Enflamed (Book 2) (13 page)

XII

Omari snaked his way down a
brush-tangled path. He did not wish to recall the perilous encounter he had
survived only hours before, but he still heard the screams of his convoy, saw
the flash of blades drawn from the shadows, smelled the blood. He squinted at
the night sky, hoping to locate Celestra’s Tear between the clouds, to
determine his direction. But the gods did not favor him, and he continued
walking blindly through the forest. He was alone, but he was confident enough
in his powers that he was not completely helpless—not yet, anyway.

A trilling sound interrupted
his train of thought, and he smiled to the presence keeping to the shadows
beside him.

“No, Percival, we are not
lost. I know exactly where we are going.”

Less-excited trills responded
nervously.

“What? Confound it, I am your
master. How dare you doubt my sense of
direction!
”
Omari felt the weight of Percival’s body, and then
Percival’s tiny claws clung to Omari’s robes as the weasel effortlessly climbed
him and settled on his shoulder. Percival wrapped his long, slender tail around
the back of Omari’s neck, and he softly trilled.

The vibrations tickled Omari’s
shoulder, and he flinched.
“After all we went through earlier, and you are
worried about whether or not I am going the right way?”

A passing wind whistled
between the trees, echoing ghostly sounds. Omari halted to listen. “Confounded
forest,” he grumbled. An uneasy coldness in the air brushed over his face,
causing a brief shiver to travel down his spine.

Clutching a handful of his
robes closer to his body, Omari took another step and stumbled. Percival’s
claws grazed his skin as the weasel held on for dear life. Something sharp
tugged the bottom of his robes, and he heard the sounds of cloth ripping.

“Confound it!” Omari looked
behind him. He couldn’t see the ground in the darkness. He grasped his long,
thin quarterstaff and pulled it from the leather thong that kept it secured to
his back. The weapon lay lightly in Omari’s hands, and he used it to poke at
the unseen hazard. The solid object was rounded, with a rough surface. He
thumped at the thing and heard a hollow sound.
Nothing but
a small log.

Percival trilled nervously and
loosened his claws from Omari’s robes.

Omari was just continuing his
trek when he felt something smacking at his lower shin. He realized his sandal
latchet had come undone. As he knelt down to re-tie it, he heard faint splashes
of water nearby. Relief spread through him as he realized he had found a
possible path to civilization.

Percival, with his nose raised
and twitching, scented the air, hopped off Omari’s shoulder, and scampered
ahead.

Omari continued, following the
sounds while he used his staff to locate small hazards along the path. As the
rushing of the stream grew louder, Omari walked faster, until he came up to a
large clearing, through which a stream raced. Soft, white light reflected off
the water’s surface. Omari looked up and saw portions of the quarter-moon
struggling to break from the clouds. Kneeling at the bank, Omari peered at the
water. In the dim light, he could barely make out his own wavering reflection.
He was tired from the day’s non-stop travel. He dipped his hands into the cold
stream and drank.

Percival slunk to the water’s
edge and sat beside Omari. The moonlight reflected a dull shine on his tawny fur.
He briefly scanned the water with beady eyes, and then his head snapped to the
side, as though he heard something. He quickly skittered away from the bank and
disappeared in a nearby patch of bramble.

Omari flinched as he heard a
high-pitched shrill.
“Percival!
What is going—” He
stopped in mid-sentence, watching the weasel emerge from the tangled brush,
carrying a small, dead mouse in his mouth. He lay beside Omari with the carcass
and hungrily tore into it.

Omari made a face.
“Ugh,
must you eat that thing in front of me? I swear, for as long as we have been
together, I have yet to get used to your eating habits.”

Percival glanced up from his
half-eaten meal and sniffed, focused on something beyond the stream.

The weasel’s sudden movement
startled Omari. He watched his familiar zip across rocks to the other side of
the stream and bolt off into a curtain of underbrush. Omari blinked and quickly
stood.
“Percival!
Where did you go?”
He
felt a soothing sensation ease his mind in response. Percival wasn’t far, and
Omari attuned himself to his familiar’s location by focusing on his thoughts.

Percival stood atop a grassy
hill that sat beyond the veil of underbrush. The hill dropped slightly, and a
small precipice extended from it, overlooking a forest ravine below.

He crawled down to the
precipice and approached its edge carefully. Standing upright on his hind legs,
he surveyed the ravine. He focused on a small flicker of firelight, and he
detected the scent of burning wood. He trilled excitedly.

Withdrawing from Percival’s
mind, Omari took a nervous breath. Then, trying desperately to keep his gaze
focused ahead, he carefully hopped from rock to rock across the stream and
tracked Percival through the patches of shadows until he eventually found his
furry friend. Omari approached cautiously as he scanned the dark lands around
them. He, too, eventually spied the faint, flickering firelight below.
“We
should be careful. They may be the same bandits that attacked us earlier.”

Percival hissed and irritably
arched his back. He cast a quick glance at Omari before edging over the
precipice.

Omari ran to the edge. He
watched Percival navigate down the rocky cliff face with ease.
“You waste no
time wanting to get your revenge, do you?”
Omari smirked at him,
then
secured his staff to his back.
“All
right.
Let us make sure they never harm innocent people again.”

He reached into his belt pouch
and fished for the tiny vial of featherfall potion. After uncorking it with his
thumb, he quickly downed the vial’s colorless, tasteless liquid, and then began
easing himself over the cliff. He looked down and saw nothing but shadows, with
faint spots of moonlight dotting the landscape.

Grunting, Omari dug his hands
into the rocky wall and held on. His heart sank.
Gods, maybe this was not such
a good idea.
Sweat beaded in his palms, and his grasp slipped from the
rocks. He fell, and his heart dropped into his gut.

The fall slowed until his body
felt weightless. During the descent, Omari plucked Percival from the rock face
and tucked him close to his body.

Upon finally landing at the
bottom of the cliff, Omari felt plush grass beneath his feet. The land smelled
rich from the fresh scents of the flora wafting in the cool, crisp air.
Percival wriggled in his arms. Smiling, Omari knelt and set his companion free.
He trailed the weasel and concentrated, becoming one with him once again.

Percival scampered toward the
campsite, sniffing the air and listening as he drew closer. He studied three
sleeping individuals—a large male silver creature, a woman, and a red-haired
man—sprawled out around the small camp. His eyes rested on the largest being,
who
appeared to be the most dangerous of the three.

“Be careful,”
Omari said in Percival’s mind.
“They look
powerful—especially the scaly one.”

Percival responded with an
empathic wave of assurance into Omari’s mind. Keeping a cautious distance from
the three strangers, Percival went from one to another, slyly scouring their
belongings. He paused upon approaching the last of them—the red-haired one.
This young man slept clutching a leather container in his hands. Hesitation and
curiosity stirred in Percival, sensing something strange emanating from within
the bag. Keeping his body low to the ground, Percival began pawing at the bag.

Omari gasped.
“Percival!
Stop that! What are you trying to do?
Wake him up?”

Percival let out a soft whine,
then
responded with another soothing, empathic wave.
He continued his pawing and eventually released a tarnished locket.

“Is that
—
?!”
So
these people must be associated with those bandits we dealt with.

Percival proceeded to retrieve
the locket when a small glass object rolled out of the bag.

It stopped with a sharp clank
against a small rock. Fearful of the orb’s unfamiliarity, Percival left the
locket and quickly returned to Omari.

Withdrawing to his own mind
again, Omari slowly crept toward the locket. The orb, which had rolled near
him, caught his attention. The locket temporarily forgotten, Omari knelt before
the orb and watched its fires swirl within. The continuous dance of the magical
flames intrigued him. Heat emanated from the orb, making him hesitant to touch
it.
Such alluring magic
, he thought. Suddenly, something small whizzed
past his ear, and he felt the breeze on his cheek as it passed his face.
Jerking alert, the orb forgotten, Omari saw a tiny throwing knife lodged in a
tree trunk near him.

“I’d get away from that, if I
were you,” a voice warned from behind him.

Omari whirled around and saw a
short, rough-looking fellow—a brownie, most likely—with another throwing knife
ready in his hand.

Percival trilled irritably,
baring his sharp canines. He arched his long slender back.

“Back away nice an’ easy,” the
brownie said, appearing unintimidated by the weasel. “Or next time, I won’t
miss.”

Where did
he
come from?!
Grasping his quarterstaff, Omari
stepped back in a defensive position. He narrowed his eyes, which crackled with
small electrical sparks. He remembered the locket. “You have something that
belongs to me,” he said to the brownie. “And we have some unfinished business.”

The brownie scowled.
“Fiddler.”
He backed away, taking aim.

Electrical energy channeled
through Omari’s staff, and he sent streaks of lightning surging toward the
brownie, who cried out as all four of his limbs were given a strong electric
jolt.

Dropping his knives, the
brownie fell limply to the ground, twitching from the aftershocks.

The commotion roused the three
sleeping individuals. The large silver creature sprang to his feet and rushed
Omari with surprising speed for his massive size.

“Stop!
Leave him alone!” the giant shouted.

Weary but maintaining his
composure, Omari stood his ground and aimed his staff at the giant.
They all
will pay for stealing her locket. And it is time I exact revenge for what their
band of lowlifes did to my comrades.
“You—all of you confounded bandits
will not harm another innocent person again!” He felt a sharp pang in his mind,
and out of the corner of his eye, he saw Percival scrambling away from him.
Tension emanated from the weasel’s body, and he abruptly sat up on his hind
legs, his elongated body erect and his dark, beady eyes following a moving
silhouette in the sky. Percival scampered away into the shadows as if something
had struck him.

The woman’s attention was
immediately drawn to Omari.
“Bandits?
There must be a
mistake. Who are you? What are you doing in our camp?”

Omari clenched his jaw. “Your
cronies took something valuable from me. I will have it back!”

The woman was about to reply,
when the brownie let out another groan. She turned, rushed to his aid and began
chanting softly.

The red-haired man heaved
himself to his feet and stood groggily, swaying about. He placed his fingers
over his temples and rubbed them, and he grimaced.

“Kaijin, watch out!” the woman
called to the red-haired man.

Omari felt sudden pain, and he
called out to Percival but received no answer. As he was about to try again,
the silver giant lunged at him, clawed hands extended to grapple.

Omari stood his ground,
terrified inside. Desperately, he brought his staff upward and down toward the
creature’s head, then immediately swooped it to his legs, attempting a sweep.

The creature side-stepped away
from the first attack, then smoothly slid back to Omari’s inside on the second,
crowding him. The creature slammed Omari with his body. The weight knocked
Omari backwards; he stumbled and landed on his back.

He crawled back to his feet.
He clenched his fist in front of his face, and as he spied the woman, the
giant, and red-haried man closing in on him, he chanted his reserve spell.
“
Specul imagi
!”
His form multiplied into nine
identical semi-transparent images of himself. The images all rushed at the
giant.

He began wrestling with the
images, which tackled him and struck at him. Though the attacks literally went
right through him, he stumbled and fell, still flailing at the ghostly images
even as they began to fade.