A Banner Torn (Book 1 Complete)

Kaelid:

He stood on the riverbank, his small pack filled with supplies: bread and cheese wrapped in cloth, water skins from the village well, a borrowed knife, and a rope he'd found in his uncle's shed. The morning sun filtered through the leaves, casting dappled patterns on the ground and water. Birds called to each other from both sides of the river, oblivious to the boundary humans had imposed.

"Are you sure about this?" Rannek asked, his confidence wavering. "We could get in trouble if they find out."

He hesitated, his own doubts surfacing. The forest looked different today, more imposing, its shadows deeper despite the bright sun.

"We won't go far," he promised, reassuring himself as much as Rannek. "Just enough to see if there's anything like what I dreamed. If we don't find it quickly, we'll head back."

Rannek nodded, his expression determined. His usual quick smile was replaced by serious lines. "Alright. How do we cross? The bridge is too visible. Someone might see us and tell them where we went."

Kaelid pointed downstream to a fallen tree spanning the river. Its smooth, pale trunk offered a makeshift bridge against the dark water. The water was shallow enough at the far end for them to wade through.

They stayed low, keeping out of sight of any villagers who might be watching from their eastern windows. The old tree, weathered but solid, seemed sturdy enough to him.

"I'll go first," he decided, dropping to his hands and knees for balance. The rough wood pressed into his palms, splinters threatening his skin. "Follow when I'm halfway across."

The crossing was nerve-wracking but exhilarating, a physical manifestation of their decision to break the rules. The wood creaked beneath his weight, vibrations traveling up his hands and knees. Reaching the other side, he slid into the cold water, which soaked through his boots and pants.

"It's not too deep, But it's cold!" he called back to Rannek, who was now crossing, his face set in concentration.

Dripping and breathless, they stared at the forest. It was no longer a distant sight but an overwhelming presence.

"We did it," Rannek said softly, a note of wonder in his voice.

He nodded, a mix of excitement and fear making it hard to speak. The forest edge was just yards away, the trees like ancient guardians, their branches reaching toward a distant sky.

"Which way?" Rannek asked, looking to him for direction, water dripping from his soaked boots.

He closed his eyes, recalling his dream. His father had led him along a riverbank, then deeper into the forest. A rock formation had marked the turn. His father's warm hand had guided him.

"Follow the river until you find three boulders," he said, pointing upstream. "Then we turn into the forest."

They kept close to the tree line, not yet venturing into the woods. The ground was softer here, covered in moss and leaves that muffled their footsteps. Each step released the scent of decay and renewal, the forest's endless cycle. The air smelled of damp earth and growing things, with an ancient, unfamiliar note that made his skin prickle.

"Do you think there could be monsters?" Rannek asked after a while, his voice hushed as he scanned the shadows for any sign of movement.

Kaelid considered the question. Stories warned of creatures in the eastern forest, of men who ventured in and never returned, or returned changed in unexplainable ways.

"I don't know," he admitted. "Uncle Doran never talks about what he saw, but sometimes he wakes up in fear at at night. Mother says he fights old battles in his dreams."

"My mother says the same about some of the veterans," Rannek nodded, stepping carefully over a fallen branch. "They brought the war home with them."

They continued, their conversation shifting to lighter topics: their victory over Hewitt in the square, their plans for building a fort in the autumn, and stories they'd heard in the gathering hall. But his attention remained divided; part of him engaged with Rannek, while the other scanned the forest edge for the marker from his dream.

The sun climbed higher, casting golden light through the canopy. Small creatures rustled in the undergrowth, and the birdsong here sounded different, more varied and complex. After about an hour, he spotted it: three boulders stacked precariously, just as he'd seen in his dream. He stopped abruptly, causing Rannek to bump into him.

"There," he pointed, his heart racing. "That's the marker."

The boulders stood like sentinels, moss-covered and ancient, their surfaces etched with strange symbols. They seemed impossibly balanced, the largest at the bottom, the smallest at the top, defying gravity.

Rannek stared, a mix of awe and trepidation on his face. "Are you sure? It could be a coincidence."

"I'm sure," he insisted, moving toward the formation. His certainty surprised even himself, but he knew, bone-deep, that this was the place from his dream. "This is where we enter the forest."

A barely visible path, a slight depression in the undergrowth, led them between ancient trees whose trunks were wider than the boys' outstretched arms could encircle. Their branches formed a dense canopy, casting the forest floor in perpetual twilight. Silence fell upon them as they ventured deeper, their earlier banter forgotten. The sounds of the river faded, replaced by the rustling of leaves, distant bird calls, and the gentle whisper of the breeze. Though peaceful, the quiet held a tense, watchful quality that made the hairs on his neck stand on end.

"How much further?" Rannek whispered, their shoulders brushing, a reassuring contact in the dimness.

"Not far," Kaelid assured him, though he wasn't entirely certain. The marker from his dream had been clear, but the distance beyond it was vague. Yet, an inner certainty pulled them forward, a sense of drawing closer. "The clearing should be just ahead."

They pushed on, the path winding between trees and around massive roots. The light began to change, growing more intense, almost as if it had substance and weight.

Suddenly, the trees parted, revealing a breathtaking clearing.

It was exactly as he'd dreamed: a perfect circle of open space, about thirty paces across, carpeted in lush grass and tiny, glowing flowers. He'd never seen flowers like them; their translucent petals shifted in shades of blue and purple. At the center was a still pool, its surface reflecting the canopy above with such clarity it looked like a window into another forest.

"It's real," he breathed, stepping into the clearing. The grass felt soft and sprang back under his feet.

Rannek followed cautiously, his eyes wide at the unnatural perfection of the place. "How could you dream of a place you've never been?"

He had no answer. He moved forward, drawn toward the pool. As he approached, the water began to glow from within, shifting between hues of blue, green, and purple. The light cast strange shadows, making his skin appear alien. He knelt at the edge, staring into depths that seemed impossible for such a small body of water. The surface was perfectly still, as if made of something solid yet fluid.

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And there, in those depths, something moved.

A fluid shape rose slowly toward the surface. It was blue-green and translucent like glass, glowing with the same shifting light as the pool. As it rose, its form became more defined, almost familiar.

"Kaelid," Rannek whispered from behind him. "What is that?"

Before he could answer, the shape breached the surface of the pool. Droplets of water caught the strange light, holding it like tiny, captured stars. It hovered, half in and half out of the water, its form shifting but vaguely rounded, like a drop of dew stretched by gravity. At its center, a stone pulsed with light, like a rhythmic heartbeat.

"It's alive," he whispered, wonder overcoming his fear.

The creature responded, its core pulsing faster. It moved closer to the pool's edge, its substance flowing over the ground like water moving with purpose. There was no sound, only a slight disturbance in the grass as it passed, leaving a faint, glistening trail that evaporated almost instantly.

Rannek grabbed his arm, his voice shaking as he urged him back. "We need to go, now."

But he couldn't move. He couldn't look away from the creature, now only feet from him. Its form seemed to rise, as if to get a better look at the intruders in its domain. There was no malice in its presence, no aggression, only a curiosity that mirrored Kaelid's own.

"It won't hurt us," Kaelid said with certainty. "It's just curious."

The creature pulsed again, its core brightening. He felt as if it understood him, as if it were trying to communicate in its own way. Its surface rippled in complex patterns, colors shifting deliberately, like a language he couldn't quite grasp.

He slowly extended his palm in a gesture of peace. The creature hesitated, then extended a tendril of its own, stopping just short of his hand.

"Hello," he whispered, barely audible. "We won't hurt you."

The creature's core pulsed, its light intensifying. The tendril hovered just above his skin, radiating a coolness like that of a mountain stream on a hot day.

Doran:

He sat rigid at the table, his palms pressed flat against the wood to still their tremor. His leg burned with the old injury, not the usual dull ache, but the specific, white-hot pain he remembered from the final ambush in the Eastern ravines. He gripped his cane as if it were a hilt, his thigh muscles tensed, ready to advance with his trench blade.

Outside, the everyday sounds of the village assaulted his senses. Children's playful shouts transformed into the charging footfalls of enemy swordsmen. He counted his breaths, trying to separate the present from the past. The blacksmith's hammer struck a rhythm that only accelerated his pulse.

He mentally mapped the exits: the door (clear), the windows (vulnerable to crossbowmen), the hearth (a potential choke point). The view of the forest from the eastern window tightened his throat. Familiar birches became tactical nightmares, offering blind spots and canopy coverage ideal for brigands, with river access perfect for infiltration. His good eye tracked imaginary movement between the trunks, phantom soldiers advancing in formation.

Three years discharged, and his body still refused to accept that the war was over.

Five rapid knocks, Maerwen's pattern.

His hand instinctively found the knife sheathed beneath the table, but recognition of the knock stalled the motion. He stood too quickly, shifting his weight wrongly onto his bad leg. The cane's leather tip squeaked against the floorboards, a sound that still made him expect an infiltrator.

"They've gone to the river," she said, her words rushing out like a medic's triage report. "Full packs, rations, and rope."

Doran's missing fingers spasmed. He saw the forest not as trees and earth, but as terrain: elevation gradients, water sources, lines of advance and defense. The northern bend where the river deepened… perfect for an enemy barge crossing. "How long ago?"

"An hour, maybe. Kaelid's been sketching maps."

"Cartography." The correction was sharp, military precision cutting through civilian looseness.

He limped past her into the yard, scanning for tracks. Fresh scuff marks near the woodpile, bent grass heading northeast.

"They're using proper reconnaissance patterns. Who's been training them?"

Her silence was an accusation. Of course. The boys had watched him chart safe paths through the village, test every apple cart and haystack for hidden threats. Children mimicked what they thought was a game, not understanding they were rehearsing survival tactics.

The forest loomed beyond the village boundary. Hw caught the scent of decay, was it real, or a memory? His palms grew slick against the cane. Recon mission parameters dictated a team of four swordsmen and supporting spears, not a crippled veteran with a walking stick.

"Stay behind me," he said, moving sideways into the tree line to minimize his profile. Every snapped twig sounded like a triggered trap. Maerwen's undisciplined breathing echoed behind him; he fought the urge to tell her to control it, to think of a wound, a tourniquet high and tight, preventing bleeding. Was the blade poisoned?

"Slow down," she hissed, struggling to keep pace.

"Keep up."

He checked each tree trunk for sap consistency, his knee screaming with each step. The boys' trail veered toward the ravine, perfect for an ambush. His pulse thrummed in his missing digits.

When the glowing pool appeared, his training overrode sanity. He shoved Maerwen behind a boulder, pressing her against the cold stone.

"Stay down. Listen for clicks or hissing."

"It's just a spring!"

"Alchemical trap or spill. Skin contact induces…" He swallowed, the memory of Ellum's blistered hands, flesh sloughing off, vivid in his mind. "Stay here."

He cataloged threats as he approached the water: the shimmer could be phosphors; the moss patterns indicated recent disturbance. The boys' abandoned packs lay nearby, suggesting a hasty retreat. No blood yet.

Kaelid's voice echoed from downstream. Alive. Relief made Doran's shoulders drop.

He saw a snapped branch, a booby trap. Instinctively, he hit the dirt, rolling to cover his imagined squad leader.

Nothing sliced through the air above them.

"Uncle Doran?" The boy's confused face appeared over the ridge. "We were just catching frogs."

His teeth ground together. He rose slowly, his body protesting. The "trap" was just a broken stick. The shimmer on the water was sunlight on iron-rich deposits. The stench was merely rotting leaves.

Maerwen's hand touched his arm. He flinched, bruising them both. "You see now?" she whispered. "There's nothing here."

He saw battle maps in the twisting roots of the trees. Seven approaches. Three ideal archer nests. His leg throbbed.

"Nothing," he lied.

Then he saw the clearing, the unnatural stillness of the pool, and something rising from it.

Memory crashed through him: the screams of men, the strange blue-green light that had heralded death.

He ran, ignoring the pain, his cane forgotten. He burst into the clearing just in time to see Kaelid reaching toward the creature, the same creature that had consumed half his squad during the eastern campaign.

Kaelid:

"KAELID! STEP AWAY!"

The creature retreated, but before disappearing completely, it extended a tendril toward him, touching his hand briefly before flowing back into the pool. The touch was cool and strange, sending a tingle up his arm and into his chest, a warmth that felt like recognition.

That night, long after his mother had gone to sleep, he found Doran by the hearth. The forest wind sighed outside, carrying the scent of pine and distant water.

"You shouldn't have touched it," Doran said, his voice rough with memory.

"I know," he replied quietly, settling beside him. "But I don't think it wanted to hurt me."

Doran smiled grimly. "That's what they said. The survivors."

"Have you seen them?" he asked, a flicker of excitement in his voice.

"No. But I fought in Jaskar, in the eastern campaigns. There were rumors of scouting parties not returning, or returning pale and changed. Then the dead started showing up. Dissolved, nothing left but teeth and bones, and an awful smell."

"Was it the same thing?" he asked, trying to reconcile the gentle creature from the pool with his uncle's horror-filled stories.

"We thought it was a chemical attack at first, or spirits, new kinds of weapons, maybe even druids. It wasn't until an entire cohort disappeared that we started to take it seriously." Doran stared into the fire, seeing not embers but the faces of dead men. "Alchemists and scholars eventually called them 'Elementals of Unknown Classification.' We just called them slimes."

"But if they're so dangerous, why do some stories say they tried to talk to people?"

"Some did. That made it worse." Doran shifted to face him, his eyes reflecting the dying firelight. "You find something strange, beautiful even. One man claimed he saw his dead brother's face in one. Another said it healed a wound. You want to believe, so you approach." His eyes hardened with memory. "Then something shifts. Your friend touches it again, and this time… it consumes him. Slowly, as if it's unaware of its own forbidden nature. That's when the truth sinks in: it wasn't a friend, but a fatal mistake."

"Maybe. But wolves don't pause their hunt out of curiosity, and trolls don't step back from the cries of children. The slime stories, though… they contradicted each other. Some said they saved men from drowning, others that they mimicked the dead. A few even spoke of dreams, that the creatures could communicate through images, feelings, memories."

"So they're not just monsters."

"I think they are, Kaelid, but perhaps as smart as people. And I've met men far worse than any diseased wolf." Doran poked at the embers, sending a shower of sparks into the night air. "That thing marked you, Kaelid. It knows you now. Promise me you won't return to it."

He remained silent, his gaze drifting toward the darkened forest and the hidden pool. The creature within it seemed to mirror his own conflicted state.