A Twisted Walk to Hallenback

The White Wind cycle was nearly here, at least Morgan hoped it would be soon. She grew impatient. The White Wind, as it was called, was a destructive wave of white bursting out from the center of Hallenback Academy. The greed of the crown to become a superpower led to the continued punishment of the entire province. It was clear to see why this was declared a hazard zone.

Morgan stood at the edge of this perimeter, clearly marked across the ground in front of her in a line. The grass on her side was familiar, their horses grazed on it without hesitation. Initially they planned to ride their horses the whole way, but that quickly changed once they reached the perimeter. The grass a foot away from her and beyond was ashy grey. It remained static in the wind and each blade curled out towards her, as if they tried to escape from their planting spot.

Morgan felt that hesitation bubble up in her again. She pushed that back down deep in her. Not many have dared to venture to Hallenback, and those who did weren’t heard of again. Not even the clouds dared hover over the forest. Soon, she would dare.

“Not much of an army,” Berengar said. He has been her bodyguard since she was young. He looked over the fields of Hallenback with her.

“I’m not too concerned,” Morgan said. “Trees don’t fight back.”

“Maybe these ones do,” Berengar said. “This is a whole lot of effort just for your boyfriend.”

“This isn’t just for Dreyden.” Morgan pouted. She wished she could ask her father to lend some troops, but lending troops to suicide mission instead of the war wouldn’t have been a good look. He also would have locked her in her room for even considering going to Hallenback, calling a selfish brat for thinking only of herself. She was used to it, of all the various perks that were handed to her by royal claim, power was not one of them. She would be trapped prepping for balls when her time could have been better spent for betterment of literally anything else. Was it so wrong to try to save her Duke Dreyden and the other victims of Hallenback? If seeking a purpose was selfish, then so be it, she was selfish. While lost with her own thoughts of ‘what ifs’, a twinge of white pricked the edge of her vision. A rather dim light but present and growing. It encompassed the whole of the forest and was growing larger still.

“Brace!” Berengar shouted. He bent his legs down in a defensive stance. Morgan copied him. The light stopped directly in front of them along the perimeter, not advancing any further, but a huge gust of wind followed. Berengar’s armor helped him hold his ground whereas Morgan slid in the wet mud but kept her upright posture. Their horses reared and bucked from the sudden rush. The light snuffed away in an instant and the winds stopped all at once. Morgan nearly fell forward when the winds were ripped away.

“Let’s move!” Morgan stepped towards the forest. The ground under her crunched in a strange way. It didn’t feel like walking on grass, more like a gravel road. She stopped and looked under her foot. The grass had shattered. Shards of grass clustered in her footstep, some slivers sliced into her boots.

“Still ready?” Berengar asked.

“Born so,” Morgan started her march, each step crunching on the grass. She walked with high steps so her feet wouldn’t snag on the curved edge of the grass. A face full of any of this would be disastrous. Tiring and annoying, but this felt like the easy part. The forest was a much longer walk than it looked from before the grass. There was a small pathway carved out from a long while ago, some lesser supply road that hadn’t been discovered yet. At least that was the story that was told, properly hazard zoning an area required loads of resources they didn’t have, but declaring there was a treasure deep within there was a guilt free way to get any greedy treasure hunters out of the picture.

They followed the stones through the path. They became less frequent as they continued, but now and again they would find one, confirming they were going in the right direction. Curiously, on each side of their winding walkway were leaves, protruding up out of the ground. She picked one up to examine it.

The leaf’s spade shape did not bend as she picked it off the ground. It was rigid and mostly see through but with a soft red tint to it. She ran her finger along its edge carefully, for if she wasn’t she’d prick herself on its sharp edge. She was reminded of the grass up on the first leg of their journey. She tossed it to the side. The leaf spun like a thrown stone before shattering to pieces against a tree trunk. More and more of these would turn up peppered along their trail deeper into the woods, and the underside of the forest's canopy would show a decidedly red tint. Soon enough, it looked as if the trees did not even have leaves on them and the canopy itself disappeared, revealing the illusion of a red sky. She paid as little mind to it as she could. Concern for herself would only cloud her conviction.

Their walkway was slowly changed from a solid ground to sloppy mud. Arching roots curled over their walking path, creating optimal tripping hazards, as if the forest itself did not want to be walked through. Morgan’s boot snagged one of them and she fell onto the mushy ground.

“I’m fine,” Morgan said preemptively. Based on experience, Berengar would have made a fuss had she not done so. But better to trip here in the mud than on that shattered grass. Her eyes caught on the trees behind her. Walking into the forest they looked fine, but turning around to where she had come from, the side facing Hallenback shared the ashen grey color of the grass on the perimeter of the forest. Their bark was shredded and peeled into large spirals hanging off their sides. The root she tripped over had this same situation of the trees. The root…moved? She was too curious. She didn’t dare touch it with her skin, so she rolled up her sleeve and held it over the root. It was moving, growing for a bit within her grip. Ba-bum, Ba-bum. The beating resonated with her own heartbeat.

Morgan ripped her hand off the root, “Let’s move on.” She wiped her sleeve clean of whatever the root could have passed on to her.

“Slowly, Milady,” Berengar held his hand out in front of him, looking up and behind Morgan. His other hand was on the hilt of her sword, “Rise slowly.”

She froze.

Against the ashen trees, Its brown fur popped out against the discoloured trees. Their long sleek bodies hugged the ground as their short legs approached.

“Behind you too,” Morgan rose to her feet as slow as she could, keeping her hands close to her sword. She’d been out in the woods and has fought off many wolves. These weren’t wolves. They were weasels. Weasels the size of wolves. And another popped out of the woods. And another. Their snarling yellow teeth seemed far too big for its head. Did weasels snarl? Focus. They placed one paw in front of the other, swarming around them strategically.

Suddenly, they stopped. Their angry faces returned to the simple face she had seen on many that might have otherwise been cute, if not for their intimidation moments before. They looked off into the distance behind her. They scurried away, jumping across loose roots and smooth rocks until they reached the base of a tree, burrowing itself into a hole nearest its base. Morgan could help but be relieved.

“Stay on guard,” Berengar said. “Predators only run from bigger ones.”

“Berengar,” Morgan tapped his shoulder. The way of Hallenback had a glow of white off in the distance, and approaching fast.

“The trees,” Morgan said. “Behind the trees!” They ran to the nearest safety, tucking their arms and legs in tight.

The wind came on in an instant, the featureless white void encompassing her whole being. Ripples of the rushing wind was all she could hear. She could only see the sliver of ground past the base of the tree that remained untouched, her tiny lifeline. Just as suddenly, it all stopped. The forest came back into view, the winds died down, and the wall of white raced past them and continued towards the edge of the forest, with a fresh helping of leaves dotting the ground.

That wind happened way sooner than any other cycle. They waited outside the forest for over three hours waiting for the White Wind, but this cycle happened less than an hour after they had left.

“Milady,” Berengar pointed towards her arm. She looked down at her arm. Her heart dropped. The puffy bits of her sleeve was discolored, a sort of ashen grey and did not react to her movements. She flicked it with her finger. It shattered and fell to the ground, exposing her arm to the air, thankfully untouched.

“We should go back, this is far more dangerous than I thought,” Berengar said.

“We continue,” Morgan said sternly. Berengar started to protest, but Morgan stared him down, not even blinking.

He straightened his stance, “Yes, milady.” Thankfully the latter half of the forest was less eventful. No weasels or white winds, or anything else he could. The trees curled backwards like the grass had the further they went, eventually fully bending like hooks. There was a break in the red canopy up ahead, with blue sky shining through. They quickened their pace to reach this next threshold.

They stood at the edge of a vast lake, stretching far over the horizon. The murky water was filled with gunk, unable to see any part of the bottom. She could only take a guess as to what different oils and contamination would be required to make black water with rainbow contamination swirling on the top. In the center of that horizon was a large central column of white stretching high as the only break in the otherwise clear sky.

Morgan stuck her sword down to the bottom. It was very shallow, it stopped only an inch down. She couldn’t see the bottom at all, even with it being an inch away. It stretched beyond the whole horizon, there wasn’t a bridge or a walkway she could see, nor did they have time to look for one. If the White Winds were truly irregular, they had no time to spare. They would be sitting ducks out on the water, but they couldn’t wait until their daylight was gone, they still needed some for the return trip. They were forced to wade through shallows. The water was thick, like walking through syrup. It took twice as much effort to walk. The bottom soil tried to drag them under if they stayed still too long, but the stench kept her motivated to keep a strong pace.

The time passed slowly as they trekked further into the water but the shore seemed to come no closer. Eventually, they each made it to the other side, wading up onto the white sandy shore of the other side. Their lower halves were soaking wet and the contamination clung to her legs in a thick layer. Trying to rub it off only greased up her hands.

The column was a pillar of rushing winds, swirling so much sand it became opaque. This didn’t prove much trouble, on her own she would struggle but Berengar’s extra weight from his armor helped keep them both on their feet. The only struggle was making the straight path with sand ravaging their eyes. It didn’t take long through the winds until they reached Hallenback.

They pushed past the winds and Morgan slipped. She clung to Berengar to avoid falling down the slope. Her feet slipped and slid against the dark pebbles as she struggled to climb back up. Floating above this crater, the fractured remains of towers of Hallenback hung within that space, loosely in positions they once should have. Many of their walls had more holes than bricks. Some towers were fractured between top and bottom halves, but they remained stationary in the air, ever watchful. One tower was mostly intact. The darkest of the clouds hung low, swirling around it, hovering above a giant crater in the ground.

Berengar tied a rope around his hooked spear and threw it up to one of the hallways. Once he was certain he latched onto something solid, they slid down into the crater for a better climbing angle. The loose black stones were difficult to get any sort of grip on, as they broke away beneath her feet. Forcing a stop would give her a nice healthy tumble down the spiky hill so she was at its mercy until she slid to the bottom.

Berengar gave it a second safety tug for assurance and began his climb. Once he reached the castle, Morgan followed up the rope behind him. The castle itself seemed well preserved, aside from the furniture suspended a foot off the ground and the permanent slant the hallway was set upon. The walls were much darker than any she’d seen before. She ran her finger along the edge of the wall, the black rubbing off as a powder on her hands, showing the grey stonework beneath.

“Hold,” Berengar said. He looked around the nearest corner. An older man in grubby clothing was in the hallway, motionless, stuck in a running position. They didn’t have to linger on them anymore. The castle wasn’t necessarily safe either.

More than a few times while exploring they had to hop from stone to stone in a hallway. The floating stone had no problem holding their weight, not moving an inch with their impact, although she was given a startle when her greasy boots nearly slid her off one and down to the ground the quick way.

They found the stairway to the spire of the tower, long and winding, spiraling around a dark center column. The outer walls were gone, showing the low clouds swirling around them. Getting shaky legs now would be disastrous, but she didn’t rush herself either with all the grease on her boots.

They reached the apex of the tower. No roof, no walls, only the floating spire and the swirling clouds for privacy. But more importantly people were here, motionless, just the same as the other they passed. Although these looked much younger, dressed in finer clothes. Except for one of them. He sat on the ground, his head hung low and his disheveled long hair covered his face. The only motion in the whole castle was the swirling ball of white held with his hands. She approached him. The grease under her boot squeaked on the ground. He flinched at the noise. Morgan froze.

“Hello?” his raspy voice clicked from underuse. “Who’s there?”

“We’re here to help,” Morgan approached.

“Sure,” he said softly from behind the curtain of his hair.

Morgan looked around the scene once again. Talking with him set reality straight with her. This place once held the title of the most successful academy in the country, reduced to a floating pile of rubble in the middle of a hazard zone.

“What happened here?” Morgan asked.

“The king’s weapon worked, just not where he wanted,” he said. “Who are you anyways?” he asked.

“Morgan Ventirimar,” she said.

He frowned, “The Duchess? Why would a royal be here on a treasure hunt?”

“Like I said, I’m here to help. This is a rescue mission,” Morgan examined the frozen people. They didn’t flinch to her presence or react, but they remained recoiling against whatever they saw. But where was Dreyden?

“That’s impossible, I’m afraid,” he said defeated. “They’re trapped in a stasis, and so is the academy,” he said. “The time lock is the only way I know how to drain out this energy and keep them alive.”

“And the White Wind? What’s that all about you’re keeping it contained,” Morgan said.

“I get tired,” he focused on the ball of energy diligently. Whenever a band of energy arced off of it, his finger was there to press it back down.

Morgan frowned, “The whole province is warped and hexed.”

“Better that than the whole country,” The calmness of his tone rubbed Morgan the wrong way. She ignored that for now. She checked the identities of every person in the room.

“Is anybody else still alive here?” Morgan asked.

“There might be other students outside this room caught in the spell, but I'm unaware of them,” he shrugged. “The only ones I’m aware of are the treasure hunters I added.”

“Added? Er, actually, don’t answer that,” Morgan said.

He titled his head back, blue eyes piercing through his hair. “Look, if you really want to help, don’t send anyone else back here to get killed. I’ll hold this thing off as long as I can. If you’re satisfied, run back home and don’t return.”

Morgan shook her head, “I’m not satisfied. I’ll be back one day, but with a plan to help with that,” Morgan pointed towards the white ball in his hands. She ran towards the spire stairs before stopping herself before she got too far.

“Who are you?” Morgan asked.

“Greyson Mills,” he gave a weak smile.

Morgan grinned, “Well Greyson Mills, I can at least promise that name lives on.” Morgan beckoned Berengar to follow her back down the stairs to the spire. Berengar simply nodded and followed her. For the first time in a long while, she couldn’t stop grinning.