"The Legend of Ael: Celtic" by Jermaine Leroy Joseph

3:

From high in the mountains that grew from the swamp, a village poked its sleepy head from within its stone walls, the remains of a flag long forgotten floating in a ripple with the wind, hanging from the highest watchtower. It was quiet, this village. The number of its occupants a small, but well appreciated one hundred and fifty. Mostly they were old, and if not, they were getting there. One or two actually held some dim remembrance of what the flag had stood for. It had hung for so long that what colour it had had was faded to a near nothing. It was really a colourless cloth that flapped in the dismal winds, a faint fist and eagle barely visible even looked at closely. The Lonely Village, for that was its name, had been there long. Before the city had fallen, stragglers from other places had come to the mountains, aware that an end of sorts approached. They had not been wrong. An end had come. But, perhaps as punishment for fleeing, they had been allowed to survive. Oh, the old people believed that they had survived through their own plans and reasoning, but many of the adults and some children understood that it was a punishment. If they had wanted to live so much then they could, as well as in such a desolate land. There had been many suicides. Just looking at the world showed that there was nothing to live for. And worse, a storm was coming the oldest of them said. It was funny that. Kartha had not seen rain for generations.
Yet, as the wind blew, it caught upon the pale blue cloak of a young woman that gazed down at the maze of rock and bog, and the lake that spread beyond the mountains, caught it and sent it fluttering wildly, like her thoughts that maybe, just maybe, a storm of some kind was already above them. With a sad smile, Rosa Stone pulled her cloak about her and shivered. She had no idea why she had gotten these feelings about the future, but they seemed right nonetheless and who was she to doubt them. It was mightily cold up here, on the walls of the city and such weather led to dark thoughts she had learned. Besides, she had no idea what had made her wake and come here, and she avoided cursing her stupidity at not wearing more. A cotton shirt could keep no person warm in this village. Not on the wall, anyway.
Once again she found her eyes drawn to the Cider Lake and her hazel eyes narrowed into slits. Down there was the Wild. She knew that for certain. Had, in fact, been taught that lesson six years ago, on her tenth birthday. The Wild had taken her father, she was sure. He had not returned that day, or on any other. But he too had thought that something was coming. Now she had the feeling, Rosa was frightened she too might become restless, leaving to village and entering the world of the Wild. Gord help her if that happened, she knew. But somehow the thought still held a strange appeal to her that had woken her early every day, for the last two years. Down there something else waited for her. And whether it was death or adventure she didn’t mind. Anything was preferable to committing suicide, as others had before her, bored of their pitiful existence. Yes, that was her excuse. She would keep telling herself that she wanted nothing to change in her life, that she wanted none of what might come. It was all lies, true, but they put her at some measure of ease. Until those rare occasions that she gazed on what the world beyond had become. As far as she knew, everything in existence was a wasteland, and the village was the last haven, if a haven it was. It was better than the Wild, of course but her future, she was sure and frightened of, lay down there, beyond the walls. Beyond the Cider Lake.
The Cider Lake was really the end of a large swamp, she knew, having seen a map once when she was five. It was a body of dark water jutting with shards of black glass like sharp teeth, blacker, in truth, than the land from which they spawned. Sometimes there were rumours of a pale man walking on its broken surface, humming a melody long lost. Even the creatures in the Wild avoided this part of the land. It was the natural defence of the village, so to speak. Weeping willows seemed to waltz in the shaded murk, untouched by the glass that was sharp enough to fillet fish, Rosa had heard. She could see them now, hustled together, in and around the lake, their stunted braches seeming to caress the dank air, sweeping meaninglessly in the arid winds. As with the rest of Kartha, few dared to walk by the Cider Lake to venture into the swamp beyond, as her father had obviously done unless rumours of the pale man taking travellers were true. Few cared to try its twisted pathways, seemingly woven by nature drunk on insanity. But it was to be expected that few would. No man was like her father, and she was the closest thing to such a person. Besides, it was a scary place, the land of Kartha. Sometimes it seemed to cry, so it did, its banks spilling deadly glass infected waters towards the village. It was, by rote and understanding, a haunted place.
“I have to go back down into the swamps.” Rosa turned, her eyes perhaps portraying a measure of her unease. The storm might bring rain, and it might not, but there was a might big one coming all the same, though she could not fully understand what a storm was, having never witnessed one. With a sad smile, she turned from her new friend, remembering how the female mage had come to the Lonely Village, not a week back.

The wind tugged at Rosa’s blue cloak as she dashed to her house, glad for the fact that she had worn her faded jeans instead of the skirt that her aunt had insisted she wear. The house would be empty, she knew, her aunt having gone to speak to the elders about her niece’s reluctance to find a suitor within the compounds. It was a foolish notion, and one that had set Rosa into a rage once or twice within the past fortnight. When Aunt Gen spoke it was never as one adult to another, no matter if it was one of the elders that she addressed. Her single tone of voice matched her seemingly ancient opinions. Always condescending and full of scorn, as it had been since her father had disappeared, and her aunt had been forced to take her on, and been refused admittance to the title of being one of the Eldest. It had often dawned on Rosa that she had always been the butt of her aunt’s hatred, for it did seem that the old woman hated everything besides her old mangy wolfhound. Obviously, the old woman blamed her for all that had happened since her sixth birthday. But that was alright, and it was more than alright. After all, didn’t Rosa blame her aunt for the death of her mother? She barely remembered the face of her mother, but she did know that she had been loved once more than her father had loved her, and losing such unconditional feelings towards her made Rosa understand that nothing was good in life. Her aunt had been there when her mother died, before she had even turned three. What had occurred that day was something she had yet to find out, but somehow she had been able to tell that her aunt was responsible in some way.
As she drew near her house, a ten minute sprint away from the boundaries of the village, Rosa slowed her pace, hating the way that she had almost forgotten her reason for rushing home through her ill feelings towards her spiteful aunt. Someone was approaching the village and even Terka with his quick eyes, who had always doted on her, had been blind to the stranger’s coming. But she had seen the person, staggering from the Wild and the Cider Lake while, before her very eyes, the dark waters had roiled as though in pursuit. Then she had begun to run. As she opened the door to her house, ignoring the medicinal smell that she now referred to as Old Woman’s Sweat, Rosa swept the small room with her eyes before leaping over the worn armchair, flinging off her cloak in haste. Crashing into the small oaken table that sat centred in the main room, she then proceeded to swear loudly, look about in embarrassment and rush into her room where, hidden beneath her bed in a box decorated with ornate patterns was her father’s old Winchester rifle. Taking it out, reverently, Rosa stared for a minute and turned to face her aunt.
“To think that your father would have left ye such a thing, child, and that you’d be foolish enough to handle such a damned thing. The tools of old are for mischief and death, so I say. I’ll hide it where it’s proper.” The tone was again condescending, setting Rosa to grit her teeth. How her aunt had known that somewhere inside the house she still kept her father’s writings and his old gun were beyond her, but it did not surprise her. But, she forewarned herself with an urge to smile, she would not give up her father’s gun; a door to memory and the past, not ever. She watched silently as her aunt came forwards, hand outstretched as though offering a boon or was pleading for food. This thought did make her smile though she felt dull rage rising up inside her. Perhaps, something of what she had been feeling this week, something of her restlessness showed in her face, in the rise of her breast and the high colour of her cheeks. Maybe there was something in her eyes that made her aunt pause of a sudden, a frown creasing already crumpled features. It made her look absurdly avian, like the vultures that her father had spoken of before. “Your uncle will be back from the conclave soon, and he’ll not take lightly to such moods child. Why d’ye smile? Are ye ill?” Running a gnarled hand through her white hair, her rheumy eyes strangely alight, Auntie Gen, once called Jennifer in a time too long ago, eyed her niece and went to spit before realising where she was.
“No, I’m fine and not ill at all though it might seem so to you, aunt. And uncle can only punish me with lengthy conversations on propriety, though in this life I can see no need for old ways.” Rosa hefted the rifle and checked to see if it was loaded. It was. “I’ve business with Terka. He’ll show me how to shoot so he says.” She saw her aunt’s eyes narrow in suspicion, and then widen gleefully when she realised that her niece might be on her way to finding a suitor after all.
“So you say,” the old woman frowned and then shrugged. “But you’ll have to marry sooner than later, and you can’t be leading such a fine young man such as Terka, no ye cannot. If I was your age-”
“Were you ever my age Aunt Gen?” Rosa cut in witheringly, her eyes going hard. “Nay, maybe not that any can remember. I am not you and am glad for it. Let me be.” With uncanny speed her aunt was before her, gripping the gun with one hand and slapping her, all the while shrieking.
“You would speak so to me! Would ye? Would ye? You would speak so to me? Would ye?” Over and over again until, that was, Rosa pushed her away, levelling the gun at the old woman. “Would ye?” Aunt Gen muttered in disbelief. With her mind’s eye Rosa frowned, not understanding either her manner or her motions. She would never have thought of levelling a gun at someone, let alone her own blood yet here she stood, the dark cyclopean eyed barrel of the Winchester rifle almost kissing her aunt. First kiss in double my years, she thought with a mental giggle. She wondered what was wrong with her. Feeling upset, and guilty, Rosa opened her mouth to say sorry.
“I may not be back for supper Aunt Gen. Wait not for me.” Still frowning, she dashed out of her room. If something was coming to the village, and to Kartha, she wanted to have choice of what became of her. Without a doubt, she understood that saving the stranger was the beginning of something that spelt an ultimate change. “I doubt I’ll stay long anyway.”

Bringing herself from recent memories Rosa turned to the mage and grinned, wishing she had worn jeans again.
“I know you do, but what I can’t understand is what gave you your injuries.” Rosa looked at the broken world beyond the walls of the village, her grin turning into a grimace. “I feel that this thing will be the end of us all.” The woman nodded, brushing strands of brunette hair from her face as she too gazed outwards. Not at the swamp, no. The stranger seemed to be looking into and beyond the land. A faint smile touched her lips.
“Perhaps…” And that was all she replied. After awhile she said. “Tell me again, since I can’t remember: How did I come here? Tell me what you saw.”
“You were bleeding, and that’s ascertain. But you were sharp eyed, and carrying a sword that was bent, though I’ve never seen metal turned so.” Rosa closed her eyes, still able to feel the woman shiver beside her as though some recollection chilled her more than the winds. “I came out of the wall by an entrance I’d found years back,” she said with a faint smile, her tone of pride tainted by what must come next. “I snuck out, aware that you were coming. I did not know who you were or what, yet there was a thing about that day that…”
“Spoke of change?” Rosa nodded and opened her eyes, grateful for the mage’s understanding.
“And that when you saw me, waiting as though I’d been expecting you, with the gun aimed above you and I shouted out:

Duck, down now!” Although her heart was pounding fit to burst from her breast and fly into the distance, Rosa held the rifle steady, one eye half closed as she aimed and fired before the words were even formed in her mouth. By some obscure chance the person – she saw that it looked to be a woman, though it was hard to tell under all the blood and grime – had fallen down, crashing under the weight of her body, her legs buckling. The loud snap-crack of the rifle sent shudders through her shoulder, but she smiled wildly, exhilarated as the round tore through the eye of the huge creature thrashing through the Cider Lake like lightning. With the flat of her palm she reloaded the rifle as quickly as she could, shouldered the gun and sighted, waiting. She did not have to pause long. Before the woman had even risen from where she had tumbled the creature rose from the dank waters, dripping shards of glass like sweat. For the first time since sneaking out, Rosa’s mind registered what had seemingly been born from the Cider Lake and her fearful mind recoiled. Three rows of huge teeth jutted from a demonic maw of a mouth, its tongue thrusting and seeking, an eye staring eerily from its tip. Razor sharp scales covered its bestial eyes; eyes that seemed incredibly human. Frail arms made ladders down its snakelike sides.
The barest second she paused, her shock making her knees weak, and then the creature was diving down toward her, its serpentine body rippling with poison. She would have cried out but in the bare seconds that followed, her body seemed to have shut down. How could such a fiend stay hidden all these long years?
She should have died then but the stranger was not of Kartha. A bright flare of light proclaimed the jet of magic that jolted from the stranger’s outstretched hands. The head of the creature turned like the head of a whip, quick enough to make it seem like no attack had ever come Rosa’s way. But it was nowhere near as fast as the injured woman, who moved to one side like the shadow of a shadow, streaks of fire spurting into the remaining eye of the beast. The roar that emanated from the creature sounded like dry leaves on glass, sending the hairs of Rosa’s neck up like quills. And yet, once again she felt not fear but rage rising inside her, making her yell as she shouldered the gun and took aim, waiting for the right shot. She’d made up her mind already as to where she must shoot but what she needed was the right angle. What she needed was…
“I need to blind it!” She shouted above the cries. Almost impossibly, the strange magic wielder understood. But then that was to be expected. She was, after all, a person that could use what she would have thought was just for fairytales.
“It is blinded. We need to get behind that town’s walls.” Town…? If she had been in another place, at another time such a statement would have caused her to fall over, laughing herself near apoplexy. But the statement caused her to bristle now. How could this woman be so stupid?
“No, it’s not. I need to blind it.” Thinking of a way to get her point across, Rosa poked her tongue out at the woman, hoping that the mage understood. Immediately the woman dashed towards her, leading the creature up the slope and towards her. Again the fear gripped her as she witnessed the huge monstrosity smash through rock as though unaware that there was even stone there. Once more she found herself puzzled by how something so large could stay hidden from view. And if this… this thing could stay hidden then could the rumours of the man walking on the surface of the Cider Lake not be true?
“I… sure hope you can… shoot that thing.” I’ve not done that bad so far saving you, have I? But these thoughts scattered when the woman spun on a heel, ducking below the thundering creature’s huge wedge shaped head with blue fire making crazy halos about her hands. With a lithe grace Rosa found herself envying, the woman thrust out her hands, crouching as the head lowered to flatten her. With an explosion brighter than Kartha’s green sky at noon, the mage’s hands seemed to ignite, sparking streaks of lightning into the unprotected throat of the fiend. Again the roar came but, caught in her own zone of readiness, Rosa barely noticed. She allowed her eyes to close halfway, as though falling asleep, and then the barest twitch of her finger she took the shot, squeezing the trigger with her mouth set in a line, seemingly stencilled onto her features. She had time to think that maybe, just maybe, she had missed. After all, she had only practised firing the Winchester on pieces of wood, and old tin cans, and not on eyes hanging from the tips of an elongated tongue. She had time to think: Gord smile on me, I’ve missed. And then, with a sound that reverberated through the passes of the mountains nearby, and in the swamplands down the paths from the village, the moment was complete. Gord smile on me!
Though her thoughts ran like lightning, and the round travelled seemingly as quick, the worry seemed to slow down time. Born of her own values of her skills, it was the worry and the fear that if she missed, and she was almost certain that nothing else could happen, then the woman would die and, frozen in shock, the creature would come for her.
And, as she secretly hoped and somehow suspected, her fears were unjustified. Though she did not hit the eye, the round continued on, down the gullet of the beast and, though she had not known (but would take credit for in the future) the round had hit the brain of the monstrosity. With a sound like thunder, though Rosa didn’t know it to give it a name, the creature fell, its tongue still wagging fitfully in crazed jaws, and with a shriek alike that her Aunt Gen had given earlier, the serpentine fiend lay still.
With a strange sobering of her mind, Rosa dropped the rifle to the floor and ran to the swaying figure, retching as she went, aware now that the people of the Lonely Village watched on, some cheering and others silent in their disapproval. They would obviously want to know how she got in and out of the village in the first place. Reaching the woman as she began to sag, she cradled the stranger in her arms and frowned, seeing the strange cross shaped pendant lying about her neck. Something about it brought back memories.
“We’re well met, you and me.” The mage opened her eyes and Rosa smiled. They were the sort of eyes that made you want to grin and feel at ease, although they could not hide the pain and power that lay beneath the veneer of her persona. “Guess you can shoot.” The woman looked at her side and saw the gash that Rosa had seen upon even exiting the village walls. It looked mighty deep, and stretched all the way from her abdomen to her lower back. “What’s your name?” She grunted.
“Rosa. Rosa Stone.” Pulling them down to sit on the path awhile, Rosa stared into the distance and saw, she imagined, a bright flash of white, like a miniature sun, flare in the sky and disappear. “…And you?” For a moment the woman also watched the sky, a faint twist to her lips that was either a grimace or a delighted smile through pain. Perhaps it was both, but Rosa wasn’t interested. She wanted answers to questions she did not have. She wanted to know…
“My name…?” The mage hugged her tighter, covering her jeans and shirt with blood. Rosa looked upon it and disregarded the fact in seconds. “I’m S-”

“You fainted then, though you’d never think it looking upon you now. You’re recovered and in only a four days too.” The mage nodded. “Can I ask you something?” Again the woman nodded, brushing her dark locks aside. For an instant Rosa found herself prone to jealousy. The woman was quite pretty. Obviously more so than herself, in her opinion, but for now she did have a question to ask. “What did you find that broke you so?” The woman turned aside slightly and rubbed the scar with tense fingers. Somehow, most likely through her magic Rosa expected, the stranger had healed abnormally quick.
“Would you listen if I spoke, Rosa?”
“You’re teasing me. It is our custom to ask when we speak of things past. So say the Eldest.” A wry smile came to the mage and Rosa frowned, unaware that she was pouting.
“The Eldest also forbid any to leave the village at any time but you did that, didn’t you?” Chuckling, the woman leaned against the wall and eyed the village, built seemingly into the mountain itself. “It was not a creature. And I fear that if I do not leave soon then…” the woman hesitated and shrugged. “Tell me, what have you heard about the city beyond the mountains?”
“Not much,” Rosa reluctantly admitted. “Just stories about magic and…” Shaking her head Rosa smiled. “The Wild has hold in the City, and none can break such a power.” The mage raised an eyebrow.
“There are some. And I’ve a feeling you might meet one in the distant future. And it may not be a meeting you’d like.” She laughed and then rubbed the side of her nose. Rosa had come to see that the woman did this when thinking of what to say. “And then again, maybe you might. Go on, you were saying”
“Well, there’s the same as inside the Temple, where you came from though I doubt the description, and that’s only if you believe the stories.” The white light flashing within the swamp made her blink, distracting her. It was probably glass.
“And what is that?” For some reason, she seemed strangely fearful and Rosa shivered. Hadn’t the mage gotten deep inside the Temple? Where then were the creatures he father had told her of?
“They hide by the statues and live in the swamplands by the Temple, since no light goes there. They-”
“Rosa, I think I know what you speak of, and I pray that I’m wrong.” Her new friend looked to either side and shuddered. “At least Terka is not here to hear me speaking. But I fear, Rosa Stone, and when I fear there is, usually a terrible horizon to come.” All emotion seemed to drain from the mage’s face. “It is a good thing that Terka is not here to hear me.”
“Why?” Seeing a strange looked come over the mage’s face Rosa began to think that maybe it would have been better to wear the jeans after all.
“Since you seem so insistent on having a choice with what comes,” she said slowly, a smile dimpling her cheeks. “How would you like to go on a trip?"