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Simurg 2	By : Cynthermes Category: A through F > The Cronnex Series Views: 1365 -:- Recommendations : 0 -:- Currently Reading : 1
Disclaimer: The Cronnex and its characters solely belong to Trewin Greenaway and no profit has been made out of this fiction.

Chapter List
- 5
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T’was false dawn when they finally reached a small wooden house in the far-east end of the second village where Jaemas claimed to reside with his twëre herbalist. It was still quite dark and only a sliver of violet tainted the once pitch-black skies indicating the time of day or night rather. They have been fatefully grouped into pairs once Helias had briefly let Jaemas examine Ormaël’s present condition; namely: the conscious pair comprised of herbalist and Familiar while the unconscious pair were made of an ill, ashen warlock and a stuporous, hypothermic woman-prince.
Helias being the Familiar and the healthiest of the three begrudgingly carried the incapacitated two on his broad furry back. Well he couldn’t risk the woman falling off her horse, (unless he tied her up) which was obediently tagging along so he decided to shoulder the burden.
It was still safe to travel in this form and had declined (politely) the young herbalist’s offering of his cloak when they set foot on the small slumbering village of Azrah.
The blue wolf gingerly deposited his pair of human baggage on the well-kempt grass just by the entryway of a more than modest-looking herbary. He couldn’t help but watch in amusement as Jaemas sneakily made his way on the porch like some common thief hoping to pick the lock open as silently as to not rouse his companion inside. This clearly showed that his midnight errand was not something his twëre was really in the know of.
The curly-haired lad barely managed to reach the door when it abruptly flung open revealing a young man whose mere presence made Helias’ fur to tingle and his stomach to knot. There was something about the posture and the way the moonlight caught silky strands of golden, shoulder-length hair that gnawed on the Familiar’s instincts to flee.
“Wait! Before you scold me, hear me out Osfalt!” Jaemas blurted and clasped his hands in a pleading gesture before his obviously displeased mate.
Helias was halfway reclaiming his unconscious companions when the odd name somewhat made him pause. He lifted his head in the direction of the other herbalist who equally turned to meet his gaze, already having sensed an invader in his territory.
“I have brought us patients needing of immediate care.” Jaemas’ white lie appears to have no effect on his twëre’s dark mood. He either heard not a word or was intent to ignore it for he continued to pin Helias (in his Familiar form) with an unreadable sapphire gaze.
It also didn’t help when the unmistakable figure of the Nithaial Galgaliel had made a full turn to face him. “Show your true form.”
Jessan looked the very same young man he was on the night of his coming of age. His face was still handsome and youthful. There was not a mar of imperfection on his smooth, tanned face. He stood with the same graceful pose, spoke diligently the tongue of the Old Kingdom and only his blue eyes hardened and deepened by time currently piercing his crouched form in place was the only remarkable difference.
Helias even dared to say out loud that such a disturbingly foreboding expression didn’t suit the face closely resembling his deceased twin.
“Show your true form.” Jessan repeated sternly, making the Familiar forget who speaks before him. If he could just close his eyes and listen to that voice once more.
Without much resistance, Helias quietly complied as if the order had directly come from Niccas’ lips.
The wizard borne of the late Nithaial Elimiel’s power stood bare and vulnerable before the scrutiny of his surviving twin.
“Helias.” Jessan breathed upon recognition a half-gasp and a half-cry. The sheer anguished tone was enough to inflict physical pain on any listener.
Neither of them spoke nor even moved for a while until the caster broke the spell. “Hurry and come inside. Let me see what I can do to the sick.”
Helias didn’t dare breathe another word before the door to the small house swung shut and Jaemas snapped from whatever trance had befallen him and came running for his aid.
“You know each other?”
“Hardly.” The Familiar replied and his thoughts were already scattering oh so far into the past and probably piling on the ground as he went to pay the ignorant young herbalist no mind.

A cloaked figure of a ferryman continues to stare at nothing below the murky waters as he perfunctorily rows the old and creaking barge into motion. He was by himself today: no lost soul to destroy or guide across the misty river of the spiritual realm that was Cyll.
He doesn’t even stir from his deep pondering when he was violently rocked downwards as something heavy as a boulder plummeted uninvitingly onto his vessel.
Miraculously, he and the barge survived without even losing a splinter of wood.
“Oi!” A voice croaked.
No response.
“Oi!” The voice croaked louder.
Still no response,
“Oi ferryman!”
Astoreth didn’t even bat an eyelash.
“You’re going the wrong wa—” The voice was drowned by a large rumbling splashing sound, “—ye—aiii!!!” The barge tipped prow first into the unseen depth of a waterfall.
The creature with a crystal skull for a face, with wings of a Valkyrie for ears and the body of a mummified corpse was drenched wet and sputtering curses by the time the ferryman spoke.
“Tell His Lordship that from now on I go this way.” Astoreth said without a hint of emotion… then with a sharp glint in his slitted eyes the hue of burnt gold, “My way.” It had such ferocity and hatred that would scare anyone who would dare meet his glare to nonexistence.
“You mean you do intend to head the wrong way?” The creature resembling none other than Death’s companion replied dumbly.
“Dra’al!” The furious god throttled the bearer of the said name an instant later, his oar forgotten.
The skull cackled as he choked and burned on the god’s grip. He was undead anyway and was the subject of many a godling— now god’s murderous fits of rage.
“H-How can I pass the message when I’m coming with you, Milord?” Dra’al continued to cackle.
“Are you damn serious?” Astoreth demanded not having a shred of pity for his writhing underling.
At this height, Dra’al managed to spot a river of unmistakable rose-purple bruises on the fair skin of the god’s breast exposed by the cloak, which had opened partway from the neck down his belly where the continuation of the marks hid beneath the dark cloth.
It didn’t take long for the god to discover the reason for his immediate silence and his head had gone flying off his body before he even got a second look at this startling discovery.
Astoreth released the still form of his underling with an irate huff while chattering teeth from a cackling skull still not too far away continued ringing in his ears.
Zeleo awoke from her bizarre dream hearing panicked shouts across a room. Was it another dumb cluck servant to witness the glowing runes on her back?
“Oh my!”
“Oh holy!”
A young man’s voice disturbingly familiar yelled pathetically spooked. It sounded like the herbalist they had rescued last night and— the herbalist! Ormaël! The familiar!
It was her turn to wake with a start only to find Jaemas, the young herbalist seeking the protection of a mere chair as a leather-bound long object stood upright on the floor seemingly poised to fight.
So that was it.
Zeleo fought the urge to roll her eyes and dragged her freezing feet from the bed to briskly retrieve the leather-bound thing that had begun to jump up and down to cross the boundaries between the chair and his prey.
She hastily unbound the ‘possessed thing’ that was her sword and narrowed her eyes on the coin-sized skull cackling madly at the base of her blade. She punched the spirit guardian into silence while Jaemas gaped at her in awe.
“Primela! You’re awake at last.” Jaemas stated the obvious as he recovered from the shock.
“What happened?” She questioned him in turn.
“I was just about to replace the sponge on your forehead; you were burning with a fever! Until that thing—” He pointed at the ‘possessed claymore’ “jumped at me!” The herbalist still seemed reluctant to go near.
“What I mean was,” She glanced at the window where the morning sunlight continues to shine through the fine leaves of a shrub. “Last night. How did I get here?”
“Oh, you were out cold the moment we turned our backs. Helias was so worried he wouldn’t stop pestering me what could’ve happened to you. Your body felt so cold like the dead we really thought that you have passed but your forehead was burning with a fever so…” The young herbalist rambled on.
Zeleo hid a little smirk based on the little information she managed to piece together. So the mighty and cold familiar had run himself all over the place again just for her sake? Now that was just charming.
“How are the others? Helias and Ormaël?” She interrupted softly, innocently like she didn’t have dark thoughts or whacked a poor sword glypta to fragments of bone.
At the mention of their names a more serious countenance had replaced Jaemas’ previous open expression. “My twëre seems to know both of them and this had further darkened his mood considerably.” He said in a voice so low she had to strain to understand.
“So you mean to say that Ormaël has gone a full recovery?” She clarified, gathering as much meaning from his vague words.
Jaemas nodded, “Yes but he and the Familiar particularly bring a strange mood I have never seen before in Osfalt. My twëre doesn’t seem to get along well with them. And I could tell it goes a long way back.”
Osfalt? What a strange name. Zeleo thought. “Where are they now?”
A loud thump (it sounds like someone hitting the tabletop) came just right outside this room.
“They’re… in the middle of a heated argument…” Another crashing noise made him wince. “…It appears.”
“Debating exactly like grown men, I see.” Zeleo agreed sarcastically, determined to get in the way of their ‘friendly chat.’
All three didn’t even register the sound of her approach. She noticed that it was in fact their temperamental Familiar who was the primary contributor of the ruckus, as he stood halfway in his seat, one fist on the table and a spilled drink right next to it. Helias was the epitome of gratefulness as much as boorish men make fine guests. Ormael was silent and by the way his head hung low, defeated.
She was yet to see the face of the mysterious Osfalt as he stood with his back on them, fists clenched at his sides.
“I said I couldn’t help you.” A world-weary voice came from the blond man who had a visible tense frame. To the warrior prince, Osfalt was giving everything he got to hold his temper from lashing out.
“Damn right you can’t! You can’t help anyone! Not even N—!” Helias struggled to bottle the word as if catching himself just in time before speaking a taboo. “You practically left him to die!”
The last phrase snapped something ugly on the stiff form of Osfalt. He whirled around, taking one ragged breath after another as he exploded in anger. “Don’t you dare pass me the torch! You killed him before I even tried! Your female accomplice should be sitting right next to Loquatrea’s king!”
At the mention of his brother, Zeleo couldn’t hold back anymore. “I see that you gentlemen are getting along nicely. Could you share with me what this conversation has got to do with my hometown’s reigning king?”
All three of them froze as she entered the ring of fire.
She plopped on the seat right next to Ormaël. “Why good morning, darling! Care to tell me what’s for breakfast? What? I thought you shunned your man-eating ways!” She unleashed the beast and her lip curled in satisfaction as the warlock reverted to his sickly pallor from the tactful verbal assault. Helias in contrast had flushed a crimson red.
Osfalt suddenly burst out laughing and all the tension in the room flew out the window.
“Oh dear lady! You have marvelous timing!” The blond herbalist managed as he clutched his sides for dear life.
“You… made him laugh again.” Jaemas had this unsettling talent to pop just out of nowhere. Yet the words were uttered with such an honest resignation that Zeleo didn’t bother to throw another sarcastic comeback.
“Ah, the iron maiden pacifies three unruly men, a classic.” Osfalt said smiling warmly at her in silent gratitude.
“It’s the least I could do for your help. Thank you.” She graciously replied making Helias’ mouth hang open.
“And you turned her into a womanly woman!” The familiar earned one of her trademark death glares for trying though. But he was just relieved to see her well again.
“I’m afraid I haven’t introduced myself properly.” Said Osfalt and she was just relieved that he didn’t dare ask her hand for a kiss. “I am called Osfalt and I am the principal herbalist of this village. This is Jaemas, my twëre. He is also a professional herbalist and we are temporarily staying here for the call of our trade. Helias and Ormaël are… old friends.”
As if she didn’t see his lips tighten at the mention of their names. Zeleo decided to let it go for now and ask real questions later. “Wonderful! My name is Primela and I am a mercenary. Helias and Ormael are old battle companions from the guild. I currently travel with them for a joint mission from the king.”
Damn.
Both knew they were telling lies to each other and agree to go along with it anyway.
“The pleasure is mine, Primela. Consider my home as yours and you can stay as long as needed to prepare for your journey.” The principal herbalist replied in a better rendition of an innkeeper’s scripted greeting.
“Is there a nearby stable that can attend the needs of my horse?” She asked, following through her own piece of the dialogue.
“I’m afraid it’s situated at the village square and somewhat a bit far from here. But I can arrange for a makeshift stable for your horse behind the herbary if that’s alright with you.” He proposed generously and she was forced to courteously decline.
“Maybe I will try my luck at mid-noon in the village square for Regnantia.” As she said so, her stomach made a very loud growl. It was her turn to color in embarrassment.
“How about Danda’s shed, Osfalt? I’m certain she’ll appreciate company once in a while.” Jaemas chimed in.
The elder herbalist offered him a somewhat strained smile. Zeleo winced at this fake display of joy. It would be better to show your twëre how you truly feel than pretend otherwise.
“Yes, I think that could be arranged. In the meantime why don’t you ease the hunger pains? My twëre and I are wonderful herbalists but sadly, cooking is not one of our talents.” He held a steaming bowl of sage soup along with two pieces of flat bread and some cheese before her.
“Eat up. It’s not exactly food for the gods but it’s edible and healthy.” Helias urged, their feud momentarily forgotten thanks to her earlier intervention.
The aroma of the soup was enough to make her mouth water in hunger. She realized that the last meal she ate was yesterday’s breakfast. Her stomach had been empty for quite some time now. And with the good manners matching those of a foot soldier she downed the bowl of soup empty in one go and gobbled up the two pieces of flat bread and cheese without a mere pause.
She finished her breakfast in lightning speed to the thunderstruck faces of all four men.
After a modest burp and excusing herself, she thanked Osfalt for the meal and went outside to check on her horse, leaving the men to themselves again.
The small house immediately felt less like a home when Primela left. It felt like a furnace warming the household was doused with water, causing the tension to reign among cold hearts of men once more.
“Jaemas, please have a seat. You are much as responsible for their lives as I am pitched into the role of a gracious host.” Jessan gestured to the empty seat next to his own.
“You sure can’t live without an obedient love boy hanging all over you, huh?” They were barely settled on their seats but Helias was beginning to launch the first volley.
“I may know not much about your past or how it breeds such hatred but please don’t judge someone especially when that someone is sitting right on your face.” Jaemas said politely yet with enough bite on his words.
Although the master of the house offered his guests a seat, he himself remained standing by the windowsill facing the barren backyard. There he watched Primela pet Regnantia’s mane with the corner of his eye. This woman had an unfathomable steady aura and with the strength of spirit that could rival that of a force of nature. He was intrigued that her mere presence could quell masculine aggression if she chose to.
“Where were we?” Jessan asked patiently while the familiar bristled at the lack of eye contact.
Perhaps a shard of gratitude was the only thing staying Helias’ hand.
“Like I said, it’s happening all over again, Nithaial! And you tell me there’s nothing you can do?” Niccas’ first wizard demanded heatedly like he was some cornered animal.
The last Nithaial Galgaliel closed his eyes and breathed deeply. The deliberate address of his arcane name was intended to make him lose the delicate frame of mind he maintained so far. But he was just as stubborn to hold it intact. “And what do you suggest I do, Elimiel wizard?” He countered deftly.
Helias visibly cringed at this mirrored attack.
“Don’t play daft here! You and I both know that the cause of Ormaël’s illness was because of the very thing that made Niccas powerless against Maerdas!” If three revealed names weren’t enough for the Opposing One’s wrath to befall upon him, Helias was certain he would survive just about anything.
“I could’ve easily traded places with Niccas if the Blessed Mother had allowed so. And I would’ve gladly gone to death’s arms if I have to go through all that misery again.” Jessan said in a small, resigned voice and only the glare from the sun hid the silent tears falling drop after drop down his cheeks.
“Then I’ll come with you!” Strangely it was Ormael who voiced the unexpected. “If you had listened to me that day I would’ve been willing to plunge headfirst on Ais Dysmassia just to save Niccas!”
“No!” Jessan yelled suddenly facing them. “No…” He reiterated a moment later in a much, much weaker voice drained of all strength. He now slumped defeated against the cold corner stone of his home.
A trembling hand had grasped his wordlessly.
Ah, Jaemas.
“Niccas… He wouldn’t have wanted that. He wanted you, he wanted us to be safe.” No more. He could say no more. He had reached his limits.
“Ah, the perfect excuse of the saved.” Helias agreed in a mocking tone. He was barely running out of steam and the Nithaial’s despondence seemed to fan the flames of his rage further.
“Then tell me the dark rings beneath your eyes mean nothing! Tell me you don’t dream of him every single night! Tell me he doesn’t utter cries for help as he dies a horrible death each time!” Helias had reached for the collar of his garb and Jessan merely waited for those hands to wrap around his throat and get it over with.
Russet eyes widened as they witnessed what he was about to do. An image of Niccas full of tears lay vulnerable and worse… willing to receive his killing blow to end it all. By the gods! He was about to repeat the same mistake!
Niccas was going to die by his hand and he blanched, body freezing in place.
Jessan woefully watched him beneath, silently accepting whatever fate may befall him with the pure blue eyes of a saint.
An… illusion?
A fool.
He had the eyes of a fool.
The likeness of the twins had befuddled him to mistake one with the other but perhaps it was better that way.
Niccas was alive as long as he could lay eyes on Jessan.
It doesn’t matter…
It doesn’t matter at all.
His hands were carefully detached, gently eased away from their rough purchase. He was pulled upright and away from the source of all his grief and guilt. He dutifully allowed the other to hold him close, mind succumbing to numbness.
Yes…
Please…
Anything but this…
Someone save him…
Someone save him from himself.
Ormaël gathered Helias’ limp form towards him.
It was the Blessed Mother. She had saved them once again.
She had fooled their eyes to see what they wanted to see at the same time letting them know that it was nothing but.
Niccas had passed. He is now with the Blessed Mother. It was time to set his spirit free, honor his memory and lay him to rest. Perhaps it was the love that they all felt for him that awakened the pain in their hearts.
Ah love.
Love could be such a double-edged sword.
Primela entered the house in surprise to find the source of the ruckus.
She finds four men chatting noisily like unruly boys!
She sighed. There they were, conversing like grown men indeed.
Now if she could just recall what she was missing from last night…
She barely made it past the door when splitting pain racked her skull.
The pain threatening to cleave her head in two swiftly traveled down her back and she staggered watching in a strange slow motion as the men all rose from their seats in panic while she dropped weightlessly from the floor, her eyes nothing but slits of white.
“—Ela!”
“Primela!”
Voices calling her from afar…
Hands gripping her for support…
Cold…
The unforgiving cold…
The embrace of death yet again…
~Run, run, Milord!~
~Don’t look back or you’ll fall!~
~The river is treacherous! It’s unforgiving even to its steward!~
~You might lose your divinity!~
~Hold on, Milord!~
The grating sound of a spinning wheel…
Turning…
Revolving…
Never ending…
~My brother doth giveth thee trouble, Son?~
Spinning, grating, turning…
~Giveth him thy body and flee to another.~
Whirling, twirling, screeching….
Grinding to a… halt.
~Mother…~
~It’s up to you now… Urshanabi.~
“Arianrhod,” was the first word she inadvertently gasped out when she had come to startling Osfalt and making the others gasp in relief.
“Oh by the Blessed Mother! You had completely stopped breathing and we couldn’t feel your pulse!” She is still alive, the message was plain and clear from Jaemas. The younger herbalist was pale the most and he was still trembling from his receding state of panic.
“I did?” Primela asked in a weak voice. Her throat had suddenly gone very dry and she was just regaining feeling on her fingers and toes while the rest of her body (her head included) felt heavy and too cumbersome to move. She felt like dead weight.
“Put her on bed.” Osfalt commanded to which both Helias and Ormael scrambled easily to comply.
Zeleo very much wanted to yell and tell them she can handle herself just fine but a flood of memories especially unwanted and disconcerting rushed forth before any sort of protest could escape her lips. The strange encounter with the being that resembled nothing but Death himself kept playing in her head. She was outright frightened and would be at the end of her wits if someone didn’t tell her that it was nothing but a dark atrocious dream.
“Ela?” A worried voice snapped her out of her pondering and she realized she was now lying on bed listlessly.
The shortened version of her made up name calmed her somewhat and she found herself smiling faintly at Jaemas. “Just when have you started calling me that? I don’t recall giving you permission.” She said mock-irately. The ease of authority lacing those words made her mentally cringe that just maybe she had unwittingly blown her cover.
But Jaemas just gave her a sheepish smile flushing ever so slightly. “But Primela is just a bit too long. I’d rather hoped you wouldn’t mind it.”
Osfalt sighed and interrupted their exchange. “Jaemas, I think it’s best to let her have some rest.”
“No!” She immediately argued. One more dream and she would definitely go mad. She needed some fresh air; she needed to ride and even a little walk to clear her head. She was just too confused right now and she feared these strange memories and emotions would devour her whole if she stayed in a confined place. “I mean… I’m fine, I’m fine now. I really am!”
Damn the hysterics! She’s acting just like a damsel in distress.
“Ormaël needs more recovery rest than me.” As if this could make her feel better.
The line forming on Osfalt’s blond brow had gotten deeper by now. He was giving her a calculating gaze like how a physician assesses his patients. The principal herbalist approached and he now stood right next to the bed when she attempted to dangle her feet on the edge. “When was the last time you slept well Ela?”
“Please, I just need to be out of bed. I need to do something to distract me, perhaps a walk in the square would do.” She answered unthinkingly.
“And you’d do no such thing.” Said Helias sternly with his blue-skinned arms crossed. “We’re not that far away and I’m sure the search has already begun.”
“We’ll leave by nightfall.” Ormaël added leaning by the door and not a trace of the sickness he suffered from the nerve gas lingered.
She understood their words plain as day. Reality had come too soon to rob her of her dreams.
The weight of her decision (curse her impulsiveness) had set her to a path where she could never undo it. If she were to return to the castle now, the only thing that awaits her was the wedding and her return to being a prisoner of her duties as royalty and war commander.
~Running away again?~
Her leather-bound sword rattled to the floor where she had left it and she gritted her teeth. But where would she go? She barely knew these men and she was to go with them?
“It’s up to you, my prince. The kingdom is already very unstable and the land once more unsafe. All of us have no clue what is to happen next as the atmosphere of the Dark Decade returns.” Neither had she expected these ominous words come from Ormaël’s lips or the sudden exposure of her real identity.
But who was to blame?
The enigmatic Osfalt may have known from the start. Who would believe a woman mercenary allowed running errands for a king and wearing warrior clothes? That was the most absurd lie she had come up yet.
Still, that didn’t mean she’d readily admit who they think she claims to be. “Whatever happened to sworn secrecy and loyalty, High Priest?”
Ormael’s eyes widened for a moment at the imperiousness of her tone. It neither denied nor supported his address of her.
“This ‘high priest’ was no more than a warlock before his sister christened him to obedience.” Helias predictably spoke for him again.
So they were not much in a different circumstance after all, manipulated to their stations by their siblings. Zeleo almost shook her fists in fury. In fact they were so much alike they could be husband and wife if fate decided to tangle them together! She bristled at the thought. The mention of marriage and men made her skin crawl like a pot of worms!
She forced herself to calm. Orien would scold her childish behavior if the wise mage were here.
Orien…
Her tutor would return to an empty chamber. Right this moment she hadn’t a clue that his name would be the key to bind her to the enigmatic Osfalt.
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Simurg 2