders, sitting on their glorious thrones while the rest of us rotted away.” The man approached Martin, brushing dust off the old robes. “Is this why you’re not dressed in those fancy High Elder robes? Thought that would hide you from us? Those who wish to seek vengeance on you?”

“What is your name, son?” Martin asked.

“Fermon.” Fermon did not volunteer his formal, Santollian title, simply his name. He folded his arms over his bare chest, and Indenuel stared at the markings. They were black. Far blacker than anything he’d ever seen. It almost seemed like the thin black cuts across his chest were somehow sucking in a bit of the light around them.

“Fermon, an honor, certainly, but you must let us go, or the punishment you would receive would-”

Fermon punched Martin in the face as the others in the group laughed and jeered. Indenuel gasped, trying to make himself as small as possible. It was instinct, not wanting to receive the same hurt. The branches kept him open and vulnerable when he wanted to run and hide.

“You think I give a damn what your laws tell me I should do?” Fermon asked. “It’s why we ran away in the first place.”

“It is not worth it,” Martin said, trying to control his voice. “The King’s Militia will not rest until I am found. Kidnapping a High Elder is punishable by death.”

“Calm your high and mighty self down, Martin the Healer,” Fermon said. “We’re here because we sensed some strong corruptive powers radiating somewhere around here. It was lasting for weeks, but we lost the signal.” Indenuel’s eyes widened as he stared at the ground. Fermon gave a sigh. “Must have been you that cleansed the individual. Pity. We could have helped them.”

Martin didn’t say a word, simply narrowed his eyes. Indenuel tried hard not to look guilty. He thought he was doing well, until the woman next to Fermon paused, then turned slowly toward Indenuel. The whispers started to intensify. Indenuel tried to break free, but the branches pulled him back so far the bark of the tree started to dig into his back. Sweat started to form on his forehead.

Fermon turned, a slight smile on his face as he stared at Indenuel. “And who is this boy?”

“I’m trying to figure that out,” the woman said. She approached, and Indenuel turned away. “They act so oddly around him.”

It grated against Indenuel’s soul for the woman to come any closer, but he couldn’t go anywhere. His breathing turned erratic as the panic started to take hold. He couldn’t see the demons, but he could hear them, whispering in a language so dark only someone marked could understand them.

“What are you doing here, boy?” Fermon said.

Indenuel fought the primal panic. Telling the truth would be unwise, so he tried to go with the next best story. “I’m his assistant.”

The laughter from the group was far louder this time. The piercing kind that made Indenuel very aware of how poor he looked. Ragged clothes being held onto his scrawny body by whatever means necessary.

“Don’t take this the wrong way, of course,” the woman said as Fermon moved his fingers. The branches moved forward, digging into Indenuel’s wrist as he was forced to walk forward toward the leaders. “It would make sense for a High Elder to choose someone poor and keep him that poor in the process. But my little friends tell me that’s a lie.”

Indenuel said nothing. He was panicking, the deserters coming closer around him. His mind was jumbled, and the branches were squeezing tighter, waiting to snap his wrists. Fermon touched Indenuel’s chin, and Indenuel jerked away out of instinct. The man’s skin was ice cold.

Indenuel shut his eyes, hoping that not seeing how much danger he was in would somehow not make him panic as bad.

“Feel the trees,” Martin said quietly through a swollen nose. “They do not want this level of corruption. They need help reverting to their normal state. Help them do it.”

“Take the horse and cart. We’ll give the boy a knife to figure out how to cut himself and the old man down. It should give us plenty of time to escape,” Fermon said, moving his fingers again as the branches stretched Indenuel toward the sky. He was almost on tiptoe.

Indenuel reached out among the chaos of the trees. There was a blackness that was as revolting as Fermon’s mark, as the whispers surrounding the woman. Indenuel always had a fear of the demonic. He had a fear of a lot of things, but this always made his skin crawl.

“Don’t be afraid,” Martin said. “The devil is not as strong as he thinks he is.”

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“Shut him up. Let’s get out of here,” Fermon said.

Indenuel pushed forward through the trees until he felt it. The hurt and uncertainty from the trees were clear. Almost like a child in the middle of the night during a thunderstorm. He felt the same way. He reached to them, then began to feed them power to help them calm down. The tree relaxed and the branches loosen from around his wrist. In a burst of excitement, Indenuel flooded the tree with goodness and the branches instantly dropped him. Indenuel collapsed to the ground, but quickly got up, trying to act like he hadn’t made an embarrassing fall.

Fermon gave an annoyed smile. “You can’t follow us, boy. I won’t allow it.” He threw his wrists toward Indenuel. Before Indenuel could react, pain hit him right in the stomach. Indenuel faltered and fell to his knees, gasping for air as his body reacted to the pain.

Fermon moved away. “Let’s get out of here!”

The pain traveled through his body, trying to hurt everything inside him. It would kill him if Fermon wanted it to. Indenuel closed his eyes and cast a shaky net over the blackness in his body. He pulled, his hands trembling as a darkness seeped out of his body. He gasped for air once the last of the pain was out. He opened his eyes to see a golden shield circling around black ooze. Fermon stared, eyes wide.

“What the hell! I thought you were a tree talker,” Fermon said.

Indenuel closed the shield around the blackness. It had no choice but to disappear among the circle of healing power. With the entire group staring at Indenuel in shock, he took a moment to assess the situation. The demonic whispers were there, but he again chose to ignore them. Martin’s wrists were still being held back by the tree. Indenuel threw a hand on the ground, connecting with the tree next to him and using the connection between the roots to cleanse Martin’s tree. Martin shook off the branches and strode forward, pulling out a sword from where he had been hiding it under his robes. It had never occurred to Indenuel to think Martin had any sort of training with a sword, but then he remembered that once he was part of the royal family. Certainly they would have some training in the sword.

“If you all go now, I will not report this,” Martin said, standing next to Indenuel.

Fermon growled again before pulling out his own sword, not nearly as grand as Martin’s, but far more used. Indenuel turned and saw the woman, the primal fear threatening to take over.

“You don’t think I can take an old man?” Fermon said.

“I do not doubt your skill, Fermon,” Martin said calmly, holding his sword steady, pointed right at Fermon. “But think what you have to lose. You’ve sold your soul. Are you ready to have the devil drag you to hell to repay your debts?”

The whites around Fermon’s eyes begin to darken. The woman took a step, reaching forward, her eyes instantly turning black as the whispers turned into screams. Indenuel gasped, covering his ears, crawling toward Martin. Corruption was building. Tree movement, pain, ill weather, and communing with demons. Together these two had all four powers, and they were strong. Martin could block pain, but that left three others for him.

Indenuel reacted immediately. He threw his conscious toward the sky, feeding it power, keeping snowstorms from forming. The weather wanted to stay nice and clear, and it took little strength to keep it that way. Indenuel then pushed himself into the trees, shielding them from the corruption Fermon was already starting to use. The trees clung to Indenuel’s power, staying free of corruption, sharing it with other trees closest to him.

The demons continued to scream, filling him with fear. He let out a shuddering breath as the screams came closer. He didn’t know what to do with demons. Demons had never listened to him in the past when he told them to go away. They persisted, snarling, filling him with dark secrets of their black language.

“You honestly think you have what it takes to stop the devil himself from cleansing this world?” the woman whispered right next to him. With his eyes closed, he hadn’t noticed her approach. “It doesn’t matter what the High Elders tell you. It doesn’t matter what the prophet saw. You, Indenuel, are going to fail.”

“Stop it!” Indenuel threw his arms forward, but nothing happened. The demonic screams and the jeers were still there. The woman smiled. Indenuel covered his ears, the primal fear coming back, the hold on the trees and the weather starting to drop. The wind picked up, howling.

His mind went to Lucia. He tried to remember her teachings when he’d heard the demons before. Remembered the truths he had learned from his mother. Demons may be there, but that also meant good spirits were there as well. The good spirits, proof that there was a life after this one, proof that God was merciful to those who followed him.

Indenuel shouted and forced himself to regain power over the weather and the trees. He stood, then opened his eyes, staring at the woman with the black eyes. “Your master is not my master.”

Peace filled his heart, and he threw his hands out, projecting the feeling of peace out onto the woman. She gasped, her eyes instantly reverting back to their green color. Indenuel bowed his head, throwing a shield over himself that the demons had to obey. They couldn’t cross over to get to him. Indenuel held his shield over three of the powers, trusting Martin to shield him from the fourth.

Fermon backed away, his eyes widening. “Back off, men. There are easier targets.”

They dispersed quickly. Indenuel kept the shields up, feeling it drain his energy, but he didn’t dare drop it. It was more of a comfort. The corruption wasn’t in his shield, and the whispers were gone. In this space, nothing evil could come, and he needed to be in it to rejuvenate.

Martin grabbed him and Indenuel clung to him out of instinct. He shuddered, trying to forget the whispers, trying to gain control over his fear.

“They’re gone,” Martin said, over and over, holding him tight. “You did amazing, my boy.”

Indenuel dropped the shields, but still clung to Martin. Martin held the back of Indenuel’s head, and warmth trickle into his mind. It was an emotion he hadn’t felt often, one that took him a moment to understand. Martin was healing his troubled mind with thoughts of safety. Indenuel let Martin heal him, his mind calming down, his breathing coming in steadier.

“You’ve had experiences with demons before?” Martin asked, still holding on.

Indenuel nodded, keeping his eyes closed tight. “Every year on the Day of the Devil for as long as I can remember.”

“Ah,” Martin said. “I’m sorry, Indenuel. As the Warrior, even at that young age, you are powerful. I am sorry the devil taunts you so.” Martin broke away and smiled. “It won’t happen this year. You will train with the High Elders, and you will be able to stop them.”

“Even on the Day of the Devil?” Indenuel asked.

“Yes. Even then.”

Indenuel tried to believe him. He hated the Day of the Devil. Not only was it the first day of winter and the shortest day of the year, but the devil always had more power. The corruptive powers were stronger, and Indenuel could see demons roaming the village, screaming and howling at people. It terrified him as a child, and it terrified him now. He hated when the demons found him, scaring him from a distance, laughing and ridiculing him in their dark language.

Martin helped Indenuel to his feet, his smile bright. “This confirms it, my boy. You were able to block all four corruptive powers. There is no doubt left in my mind. You really are the Warrior.”

It was a lovely sentiment, and Indenuel wished he didn’t feel so weak while he said it. Martin seemed to sense this and helped him over to the back of the cart. “You’ve exhausted yourself. You need some rest, and something to eat.”

Martin about walked over to their pack, but Indenuel caught his arm. Martin stared, curious, before Indenuel reached over and touched Martin’s face, closing his eyes. He sensed the confusion and urgency in the body at the broken nose. Indenuel rushed forward, ushering the disconnected bones back and fusing them together. He then eased the blood to revert to its regular flow.

Indenuel dropped his hand and opened his eyes. Martin touched his nose, smiling. “Thank you, my boy. Now come. The sooner we get to Tavi, the better.”

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