Jamryn Darkblood
Jamryn was an inquisitive boy. He lived with his family in a small village next to a marvelous timber. He awoke, every day, bright eyed and exuberant. His father was a logger, and his mother was a healer. The boy was too little to swing an axe, so his mother had him help with the herbs in the garden every morning. After he did his chores, he would run into the forest to explore, waving as his mother implored him to take care.
He had found dozens of hidden pools out in the woods, with cool, clean water. Most of the trees had felt his feet in their higher branches. Jamryn had explored day after day, finding animal dens and mysterious plants and even crystal formations. The boy’s favorite thing to explore, however, were caves.
The woods here were wild, vibrant, and they held myriad secrets. Once he had even found an abandoned, overgrown temple. The caves created no fear within the boy. He had learned early in life to let his eyes adjust to the dark. He went barefoot, feeling gently into the dark to avoid sharp rock formations and water. There was danger in water, he had been warned.
One day in early autumn, Jamryn found a new cave, a couple miles into the forest from his little village. Without pause, he plunged in on calloused feet until the dark was mostly absolute, then hunkered down to wait. His eyes adjusted, and he moved further into the dark. As he delved deeper, he began to hear drips of water, and the startled flapping of bats disturbed by his proximity. He had no fear of bats, for he had often disturbed their daytime slumber without incident.
After perhaps an hour of his creeping about, he was surprised to note that the dark was lightening as he moved deeper. A smile graced his face, and he moved a bit faster, then faster still when the light grew bright enough for him to see where he was placing his feet. Suddenly, the path before him fell away and he stood upon a precipice. On the ceiling was a sort of orb, glowing with brilliant light between the stalactites. The orb was above a rounded depression, and below, in the middle, Jamryn could see a little fire and a person near it. He had never met a person living in a cave, he thought as his pulse pounded his excitement in his ears.
There was a path down from where he stood. It was not quite stairs, but rather boulders arrayed in a way to make natural climbing holds. He plotted a tentative route for just a moment before launching himself into a rapid descent. The boulders were of a perfect size for him to traverse without danger of injury. He was soon walking down the brightly lit depression to the person in the center, who had turned from the fire to watch his approach. He saw then a large kettle over the fire, blending the steam of its contents with the rising smoke of the fire. His stomach grumbled suddenly, and he pulled the miniature loaf of bread his mother made him carry on his excursions.
“Hello!” He said to the stranger as he followed a smooth path to the fire. As he neared, he noted her long raven hair, streaked with grey, framing a pale face over a black dress and grey cloak. She smiled and waved.
“Well, hello, dear! Not so often a young lad treks this deep in a dank old cave, is it?” She called to him. He chuckled and shrugged as he chewed a bite of bread.
“I like to see what there is to see.” He replied when he had swallowed. It was dreadfully impolite to speak with one’s mouth full, he knew. She laughed and spread her arms, one of which terminated in a hand that gripped a long wooden spoon.
“See what you may, little explorer. And welcome to my cavern. I am Delanna Trant. ‘Tis so good to have company. Already you brighten the air!”
“I am Jamryn, and thanks! Are you hungry? You can have some of my bread.” He held the remains of the little loaf out to her. She laid a hand on her chest and sniffed.
“What a sweet boy! No, my dear. You had better have that. I have soup cooking here. Would you like some when it is done? Come, come! Bread cannot be enough for a growing explorer like you. Come, pull up a boulder!” She cackled, gesturing with the spoon to a boulder near the fire. He came and sat while she turned to stir her soup.
As he neared, he noted her possessions were laid out upon a sort of hutch. There was a pile of four bowls next to a row of four spoons. Beside that was an open box filled with little glass vials like the ones his mother kept her herbs in. Next to that, in turn, was a large leatherbound book held open with a large crystal. The light of the orb overhead glistened and refracted within it.
Delanna hummed as she cooked, then scooped a generous helping into one of the stacked bowls.
“Here you are, boy. Eat up, there’s plenty.” He took the offered soup and blew on it as she filled a bowl for herself. She laid her stirring spoon across the lip of the kettle and plopped down upon another boulder to eat. Jamryn stirred the soup and took a scathing bite. Despite the burn his tongue suffered, the soup was very good. A warmth spread across his belly, and he began to talk, telling the woman of all his favorite places in the forest. She listened with a smile. The boy ate three bowls before begging off, a hand on his belly.
“I can’t eat any more, Delanna. Not another bite!” He said, handing her the bowl and spoon.
“Very well, Jamryn. How was it?”
“Oh, it was good! Very good.” He looked at the path he would have to climb out of here. “I think I should go, though, before I get too sleepy to find my way back. Dad doesn’t like me to sleep in the forest. He says the night brings danger.”
“He sounds very wise. But please, young Jamryn… I haven’t had company in years. Allow me to thank you for filling my cavern with words and laughter. What could I do to help you, young man?” Jamryn thought hard for a moment. He thought of his village, and of his parents. He saw, with his mind’s eye, his father in his sweat-darkened tunic, walking back to town with his axe over his shoulder and his sled stacked high with wood. He saw his mother, hands stained with soil and bleeding from thorns. He saw coins handed to the taxman, and the worried frown on his father’s face when they shook hands. After a long moment, he answered:
“I want to help my parents, and our village. They work so hard, and it’s never enough. Can you help me bring money to them, that they relax?” Delanna smiled and wiped a tear from her eye.
“Such a sweet boy. I think this may do. Alas, I have no fortune myself, but my father left me this necklace. The gold and silver have much value, they used to say. Have it, sweet babe. Take it to your parents, that they may sell it and live a little while they can.” She reached into a pocket on the inside of her cloak and handed him a necklace with silver inlays upon a gold pendant. The lovely, old heirloom hung on a thin leather cord.
“I couldn’t!” Jamryn gasped, eyes wide. “I can’t take something your father gave you!” Delanna chuckled and pressed the pendant into his hand.
“Oh, take it, dear boy. Between you and I, I didn’t like him much. Mean to my ma, you know?” Jamryn looked at the heirloom, then hugged the woman. “Just come back and visit, I’ll be here. Now go, before the dark comes.” He stepped back and thanked her, then began the journey back home.
He thought nothing of the bats flapping by him as he moved through the cave. The dark came as a surprise when he came to the exit. It was a bright night, however: the moon hung full, and the trees thinned near the cave. The way back home was straight, but he grew sleepy and stopped for a break. He nestled in between a pair of thick tree roots and put on the necklace, slipping it under his tunic for safekeeping. Sleep took him by surprise, and he awoke to a well-lit cool morning. Alarmed, he leapt to his feet and hurried along.
Jamryn slowed as he neared the edge of the forest. A haze of smoke and ash filled the air. Dread settled into his chest as he walked out of the trees. The haze hung in the still of the morning like a thick, acrid fog. The village revealed itself to him slowly as the haze rolled over itself. The cottages were reduced to the blackened bones of charred timber.
Never had he felt so alone or vulnerable as when he was walking through his broken home.
He tripped over something, bent, and was almost sick. It was a bloody, severed arm. He did not recognize it. He walked slowly through the town, clutching the amulet Delanna had given him. When he found his parents, he wept and threw himself down in the burned garden beside their bodies. The day was spent in tears and ashes. He did not move as night came but slept sporadically beneath the moon. Every time he awoke, he thought he had dreamed the smoke and the bodies, but there they were. He looked into his mother’s lifeless eyes and sobbed himself back to sleep.
A wind rose in the night, blowing away the smoke. The next day dawned chilly and bright. Jamryn wandered for a bit, finding himself in the forest. His mind was too dulled by his loss for him to care, however, so he allowed his dirty bare feet to move him where they willed. And so it was that he reentered Delanna’s cave.
His mind was far from his body. The bat wings were not heard, and his footsteps were not careful. He slashed his foot on a jagged stone and kept walking, the pain of each step dull and distant. The red steps he left behind were lost in the dark. When it came time to climb down to the basin that Delanna called home, he fell and collapsed at the bottom with more cuts and bruises. He began to cry again and crawled over to where she stood by her kettle, watching him flounder in his despair.
“Dear Jamryn! Why do you weep? Oh my, you’re hurt. Come, let me see.” He did not consider the origin of the water she bathed his wounds with, nor the bandages she bound his foot with. The boy stared unseeing, and told her of his village. When he finished, he held out the amulet. She took it with a deep frown.
“I want to avenge them. Will you help me?” He asked.
“Vengeance, eh? You don’t know the price.”
“I’ll pay it.” He said, gritting his teeth and standing on his bandaged foot. His face was a thundercloud as he peered into her eyes. She pursed her lips, then shrugged.
“Very well, sweet boy. Rest, and heal. I’ll get you what you need.” She busied herself at her hutch and he curled up near the fire. The previous night’s fitful sleep had left him tired, so he quickly fell into a deep slumber.
Delanna shook him awake sometime later. Beneath the glowing orb, he could not discern time, but he felt well rested despite the hard ground he had rested upon.
“Come, Jamryn. I have what you need.” The boy rose and she handed him a sword.
The pommel of the weapon had a likeness of an openmouthed, horned man. Rubies were inlaid in its eyes. The open mouth had twisted the demonic figure’s face into a scream. The handle was wrapped in leather, and well worn. The crossguard was simple, a mere shaft of metal running perpendicular to the handle. The blade was two feet in length and covered in a black leather sheath. She handed it to him, taking a knee to meet his height. He took it, surprised by the weight.
“It’s light.” He murmured as he slipped the blade a couple inches from the scabbard. Runes lined the tang of the blade, and he noticed odd figures seeming to move upon the surface of the steel. The edge was honed.
“Aye. A light blade for a young man. Promise you’ll be careful.”
“I will.” He said, then belted it on. “I’ll be back when I’ve laid the killers to rest.” He said, then left the cave.
~
Flies had descended upon the village when he returned. The smell of rot overpowered the stench of the flames that had blazed. He went to his parents and knelt to swear his vengeance to them. They did not answer, so he stood and set about finding his foes. His heart felt empty, and he reasoned that this was as it should be. He had wept much and now felt cold. A young boy with a light blade, he found the tracks of horses and followed them north. Two days later, the tracks turned onto a heavily trodden game trail through the timber. Jamryn followed, and another day brought him to his foes’ camp.
The men were dirty and the stink of them was nauseating. Bandits. Jamryn grimaced as he watched them from a nearby copse of trees. Night fell, and they grew wild with drink. They sang and fought and most of them slept. He watched deep into the night, keeping his eye on an archer that was keeping watch.
The man was patrolling the perimeter of the camp, an arrow nocked but not drawn. Jamryn learned the man’s route, then drew the blade as quietly as he could. The sound of the blade sliding from the scabbard seemed shrill and loud, but the man did not notice. The boy let the man do another circuit, then waited for the opportune moment: the man passed the stand of trees at a distance of ten feet, maybe twelve. Once he was past the brush, Jamryn went on the attack.
Barefoot, the boy made no noise as he closed on the bandit, even as he ran the last four steps. The extra speed helped him thrust the sword into the man’s gut. Jamryn was not prepared for what came next, however.
The blade slid through the man, and time froze. The bandit’s arms flew to the sides, the nocked arrow was dropped, but it stopped, suspended in air. Then, everything faded except the sword. The camp faded around him, the bandit grew transparent, and eventually disappeared. The blade was coated in blood and began to vibrate. Jamryn heard a series of slurping sounds, then a contented sigh. The blood began to fade, only that wasn’t right. Rather, it seemed to be drawn into the blade, sucked into the blade. Next, a strange sense of fulfillment spread over the boy, followed by a feeling of strength in his arms and chest.
And then the man was back, and his arrow hit the ground with a soft tap. He exhaled, and Jamryn yanked the blade out with his newfound strength. Without a pause, he spun around and slashed the man, bisecting him. A pregnant silence prevailed after the bandit’s body fell to the ground, the top half landing a foot to the left of the corpse’s waist. The air that remained in the bandit’s lungs leaked out of his throat, bubbling amidst a quantity of blood with a gentle gurgle, like a leisurely babbling brook. Jamryn let out the breath he’d been holding and peered around. He moved to the nearest man. Stinking of soured ale and snoring, he did not wake up when the blade pierced his throat. Jamryn spent the rest of the hour sneaking through the camp, opening throats. With each kill, he felt a strange humming coming from the blade. His work done, Jamryn walked back to Delanna’s cave.
~
Twenty years later, Jamryn returned to the cave. The sword was still on his hip, and his body was encased in jagged steel plate. He carried a burlap sack, browned with dried blood. He walked through the cave and climbed down to the witch’s lair. Beneath her Orb of Light, he presented her with the contents of the sack: a blood covered book.
“Ah yes. Is this the wizard’s blood?”
“Aye.” Replied Jamryn Darkblood. “He was loathe to relinquish his spell book. He was easier parted with his life.” Delanna cackled, then shrugged.
“Court wizards are all the same. They think their secrets are all worth dying for. And the castle?”
“Depopulated. No one remains, no one escaped. Not even the king.”
“Ah, sweet boy. Chaos will reign, you know. There will be war. The realm cannot abide an empty throne.” Jamryn shrugged. “I agree, my dear. Come, have some soup. I may have found your next target.”
Comments