Of Blood And Fire by Ryan Cahill (best classic books of all time .txt) 📕

What did I do?

CHAPTER 8

I See You

The orange glow of the setting sun drifted through the canopy as they approached the edge of the forest near The Glade. They had walked through the night and straight through the next day. They were late; they should have been back in The Glade that morning. Calen’s legs burned, struggling under the weight of exhaustion. His clothes were torn in more places than he could count, and his body was painted with enough cuts and bruises to last a lifetime. He wanted to sleep for days.

Up ahead of him, Dann trudged through the gradually thinning undergrowth. His bag dangled over his shoulder, stained red with dried blood. Rist lagged a bit behind. Calen had a feeling his leg was giving him a lot more trouble than he was letting on. “Nearly there now, Rist.”

Rist’s response came in short bursts, separated by sharp huffs of exertion. “I’m not tired. Are you tired? I could keep going for days. I bet Dann is tired. Dann, are you tired?”

Dann chuckled up ahead. “Not long now, Rist.”

Blisters had formed on Calen’s feet at some point over the last few hours. The grinding pain was a constant reminder as his feet rubbed against the inside of his boot. He grimaced and kept walking. I’m getting a new pair of boots.

In the space of just a few minutes, the forest began to thin out. The ground regained a firm spring, and the heaviness in the air dissipated as the trees peeled away. When they emerged from the forest, the cool breeze that swept across Calen’s face was almost enough to drag a smile out of him – almost.

As soon as Rist was out of the forest, he collapsed in a heap on the ground, like a puppet whose strings were cut.

“Rist!” In a panic, Calen bounded over to where Rist lay motionless in the grass. When Calen reached him, he was lying on his back, staring up at the sky, a hazy grin on his face.

“I’m fine,” he said with a satisfied sigh. Closing his eyes for a moment, he inhaled deeply and smiled from ear to ear. “I wasn’t sure if we were ever going to make it out of that forsaken forest. It’s nice to look up at the sky and not see branches and leaves.”

Rist’s focus waned for a second as he stared at his hands, covering every inch of them with an intense gaze. Relief poured through Calen. He allowed himself to collapse down beside Rist. They lay there for a minute, just staring up at the unobstructed blue sky.

“Are you two nearly done?” Dann said. “Because it looks like someone has noticed we’re back.”

Calen dragged himself into a seated position, looking out over the fields, squinting in the fading light from the sunset. A few hundred feet to the northwest, five horse riders were galloping towards them. As they drew closer, Calen could make out the riders. Leading the group were his father and Erdhardt, with Lasch, Tharn, and Jorvill Ehrnin galloping alongside them.

As the riders reached the young men, Vars slung his leg over the saddle and slid off the horse in one smooth motion. He crashed straight into Calen, embracing him so tightly that Calen thought he might actually break a rib.

“I thought maybe…” The words escaped Vars’s mouth as nothing more than a hushed whisper.

Calen pulled his father into a tighter embrace, deciding the pain was worth it. “I’m okay.”

Lasch and Tharn embraced Rist and Dann in a similar fashion. After they had all made their greetings, Erdhardt spoke up. “It is good to see you boys – men – back safely. We feared the worst when the sun sank into the ocean, and you had not emerged from Ölm. The last of the groups arrived back hours ago.” His eyes passed over Calen, Dann, and Rist one by one. Despite the scarcity of light, Calen knew he was taking in everything: the torn clothing, the cuts, the blood. They must have looked like they were half-dead. “What has happened?”

The boys all exchanged a look with each other, agreeing with a nod.

“The story might take a while,” Calen said, unable to hide the hesitation in his voice.

“Take the time you need. The truth is what is important.” Erdhardt folded his arms across his chest, a sombre look in his eyes.

Calen let a small sigh slip out before diving into the events of the last few days. He left out what had happened to the larger Urak. He didn’t really know what had happened after all, but Rist had been acting funny since, despite what he had said. They didn’t push as to how it actually died, and none of them noticed when Calen moved swiftly onward. The group of men listened intently to Calen, exchanging a few looks between them from time to time. A gasp escaped Lasch’s mouth when Calen told them how Fritz had shot Rist in the leg with the arrow.

Dann chimed in occasionally, mostly just to elaborate on his own feats of heroism, which received more than its fair share of glares from the men. Rist, for the most part, stayed mute. His eyes appeared slightly glazed over, as if lost in deep thought.

When Calen finished, there was a brief silence. Just the chirping of crickets accompanied the pale moonlight as the twilight sky gave way to the night. Erdhardt spoke first. “Are you sure, Calen? Uraks haven’t been seen here in at least two years, not since—”

Dann cut him short by thrusting the bag into his arms, a little more forcefully than would usually be considered respectful. Erdhardt did not chastise him. He simply opened the bag and took a long look at its contents. His face twisted into a resigned frown. He passed the bag back to Vars, who had much the same reaction.

“Very well,” Erdhardt finally said, unfolding his arms and nodding as if only to himself. “Join us on