The Identical Twins (Mind-wielder Series Book 1) Read online

  “Hera? Who?” Rogen asked.

  Levi began to walk away, “You’ll know.”

  “What about the others?” Rogen asked. “Will they come?”

  Levi waved his hand in the air as a no.

  “Great,” Rogen muttered, turned the doorknob and went in.

  As he closed the door behind him, he found himself in a vestibule that was connected to a main hall, and from there, he saw a slim, tanned girl, who had a pair of matching brown eyes that suited her just fine, cleaning the walls of the hall with a piece of brown bread. She looked petite with her v-shaped face and feminine with her long-sleeved black dress that was very common and obviously inexpensive.

  “Hi, you must be Hera,” Rogen said, staring oddly at her neck, where there were some quirky tattooed numbers.

  “Oh, sorry, I didn’t realize you’re here,” the girl replied, in a graceful tone, with a shocked but smiling face, and curtsied to him. “Yes, I’m Hera. Nice to meet you, Rogen.”

  CHAPTER THREE

  * * *

  Under the scorching sunlight, a man, who held a staff in his hand, was wandering in the middle of a sun-drenched grassland. With sweats dripping down onto his chapped lip that revealed the intolerable temperature of this summer, he lip-licked, looked at his empty waterskin and started to feel dizzy. He then rummaged in his waist bag for a stained map and pointed his index finger to his current location on it, looking for the closest water source.

  Instantly, he set eyes on a sign depicting a flowing river that was very close to him and a village called Ayrith nearby. Desperately longing for water, he strode toward the river along a rugged path at once, with his sore legs, while kept pushing aside all the tall grasses that stood in his way. He never slowed down his pace until he successfully dragged himself to that streamlet, and the small path widened into a rocky riverbank with every size of rock.

  He then immediately tottered into the cool water, got down on his right knee in the middle of it and submerged his head in. Then he massaged his face with wet hands, immersed his waterskin in it and poured the liquid down his parched throat hurriedly again and again to slake his thirst.

  After that, he crawled back to the riverbank with the staff in his hand, leaned against a boulder and closed his eyes subconsciously. The accumulated weariness of days of journeying without adequate water overtook him, and he felt into a slumber.

  The sun had already dried his trouser when a dreadful bad dream about a crested eagle attacking him ruined his long-awaited sleep. He unwillingly opened his eyes to break free from the bad dream, and, in a supine position, his attention was then drawn to a faint shaft emitted from the sapphire on the staff and saw that eye-like object on it again. Doubts emerged as he looked along the ray and discovered that it was shining on an eagle fluttering in the sky. He felt like the gemstone was trying to show him there was some kind of a connection between the nightmare and that eagle. He scratched his nose habitually and stretched out his neck skyward in order to be able to observe it more clearly.

  It was just flying back and forth in the sky without any signs of leaving or changing its course. He knew this unusual behavior was certainly not a good sign when he thought of a man, who he deemed as guileful and venomous, that reinforced this thought.

  “Pancho,” he mumbled out as he grabbed a stone and tossed it into the river, causing the water to splash into all directions.

  The splashed water drops did not fall back to the river like it would’ve. On the contrary, they merged in mid-air and formed a long water arrow pointing to the wing of the eagle. He then continued to vision a scene to thrust the water arrow at the vulnerable winged-beast, and it happened.

  Taking an unbearably forceful strike, the eagle was sent catapulting through the air and eventually fell dead at somewhere far away, and, shortly after he eliminated the threat, he got back up on his feet, looked at the map for seconds and decided to go to Ayrith.

  Crossed the soothing river and started to follow a barely recognizable inclined pathway that led to an upland, he found himself surrounded by lush maple trees that were hiding a few dozens of parrot nests in the tree hollows. Accompanied by singing black parrots standing on the branches, he plodded up the graveled slope and got to the elevated end. From there, he saw a small village, which looked secure with its wooden fence and a guard at the entrance, not far away from where he was. Apart from it, he was also aware of a large cattle ranch, consisting of an interminable, rich farmland and a river that winded back and forth, lying beyond the fence.

  The shady sky of late dusk was shielded by muddled clouds when he reached the gateless entrance of the village. As he approached, a tall guard, who wore a full set of light brown leather armor that had a black inverted diamond symbol on the breastplate, tilted the spear in his hand to block the opening of the entrance and placed another hand on the grip of a sword hung at his side in a leather sheath.

  “Stay where you are, stranger!” the guard, who had a mole on the right side of his chin, blustered hostilely, glaring at his untypical left ear through a Y-shaped opening of his classic helmet used by guards in this country. “What’s your business here?”

  “My name is Dulais.” The staff owner bowed slightly. “I am on a journey to Valais to visit a friend, and I am wondering if I could go in, find an inn and spend a night here.”

  “I wish I could let you in,” the guard reprimanded, shaking his head. “But no entry allowed for unknown persons after sunset.”

  “All I need is only a place to stay for the night,” Dulais said sincerely. “I’ll leave early tomorrow morning when the sun rises, and I won’t cause any trouble.”

  “Rules are rules,” the guard growled threateningly, swinging his spear wildly. “Now go. Get out of my sight.”

  “Sure,” Dulais mumbled.

  “Come here, traveller,” a hunchbacked old man with a grizzled goatee, wearing a linen black tunic, interrupted him unexpectedly, coming out of the village with a wooden stick.

  “Grandpa, what are you doing out here?” the guard asked anxiously.

  “Nothing, just trying to give a helping hand to someone in need,” the grandpa replied while fixing Dulais. “He is not one of them, trust me, my son.”

  “How can you be so sure?” the guard wondered. “Do you even know this man?”

  “No, I don’t,” the old man answered confidently. “But a man like him can never be a bandit.”

  “But according to the rules…” The guard insisted.

  “Warner!” the old man said earnestly. “I set the rules to protect us. It’s not an excuse for you to sit back when you come across someone in need.”

  Warner went silent.

  “Please come with me, I will take you to the inn myself, my friend,” the wrinkle-faced old man said, showing him the way in with a welcome gesture.

  “I am truly grateful for your kindness.” Dulais nodded and bowed slightly to the old man and the guard respectively.

  “Welcome,” Warner muttered dissatisfiedly, curling his lip.

  With the old man leading the way, Dulais went through the opening, which was wide enough to allow three wagons to enter at the same time, and snapped his head around curiously.

  It was a tiny, teeming village, where neighing of horses could be heard from every corners, with only one straight, main street, which two wide entrances were located at the two ends of it, paved with cobblestone. There were two rows of simple-designed, slightly tattered cottages, which the roofs were thatched with weeds, mug and straw, that could approximately accommodate one thousand people in total lying on the two wings of the street. He also noticed that, on the front wall of every cottages, there must be an amber-colored paper lantern with even ribbing hanging on a rod that stuck out from a window.

  “What is your name, my friend?” the old man asked politely while moving forward along the road.

  “I’m Dulais.”

  “Nice to meet you, Dulais. I’m Desman.”

  As they proceeded
to walk along the path, Dulais saw a patrol of four armed men coming from the opposite direction in an organized formation. The light brown leather suits of armor and standard swords equipped by them were as same as what he had seen on the guard at the gate. And when the patrol marched past him, they regarded at him distrustfully and slowed down their pace with aroused suspicion in their hearts.

  “Don’t worry, this man is my friend,” Desman said calmly.

  Hearing his word, the guards resumed patrolling without asking a question.

  “I bet you haven’t heard of this place before,” Desman said.

  “Never,” Dulais admitted while busy browsing around.

  “Don’t worry, when I first came to this place, I was able to get along with the people here very soon, and you will probably make some friends here during your stay,” Desman added when he leered oddly at his staff for a second. “By the way, how long, may I ask, will you be staying?”

  “A few days, perhaps,” Dulais answered in an uncertain tone when a structure that seemed to be a tiny castle attracted his eyes. “As soon as I am ready to go on with my journey, I will be gone.”

  Out of curiosity, he stopped when they passed by that building. It was a three-story, brownstone-built structure supported by wood pillars before a reinforced, lockable front door, with two plain windows on each levels. And, on a flat roof that caught his eyes, there was a white flag with a symbol of black inverted diamond on it flying high atop a pole.

  “It’s the guard station and our central administration office.” Desman stopped walking. “Just like other places, the construction of it was carried out by troops as a direct command from the king, and that’s why it looks so different from the cottages.”

  “What about that?” Dulais asked, pointing at a two-story, A-shaped tower with a massive bell inside next to the station.

  “It’s kind of an alarm device. The guards on the tower would ring the bell three times when we are under attack,” Desman answered. “Pray to your God when you hear the bell rung.”

  “Speaking of which, we are almost there. The iconic forest drawn on the board is always recognizable from here,” he continued and pointed his walking stick to the front.

  With his eyes travelling along to where he pointed, Dulais looked high and low for that board until a blindfolded young man, who was reading a book on a black and white horse, caught his attention when the sapphire on the staff gave off an obscure, purplish shaft that struck at the young man.

  Like Dulais, the young man was also aware of the radiance, judging by his reaction, though he was blindfolded. He also realized that the people around him were all giving him a peculiar look and nudging each other covertly, sneering and laughing at him all at once.

  “Get out of my sight, blind freak!” three malevolent kids, came out of nowhere, yelled at the blindfolded man, threw a stone they grabbed on the ground at him scornfully and ran away.

  Looked as cool as a cucumber, as if nothing had happened, the young man casually warded off the stone with his palm and squeezed the horse sides with his legs to signal the horse to trot toward Dulais, his eyes musing on the gemstone, as the people around all sidestepped quickly when he began to move. The light shafted out of the gemstone glowed brighter as he got closer, and as he got closer, he became aware of an eye-like object on the staff that was seemingly gazing at him.

  “Sorry,” the young man, wearing a brown woolen tunic, gifted with a thick head of coffee-colored hair, a pair of broad shoulders that allowed him to carry two heavy bags at one time, and two extraordinarily thin ears said, removing his blindfold as the light went out. “But that thing in your hand is just too noisy.”

  “What? What is noisy?” Dulais wondered, gaping at the man’s oval and baby-soft face, which was remarkably different from the tanned and ruddy face of the local people.

  “Shiny,” the man corrected himself, dismounted and sauntered toward Desman.

  “Good evening, Mr. Desman,” he said.

  “Good evening, Chavdar, how is your day?” Desman said.

  “Great, never been better,” Chavdar replied, as his eyes were subconsciously drawn to the staff.

  As they were talking, Dulais looked the young man up and down with attention to details on his face and noticed that the pair of round, emerald eyes, which revealed a unique universe of his own, set above his long thin nose was just as extraordinary as the invaluable sapphire that had just shined on him. He didn’t know whether he had ever come across with people with such an imagination-inspiring eyes or not, but, only with the first glance, he was already certain that the prospect of this man would be magnificent, considering that he could somehow see through the blindfold, if he had a great mentor, not to mention the fact that he triggered a purple light ray off of the gemstone that might be related to the words on the staff.

  “Sir, can I ask you a question?” the green-eyed man turned to Dulais and asked.

  “Sure, go ahead.” Dulais nodded and grasped the staff solidly, preparing himself for anything unexpected, as he began to doubt the identity of this man.

  “What is this staff made of? Why does it give off light? I have never seen a thing like this before, it is amazing. Where can I find one of this gemstones?” Chavdar let out a volley of questions with eyes blinking like a hunter staring at his prey.

  “Why?” Dulais wondered skeptically. “Why are you so interested in it?”

  “Why?” Chavdar asked rhetorically. “I guess it’s because it just shined on me! Like a candle in the dark! What kind of a staff could shine like that!?”

  “Chavdar! Hurry up! It’s time to go!” a young man, who had the exact same face of Chavdar except that he had a heart-shaped face, called him from the other side of the street, sitting on a young, black horse, petting it, with two fishing nets on his back.

  “I’m coming!” Chavdar replied loudly.

  Dulais regarded at him and separated his lips without actually speaking.

  “I’m going without you!!” the man yelled out again.

  “Althalos! I can hear you! You don’t have to yell!” Chavdar yelled back after a short halt, thinking that Dulais was not going to tell him anything.

  But no matter how long and hard he thought, Dulais just couldn’t come up with a feasible plan to know whether this man before him was sent by Pancho to retrieve the staff or not, or he was just a random, talkative villager with a vast untapped potential in visioning as shown by the staff.

  It wasn’t that he hadn’t met people with a huge pool of latent talent before, he clearly understood he would have already invited the man to go to Luton, the capital city of Lathium, with him if he wasn’t carrying such a salient staff, but, after considering the rareness of a natural mind-wilder and the possibility that he was somehow connected to the staff, he was more inclined to take the risk of falling into a trap.

  “Find me at the inn tomorrow if you want to know the answers,” Dulais whispered in Chavdar’s ear, as he suddenly grabbed his forearm.

  Winking his eyes with a startled look, Chavdar stayed put for a moment, at a loss for words.

  “I will think about it, but I must go now,” replied Chavdar, grinning from ear-to-ear with his eyes gleamed with satisfaction, remounted the horse and rode away.

  “Let’s get going, we can’t stand here all day,” Desman reminded Dulais, leering at the back of Chavdar.

  “Yes, let’s go.” Dulais huffed out a long breath while wondering whether he had made the right call, head down.

  “Don’t worry about him,” Desman said conceitedly. “He was a good kid, but it was before the day he turned into one of those weird men who can’t tell reality from fantasy, believing he can see through the blindfold. It’s total nonsense.”

  Unfathomably, Dulais gave him an awkwardly silent smile as a polite reply as he didn’t want to raise any suspicion by revealing the truth, and they spent the rest of the time to the inn in quietness.

  “And here we are at the Forest Inn,” Desman sai
d.

  In front of Dulais, there was a two-story, timber-framed building with a gable roof. An aesthetic image of a lightless forest was painted on the signboard hanging above the wooden door of the inn. The two tiny square windows on the second floor ensured a proper interior ventilation for the guests, and, unlike the cottages, the roof of the inn was covered with thick boards that can effectively avoid a roof leak on rainy days.

  Regarding at the signboard closely, “This place used to be packed with famous adventurers, who were intrigued by the Flipside that suddenly appeared out of nowhere, like magic,” Desman said, in a remorseful tone that one would make when recalling the good old days, “but, soon, the people came to a realization that it was actually a haunted forest, as nobody, nobody had ever walked out of it safely. It was like the explorers were sucked into the flip side of the world and vanished from this side of the world, vanished without a trace. And then the rumors circulated very far and very fast, and since then, the inn have been empty and quiet for a long time.”

  “But what actually happened to the adventurers?” Dulais asked curiously.

  “God knows,” answered Desman, as he reached out his wrinkled hand and turned the doorknob to open the door before him.

  With a squeak of the door, a characteristically aromatic scent of the mixtures of stale drink, tantalizing bushmeat, and fresh fruits burst out from the inn and stimulated Dulais’s appetite when they stepped into the short hallway.

  Four trestle tables, where three travellers were enjoying ales, breads and mashed potatoes, were set at the far right corner. Candles made of animal fat standing on some metal stands, which were fixed onto the walls, were the only light source of the inn.

  A servant came out of a storeroom on the left and approached them.

  “Welcome to the Forest!” a plump innkeeper, who wore a linen apron, walking down the staircase situated in the centre of the hall said to them enthusiastically before the servant spoke.