Post by Golden /~/ Shatter on Mar 20, 2009 20:16:42 GMT -6
Ok, this is a story I have been writing for about 4-5 years? Can't remember which, Whisper will know. Anyways, ever1 has been posting their stuff so I'm gonna post mine too XD I'm gonna post my prologue/first chapter. Note to all, the first chapter is easily one of the roughest parts of the book, just fyi XD hope u like, pleez post!!
And all my enters and tabs r messed up, don't know why...sorry!
Prologue
The cold shackles that bound his wrists chafed against skin, rubbing the raw wounds that bled there. The figure was crumpled against a ground-like substance, surrounded by a dark void where no shape or light could be distinguished from its impenetrable depths. The only light that shone within the blackness of the prison came from the figure itself.
Looking closer, one could see a faint glow that radiated softly from his crumpled body, silver tainted with a hint of red. His striking jet black hair was a tangled mass upon his head, silvery skin setting a vast contrast. He bore the signs of past wealth and power, something in the way that he knelt on the cold blackness that served as his ground. Only wearing tattered rags of once rich clothes, his limbs were chained to the walls of the void.
The slight rise and fall of his chest was the only movement in the darkness, his grating breath the only sound. His eyes, gazing low from his hanging head, held no glow like the one shining from his body. Instead, they were a dull, mat black. Staring into the ground below him, they looked as if they were dead. The shocking contrast between his pale skin and black eyes gave him a sinister and undead appearance.
This prisoner was not just a man, but a God. Zidevar, the God of Blood, imprisoned in his own home of the Gods Paradise. For over five hundred years he had sat in the frigid darkness, waiting for his time to return. Slowly, without his fellow Gods’ notice, he had been creating his army of followers down on earth. In his half a millennia of captivity, he had begun to continue the work he had been imprisoned for. Zidevar’s army was near completion, and in the last seventeen years, the last piece of his puzzle had finally arrived. And now he knew how to get that last piece right into place where it belonged. It was all so close to being completed.
For the first time in five hundred years, a twisted smile crept onto Zidevar’s face.
She watched them as they entered the field. They made no noise as they stepped lightly over the dew covered grass, passing along the ground like silent shadows. She crouching lower into the bush, eyes wide and amazed. They seemed like creatures from legend, as if they did not belong to this earth.
Their faces were hidden by a hooded cloak that went down to skirt their ankles, and was held on by two silver clasps around the neck. It was of the purest white, whiter than the moon, matching the rest of their clothing. Long sleeved white tunics hung around their powerful forms, the sleeves ballooning out and then closing into a band around the wrist.
The young woman hiding in the forest had never seen such garments in her life. Are they truly from another world? She pondered.
Their pants were the same fashion, puffing out then tightening into a band around the ankles. A belt wound around their waists and was buckled with a silver clasp, identical to the two holding up their cape. Their shoes were also of white. Slipping onto the feet they had tips that curled up into a slim point.
Their outfits must have cost more than her entire wardrobe, using all the brilliant white cloth and silver adornments. It accented the creatures’ skin, a pale, silver color. The silver aura seemed to float around them like a halo, glowing in the evening light.
Hands rising slowly upwards, they grasped their hoods, and pulled them down in unison. They young woman’s eyes bulged and her mouth dropped open.
The pair were a man and a woman around in their early twenties. Both of their ears were pointed, and she knew then that they could not be human. The man’s eyes were a sheer blue, like the ocean was captured in his gaze. The woman’s were a similar color, an exotic sapphire. Her eyes seemed to sparkle like the stars that were beginning to shine as the sun’s light faded.
Though their fair faces could be seen as serene, the man’s lips were drawn in a thin line. He was obviously troubled. But the frown was the only feature marring their figure.
Moving up from the perfect faces, their hair was the fairest ever seen, matching their eyes. Both had the occasional streak of jet black mixed in with the outstanding blue. The woman’s hair went in soft waves past her shoulders, while the man’s was cropped short. The pure white of their clothing seemed to make their hair and eyes glow brighter.
They turned their backs to her, whispering to one another. Wanting to hear too, the eavesdropper inched closer. She must have stepped on a twig, because she felt a sharp pain in her foot and heard a snap.
The pair whirled, turning to stare right at her, somehow finding her through the brush. Their gaze held her, paralyzing her entire body. For a second she couldn’t breath, couldn’t move, her heart racing in fear. Finally able to tear her eyes from theirs, she scrambled to her feet. Without a look back, she turned and ran. Weaving her way through the trees and brambles, the young woman sprinted her way through the forest with the agility of a deer.
She tore through the undergrowth, ducking under branches and fending off thorns with her arms. A large log impeded her way and springing up like a hare, she jumped the log and landed smoothly without losing a stride. A pine branch caught her shirt, drawing blood and tearing through the worn cloth. Cursing, she dodged left and right, passing tree after tree. Leaping over a ditch, she ran on.
A small house finally came into view and she slammed the door shut as she got inside, locking it tight. Completely out of breath, her chest heaved. Leaning against the wall, she sank to the floor in a heap. Beads of sweat rolled down her forehead, stinging her eyes. “I pray I lost them,” she gasped aloud.
That night she slept uneasily, tossing and turning in sleep. A dream that deeply disturbed her visited her in the night. The young woman was on a battlefield; dead lay strewn across the ground, blood forming puddles like rain. A castle was under siege, an army defending it to the last. A great billowing fog passed over the scene, hiding all except two figures. The two beings she had seen earlier were walking toward her, calling out. A hawk passed over her, and someone began to sing in a melodious voice.
In uncertainty, two will come
Who gave you cause to fear.
Set free your unsound terror,
Their words hold sincere.
Come to realize,
Water, fire, earth and air,
Must restore a balance broken,
A burden six must share.
Water shall hold knowledge,
Earth will be a friend,
Fire shall be borrowed time,
On these Wind will depend.
Wind will befriend the night,
A debt finally repaid,
Protectors and guardians,
Shall come to your aid.
An unfinished task
Of a plot five centuries old
Must be found out,
Then the path will unfold.
Be ready for the warning,
In the dead of the night.
Water must be left behind,
The rest will take flight.
Go past summer sea,
And far into the west,
Farther than the forests
To begin your quest.
Across the shifting root,
Beyond where the world ends,
To where Death greets you,
To never make amends.
Into the predator’s mouth,
Past the fanged jaw,
Through the dark oblivion,
To where light need not withdraw.
Where hate takes form
And withdraws into flesh,
Nothing is as it seems,
Be ready to fight afresh.
High into the daggers,
Find refuge in their protection.
Tame what is untamable,
Hone until perfection.
When the sun in the sky
Is shone deeper than red,
An army will come
From blood of the dead.
And battle be fought,
A victor will come.
And the banishment lifted?
Will it finally be undone?
For in such a plot,
Five centuries old,
Will end in a battle,
In the wild dark cold.
Devastation shall be her life,
Death her only solution,
At the end, she must prepare
For the horrific execution.
Many will cry in joy,
And as many will in sorrow,
Their lives abruptly ended,
Never to see the morrow.
The daughter of the sky
Will inspire all who see her.
Her name shall be revered,
As a warrior and leader.
As the voice faded, the hawk gave one last screech, and was swallowed up into the mist. As the two beings faded away with the hawk, the girl thought she heard a faint laugh.
She woke, drenched in a cold sweat. The prophetic riddle, like so many a dream, was forgotten. Only the image of the two beings remained. Heaving a sigh, the girl wiped her wet forehead. She prayed she would never see those two again.
Gripping her hands under the rotting floorboard, she finally pried it up. A shower of grit and dirt tumbled down. Under the board was a little hand-carved wooden box with an iron lock. The girl lifted a little key from a chain around her neck and inserted it into the lock. With a click it opened. Inside were her most cherished possessions.
The first was a tiny painting of her mother. She had died when the girl was just six, a small child. Now the child had grown to a young woman of seventeen. Her mother had taught the girl to fend for herself, use the forest to meet her needs. Even with what her mother had taught her, she had barely lived through her first winter alone.
It was an old and worn painting. Some paint was chipping off, and cracks ran up and down the canvas, but you could still see her mother’s petite form. She had been very short, and had raven black hair. It had shone darker than the night, and shimmered like black stars. She had amber eyes, and she had been fair beautiful. It was no wonder her father had fallen in love with her.
The girl had never known her father. He had been a sailor on a merchant ship, or so her mother said, trading with other countries along the coast. Soon after the girl had been born, he had been called away to sea. The ship he had sailed with had been lost in a violent storm. The wreckage had been blown into shore weeks later, and her father’s body was never found. She had always asked her mother his name, but was never given one. She would only say the girl would find out when she was older.
Then her mother died. She had contracted a sickness from the nearby town. Having no money to afford a healer and having no healing magic, the girl had taken care of her mother the best she could.
When the little girl had run to her village of Siigara and pleaded for help, her friends and neighbors had turned on her. They would not help her mother without payment. The girl had cried and begged and promised to pay the debt, but no one would help her mother. The crop had been bad that year, and families were poor, and none would risk offering money to a woman who would most likely die and never be able to repay them.
Even the family’s closet friend, Rombe, had been unable to help. An older, elderly man, he was as poor as the girl and her mother. He had little coin to offer, but had tried to persuade the village to allow the girl and her mother to go into debt to try and cure the woman. Even then, the people had refused. The little girl had run home crying, hating to have to return with no hope of a healer.
The sickness was deadly, and finally took its toll on the girl’s mother. Her last words to her daughter were, “You are meant for great things, Arisalen. Don’t you ever give up. Be safe, and I love you.” The woman had then passed out, and never regained consciousness. She had died in Arisalen’s lap. The girl had cried for what seemed to span eternity, and stopped only when the tears no longer came. Arisalen had picked her mother up and laid her gently on the floor. She had then taken her shovel and walked outside to dig her grave.
When Arisalen had finished, she had taken her mother’s body and laid her gently into the grave. It had been quite a job, for it is very hard for a six year old to lift a grown woman anywhere. Arisalen had put a lock of her own hair into her mother’s hand, so she would not be forgotten. She then went inside and opened her money box. She had taken out two brass rōkks, and placed one on each of her mother’s eyelids to keep them closed. Arisalen had buried her and planted flowers on her grave. She then threw herself into misery and grief. If only I had worked harder to earn more money for a healer, Arisalen thought. I should have done better.
Her pain was great. Hating the town that had turned away her sick mother, she had grown close to the forest. Using it to fulfill her needs, Arisalen only went to Siigara when her need was great. Even then, the only person she would speak to or buy from was Rombe. The kind man would get what she needed and Arisalen would buy the things from him. Sometimes they would talk, remember the older times when Arisalen’s mother had been alive. But the talks would always be short, and the girl would leave to go back to her home once more.
In the times before her mother’s death, trips to town had been Arisalen’s most favorite pleasure. Being able to get away and see other people was special. Arisalen had always attracted interest. Townsfolk would always turn her way and talk to the young girl, smile, or give her a small treat.
The cause of people’s interest in her was for her hair and eyes. They were both a stunning violet. Even when she had been six, she had had gorgeous, silky long hair. Her eyes were stunning to match, and she had a beautiful face. Because of her outlandish features, people thought she was a powerful mage. But the young Arisalen would only smile, shake her head and laugh.
Now Arisalen was a young woman of seventeen. Her body was slim, but covered in whip cord strong muscle built up from life on her own. She had her curves in the right places and stood a bit above average. Having a pretty face to match, it was framed by her long, dazzling violet hair and eyes.
But the care-free child she had once been died with her mother. Hardened by trauma and just getting by, Arisalen lived with a great burden on her shoulders. Surviving was the thing Arisalen focused on, and it showed. Her clothes were threadbare patches of old cloth and animal pelts. Her old dresses much too small for a young woman of sixteen, she had taken them apart and woven breeches and tunics out of the old fabric, too poor to waste food money on new clothes.
The only reason she had to survive was her mother’s last words to her. They always puzzled her. How was she meant for better things? She was a poor commoner, the daughter of a lonely widow without a silver rōkk to her name. She didn’t have powerful magic. What had she meant?
Back in the present, Arisalen put her mother’s picture back inside the box, still mulling over the distant memories.
Next, she picked up her purple stone. Although she called it a stone, it was actually a gem-like rock shaped like a wing. Carved delicately like an angel’s, the wing was her most prized possession. It shone like a purple sun when she held it, its light flowing across the walls like a rainbow. Arisalen’s mother had given it to her before she had been killed. The young woman picked it up and held it delicately in her palm.
Whenever Arisalen did this, a strange power pulsed through her. It didn’t burn or hurt, but it felt cool, like water rushing through her veins, empowering her. Arisalen didn’t know what it was, but she felt calm when she held it.
Arisalen felt the water rush through her, and then something she had never experienced happened. A sort of power was released. A shock wave ran through her body, and it channeled into the floor and made a slight tremor run through the ground. Puzzled, Arisalen turned the wing over and over in her hand. Seeing no difference, she shrugged it off, and set the stone back into the box and locked it tight. Putting the box back under the floorboard, she closed it and stood up. She stretched her arms and yawned. “I can’t mull over memories forever,” Arisalen said aloud to herself.
Arisalen walked over to the hearth and picked up her longbow and quiver of goose fletched arrows. It was a while till supper time, and she wanted fresh meat.
She strode outside and locked the door tight. A huge flock of sparrows covered the ground like a blanket, pecking at the ground. One almost seemed to wave at Arisalen before they flew away. Birds had always been friendly and comfortable around her. When she had been young, Arisalen would stand out in the yard and wait for the birds to land on her. She could play with them for hours, listening to their chirps and watching them fly around her. They were never frightened by her presence, and the two species got along as if there were no difference.
When she had been little, she had played games with the birds like they were real people. Most of her life, they had been the only company she had ever had. The birds and Arisalen were connected in a strange way she couldn’t understand.
Waving goodbye as the birds took to the air, Arisalen strung her bow, bending the wood and slipping the loop of bowstring over the end. She notched an arrow in it, and walked off into the woods.
Arisalen kept walking through the forest, searching for any trail. After some time, she spotted a fresh scrape mark on a tree. Deer. The deep furrows of the animal trying to scratch the velvet off his new antlers were clear and sharp. Arisalen headed in that direction, occasionally finding a footprint or a bit of hair here or there. Living on her own had taught Arisalen to be an expert tracker.
She followed the trail for a few hours to a large clearing, a pond sitting at its center. Arisalen saw a deer off in the distance, and quickly and silently stepped behind a tree. She slowly headed downwind, then crept through the grass closer to the pond and into a bush, and finally could see the deer clearly.
He was an old and stringy creature that was due to die soon. If Arisalen didn’t get him now, a pack of wolves was sure to. His rack was enormous despite his age. I could make a fine necklace out of those antlers, and sell them for a pretty rōkk. She thought to herself.
He raised his head and pricked his ears, and they swiveled around searching for sound. Arisalen held her breath. He didn’t hear and she exhaled, relieved. He walked up to the pond and bent his neck cautiously, drinking mouthfuls of water. Arisalen silently raised her bow and let the arrow fly. It flew truly, and hit the deer squarely, right in the side. His eyes rolled back and he fell over with a soft thump.
Arisalen stepped out of bushes and walked over to him. She set her bow down and knelt by his side. Once she was sure he was dead, she nodded her head in acknowledgement to his life, then slung her bow across her back. She then took a coil of rope from a burlap sack hanging from her shoulder and waist that she always carried with her. She tied the rope around his antlers and then wrapped some around her hand and wrist. She dragged the deer over her shoulder and headed for home. It was a much easier to use rope and drag the deer then bend over and drag him by the antlers. It saved Arisalen time and energy.
Arisalen approached the large log she had jumped the day before. She shuddered, remembering the two beings, but shook it off. She gracefully leapt over it, and pulled on the rope. The deer’s antlers got caught on the log, and as she leapt back over to free it the hem of her pants caught on a branch. “Stupid, useless, good for nothing…” She cursed as she untangled the cloth from the branch.
Her pants were patchy and ragged, but Arisalen considered them to be her good pair. She had quickly outgrown the dresses of her youth, so she had stripped them and reused the fabric to sew herself new clothes. It had been a slow and painful process, but in the end was worth it. Dresses were impractical, and they had always irritated Arisalen anyway.
Arisalen finally separated them, and grabbed the deer by the antlers and hauled him over the log. “That was hard enough!” She grumbled to herself.
Eventually making it home, Arisalen took out her iron dagger from a pouch at her side. She carefully and skillfully skinned the deer, stretching the hide out to dry. She did it well and with practice. The hides were one of the few ways the girl could make some money. Arisalen then cut the meat into slabs, and took a few smaller pieces inside for supper.
The rest she put into her cooling spot. It was a deep hole dug under Arisalen’s home. Arisalen’s mother told her she and her father had dug it out many years ago to store meat. She salted the meat and stored some on shelves she had dug out of the walls. Arisalen walked back up and closed the little wooden door that protected the meat from hungry predators.
Arisalen walked back inside and began to pile dry wood up in the hearth to start a fire. “Oh, how I wish I had fire magic!” She cried.
A gift some people were born with, different sorts of magic were used to light fires, move objects with your mind, fight, heal, and much more. Arisalen and mother had had a trickle of magic, nothing more. Both of them bore the same power: to see the magic of others.
Not useful for lighting fires or healing, Arisalen and her mother could detect those with magic and others spells, charms, and poisons on their person or on buildings or other such places. Her mother had taught her the meaning of the different magical symbols that their sight picked up so Arisalen could see what the spells were meant for. Although useful in its own way, the magic was next to useless for a commoner who had no fear for mages. Some might have valued it, but in a lonely home it had no worth.
As Arisalen drifted through distant memories, she started her fire after several failed attempts. She neatly sliced up potatoes, tomatoes, and some edible roots she had collected and poured them into the pot. Getting a plain wooden spoon, she tasted the soup. “Hmm,” She thought as she licked her lips, “A couple more minutes should do it.” Leaving the soup, she began to slice some bread.
Slicing done, she got a wooden cup and filled it with some stream water from a bucket. She set it on the table and went back to check the soup.
One more taste. “Mmm, perfect!” She stood up and got a bowl out of her ramshackle old cupboard. A few ladles of soup in her bowl, she sat down at her table to eat.
Arisalen began her thankful prayers to the Great God and Goddess. Her mother had always made her be thankful for what she had. She opened her eyes and ate. Her soup was downed quickly, and she moved on to dine on her bread, a rare treat that she had bought from Rombe in Siigara the day before. After she finished, she cleared up and put the dishes on the corner of the table. I’m too tired to wash the dishes now. Arisalen thought, suddenly overcome by fatigue. I’ll do it later.
Arisalen slowly trudged over to her cot and threw herself upon it. “Why am I so tired?” She whispered aloud. “It’s still…still light out…” Unconsciousness took her into a dreamless sleep.
Arisalen woke to the sweet aroma of warm bread, and her mouth began to water greedily. Then she froze. Someone was in her house. What will I do? She thought desperately. I locked the door, yet they still got in. She kept her eyes closed, listening for the strangers in her house.
Her mind was working fast. What can I use for a weapon? My bow and arrows are atop the hearth. I would never get to them in time. But my knife…it’s on the table, from when I was skinning the deer! I might be able to swipe it!
Another thought burst into Arisalen’s mind. Why haven’t they killed me? She pondered. Why keep me alive? I’m no use to them; I have no living relatives that I know of, no one to sell me too. All I have is my house, which is no use while I’m around. Unless… She shuddered at her next thought. They want to sell me to a slave ship.
Praying her last thought would not be true, Arisalen cautiously cracked one eye open, meaning to scan the room for her intruders and find out if they were mages, and then stared in utter disbelief.
There they were. The two figures from the woods. They where in her house, sitting at her table, eating her food! And, they were talking and laughing at each other!
Not only that, but the silver aura that she had mistaken for glowing skin turned out to be a halo of magical power. They were a type of mage.
A strange fury was suddenly lit inside Arisalen, and a large wind swiftly blew through the house. Then Arisalen’s strength failed her. They drugged me! She thought, enraged. I’ll kill them! Then blackness took her once again.
Arisalen woke yet again, but this time she didn’t wait until her strength was gone. She threw off the blankets of her cot and jumped to her feet. Quick as a cobra she dashed to the table and swiped her knife. She shrieked at them in pure, blind fury. “What are you doing here? What are you? Get out of my house!” She screamed. “If you don’t leave, I’ll kill you!” Then she lunged towards the blue-haired lady.
The lady looked up at Arisalen, and casually waved a hand in her direction. A bloom of silver showed that the woman used some sort of magic, a kind Arisalen had never seen before. The water from the lady’s cup rushed upwards like an upturned waterfall, and it flew rapidly over to Arisalen. Her jaw dropped, but then she recovered her senses. She started for the door, but too late. The water wrapped around her like a giant rope with a mind of its own.
Arisalen struggled to get free, kicking and struggling against it but her legs only got soaked in the process. Arms bound tight to her sides, she couldn’t even throw a punch or use her knife. The only thing Arisalen could do was bite, but all she got was a wet face and a mouthful of water.
Curses streamed out of her mouth, even causing the lady to shudder at her sharp tongue. But it did nothing, only getting her out of breath. She finally ceased her struggle, and collapsed onto the floor, an exhausted heap.
A little breeze came into the house, and a bird twittered encouragingly outside. It swirled around Arisalen, cooling her down. She recovered in body and mind as well, and now the blind fury was replaced by a cautious, but strong, anger.
So they are mages. Arisalen thought. But I’ve never heard of mages who can use water to bind people. Oh, I have to get out of this water cage! She thought desperately.
A large wind swirled up, and it lashed out at the barrier. It attacked like a whirlwind, flaying out, spraying water everywhere. It sliced through the water like it was nothing, tearing the barrier to pieces. Knowing defeat, the water flew up to the ceiling, where it collected itself and settled back into the lady’s cup.
She looked and Arisalen, sapphire eyes glinting with amusement. Her mouth twitched, and then she produced a triumphant grin. “I knew it; I knew she was the one!” She told her counterpart. “I told you, but you didn’t believe me!” She said again.
As she went on gloating, Arisalen started inching her way toward the door. What are they talking about? I’m who? Whatever, I have to get out of here. Maybe I can escape while they are talking? It’s my only chance. I for sure can’t fight mages!
“Ok, fine, fine!” The man finally agreed, exasperated. “I was wrong and you were right. Are you happy now?” He retorted.
Arisalen was so close to the door she could taste freedom. She slowly moved her hand toward the handle, her fingers stretching to reach it. So…close… Her fingers finally wrapped around the cool metal. Yes! Now if I can just-
“Don’t even try it.” The man said, and continued talking to the lady. Arisalen’s fingers' dropped from the handle like it was on fire, and then she turned to glare at him.
“Aren’t you going to sell or kill me now?”
They both broke off from their conversation and turned to stare at Arisalen. The lady tried to stifle a giggle. It burst out, and she laughed quite loudly, putting her hand over her mouth to quiet her laughter. Even the man, who seemed to be able to hide his emotions quite well, burst out laughing. The laughed until the lady had tears in her eyes.
Arisalen was outraged, her cheeks a bright red. “What’s so funny? I was serious! What else would you be here to do other than kill and steal?”
They eventually stopped laughing, and the lady was first to speak. “We aren’t here to steal or hurt anyone.” She gasped. “We are here to find you. You are what we have been searching for.”
And all my enters and tabs r messed up, don't know why...sorry!
The Elementals
Prologue
The cold shackles that bound his wrists chafed against skin, rubbing the raw wounds that bled there. The figure was crumpled against a ground-like substance, surrounded by a dark void where no shape or light could be distinguished from its impenetrable depths. The only light that shone within the blackness of the prison came from the figure itself.
Looking closer, one could see a faint glow that radiated softly from his crumpled body, silver tainted with a hint of red. His striking jet black hair was a tangled mass upon his head, silvery skin setting a vast contrast. He bore the signs of past wealth and power, something in the way that he knelt on the cold blackness that served as his ground. Only wearing tattered rags of once rich clothes, his limbs were chained to the walls of the void.
The slight rise and fall of his chest was the only movement in the darkness, his grating breath the only sound. His eyes, gazing low from his hanging head, held no glow like the one shining from his body. Instead, they were a dull, mat black. Staring into the ground below him, they looked as if they were dead. The shocking contrast between his pale skin and black eyes gave him a sinister and undead appearance.
This prisoner was not just a man, but a God. Zidevar, the God of Blood, imprisoned in his own home of the Gods Paradise. For over five hundred years he had sat in the frigid darkness, waiting for his time to return. Slowly, without his fellow Gods’ notice, he had been creating his army of followers down on earth. In his half a millennia of captivity, he had begun to continue the work he had been imprisoned for. Zidevar’s army was near completion, and in the last seventeen years, the last piece of his puzzle had finally arrived. And now he knew how to get that last piece right into place where it belonged. It was all so close to being completed.
For the first time in five hundred years, a twisted smile crept onto Zidevar’s face.
She watched them as they entered the field. They made no noise as they stepped lightly over the dew covered grass, passing along the ground like silent shadows. She crouching lower into the bush, eyes wide and amazed. They seemed like creatures from legend, as if they did not belong to this earth.
Their faces were hidden by a hooded cloak that went down to skirt their ankles, and was held on by two silver clasps around the neck. It was of the purest white, whiter than the moon, matching the rest of their clothing. Long sleeved white tunics hung around their powerful forms, the sleeves ballooning out and then closing into a band around the wrist.
The young woman hiding in the forest had never seen such garments in her life. Are they truly from another world? She pondered.
Their pants were the same fashion, puffing out then tightening into a band around the ankles. A belt wound around their waists and was buckled with a silver clasp, identical to the two holding up their cape. Their shoes were also of white. Slipping onto the feet they had tips that curled up into a slim point.
Their outfits must have cost more than her entire wardrobe, using all the brilliant white cloth and silver adornments. It accented the creatures’ skin, a pale, silver color. The silver aura seemed to float around them like a halo, glowing in the evening light.
Hands rising slowly upwards, they grasped their hoods, and pulled them down in unison. They young woman’s eyes bulged and her mouth dropped open.
The pair were a man and a woman around in their early twenties. Both of their ears were pointed, and she knew then that they could not be human. The man’s eyes were a sheer blue, like the ocean was captured in his gaze. The woman’s were a similar color, an exotic sapphire. Her eyes seemed to sparkle like the stars that were beginning to shine as the sun’s light faded.
Though their fair faces could be seen as serene, the man’s lips were drawn in a thin line. He was obviously troubled. But the frown was the only feature marring their figure.
Moving up from the perfect faces, their hair was the fairest ever seen, matching their eyes. Both had the occasional streak of jet black mixed in with the outstanding blue. The woman’s hair went in soft waves past her shoulders, while the man’s was cropped short. The pure white of their clothing seemed to make their hair and eyes glow brighter.
They turned their backs to her, whispering to one another. Wanting to hear too, the eavesdropper inched closer. She must have stepped on a twig, because she felt a sharp pain in her foot and heard a snap.
The pair whirled, turning to stare right at her, somehow finding her through the brush. Their gaze held her, paralyzing her entire body. For a second she couldn’t breath, couldn’t move, her heart racing in fear. Finally able to tear her eyes from theirs, she scrambled to her feet. Without a look back, she turned and ran. Weaving her way through the trees and brambles, the young woman sprinted her way through the forest with the agility of a deer.
She tore through the undergrowth, ducking under branches and fending off thorns with her arms. A large log impeded her way and springing up like a hare, she jumped the log and landed smoothly without losing a stride. A pine branch caught her shirt, drawing blood and tearing through the worn cloth. Cursing, she dodged left and right, passing tree after tree. Leaping over a ditch, she ran on.
A small house finally came into view and she slammed the door shut as she got inside, locking it tight. Completely out of breath, her chest heaved. Leaning against the wall, she sank to the floor in a heap. Beads of sweat rolled down her forehead, stinging her eyes. “I pray I lost them,” she gasped aloud.
That night she slept uneasily, tossing and turning in sleep. A dream that deeply disturbed her visited her in the night. The young woman was on a battlefield; dead lay strewn across the ground, blood forming puddles like rain. A castle was under siege, an army defending it to the last. A great billowing fog passed over the scene, hiding all except two figures. The two beings she had seen earlier were walking toward her, calling out. A hawk passed over her, and someone began to sing in a melodious voice.
In uncertainty, two will come
Who gave you cause to fear.
Set free your unsound terror,
Their words hold sincere.
Come to realize,
Water, fire, earth and air,
Must restore a balance broken,
A burden six must share.
Water shall hold knowledge,
Earth will be a friend,
Fire shall be borrowed time,
On these Wind will depend.
Wind will befriend the night,
A debt finally repaid,
Protectors and guardians,
Shall come to your aid.
An unfinished task
Of a plot five centuries old
Must be found out,
Then the path will unfold.
Be ready for the warning,
In the dead of the night.
Water must be left behind,
The rest will take flight.
Go past summer sea,
And far into the west,
Farther than the forests
To begin your quest.
Across the shifting root,
Beyond where the world ends,
To where Death greets you,
To never make amends.
Into the predator’s mouth,
Past the fanged jaw,
Through the dark oblivion,
To where light need not withdraw.
Where hate takes form
And withdraws into flesh,
Nothing is as it seems,
Be ready to fight afresh.
High into the daggers,
Find refuge in their protection.
Tame what is untamable,
Hone until perfection.
When the sun in the sky
Is shone deeper than red,
An army will come
From blood of the dead.
And battle be fought,
A victor will come.
And the banishment lifted?
Will it finally be undone?
For in such a plot,
Five centuries old,
Will end in a battle,
In the wild dark cold.
Devastation shall be her life,
Death her only solution,
At the end, she must prepare
For the horrific execution.
Many will cry in joy,
And as many will in sorrow,
Their lives abruptly ended,
Never to see the morrow.
The daughter of the sky
Will inspire all who see her.
Her name shall be revered,
As a warrior and leader.
As the voice faded, the hawk gave one last screech, and was swallowed up into the mist. As the two beings faded away with the hawk, the girl thought she heard a faint laugh.
She woke, drenched in a cold sweat. The prophetic riddle, like so many a dream, was forgotten. Only the image of the two beings remained. Heaving a sigh, the girl wiped her wet forehead. She prayed she would never see those two again.
Gripping her hands under the rotting floorboard, she finally pried it up. A shower of grit and dirt tumbled down. Under the board was a little hand-carved wooden box with an iron lock. The girl lifted a little key from a chain around her neck and inserted it into the lock. With a click it opened. Inside were her most cherished possessions.
The first was a tiny painting of her mother. She had died when the girl was just six, a small child. Now the child had grown to a young woman of seventeen. Her mother had taught the girl to fend for herself, use the forest to meet her needs. Even with what her mother had taught her, she had barely lived through her first winter alone.
It was an old and worn painting. Some paint was chipping off, and cracks ran up and down the canvas, but you could still see her mother’s petite form. She had been very short, and had raven black hair. It had shone darker than the night, and shimmered like black stars. She had amber eyes, and she had been fair beautiful. It was no wonder her father had fallen in love with her.
The girl had never known her father. He had been a sailor on a merchant ship, or so her mother said, trading with other countries along the coast. Soon after the girl had been born, he had been called away to sea. The ship he had sailed with had been lost in a violent storm. The wreckage had been blown into shore weeks later, and her father’s body was never found. She had always asked her mother his name, but was never given one. She would only say the girl would find out when she was older.
Then her mother died. She had contracted a sickness from the nearby town. Having no money to afford a healer and having no healing magic, the girl had taken care of her mother the best she could.
When the little girl had run to her village of Siigara and pleaded for help, her friends and neighbors had turned on her. They would not help her mother without payment. The girl had cried and begged and promised to pay the debt, but no one would help her mother. The crop had been bad that year, and families were poor, and none would risk offering money to a woman who would most likely die and never be able to repay them.
Even the family’s closet friend, Rombe, had been unable to help. An older, elderly man, he was as poor as the girl and her mother. He had little coin to offer, but had tried to persuade the village to allow the girl and her mother to go into debt to try and cure the woman. Even then, the people had refused. The little girl had run home crying, hating to have to return with no hope of a healer.
The sickness was deadly, and finally took its toll on the girl’s mother. Her last words to her daughter were, “You are meant for great things, Arisalen. Don’t you ever give up. Be safe, and I love you.” The woman had then passed out, and never regained consciousness. She had died in Arisalen’s lap. The girl had cried for what seemed to span eternity, and stopped only when the tears no longer came. Arisalen had picked her mother up and laid her gently on the floor. She had then taken her shovel and walked outside to dig her grave.
When Arisalen had finished, she had taken her mother’s body and laid her gently into the grave. It had been quite a job, for it is very hard for a six year old to lift a grown woman anywhere. Arisalen had put a lock of her own hair into her mother’s hand, so she would not be forgotten. She then went inside and opened her money box. She had taken out two brass rōkks, and placed one on each of her mother’s eyelids to keep them closed. Arisalen had buried her and planted flowers on her grave. She then threw herself into misery and grief. If only I had worked harder to earn more money for a healer, Arisalen thought. I should have done better.
Her pain was great. Hating the town that had turned away her sick mother, she had grown close to the forest. Using it to fulfill her needs, Arisalen only went to Siigara when her need was great. Even then, the only person she would speak to or buy from was Rombe. The kind man would get what she needed and Arisalen would buy the things from him. Sometimes they would talk, remember the older times when Arisalen’s mother had been alive. But the talks would always be short, and the girl would leave to go back to her home once more.
In the times before her mother’s death, trips to town had been Arisalen’s most favorite pleasure. Being able to get away and see other people was special. Arisalen had always attracted interest. Townsfolk would always turn her way and talk to the young girl, smile, or give her a small treat.
The cause of people’s interest in her was for her hair and eyes. They were both a stunning violet. Even when she had been six, she had had gorgeous, silky long hair. Her eyes were stunning to match, and she had a beautiful face. Because of her outlandish features, people thought she was a powerful mage. But the young Arisalen would only smile, shake her head and laugh.
Now Arisalen was a young woman of seventeen. Her body was slim, but covered in whip cord strong muscle built up from life on her own. She had her curves in the right places and stood a bit above average. Having a pretty face to match, it was framed by her long, dazzling violet hair and eyes.
But the care-free child she had once been died with her mother. Hardened by trauma and just getting by, Arisalen lived with a great burden on her shoulders. Surviving was the thing Arisalen focused on, and it showed. Her clothes were threadbare patches of old cloth and animal pelts. Her old dresses much too small for a young woman of sixteen, she had taken them apart and woven breeches and tunics out of the old fabric, too poor to waste food money on new clothes.
The only reason she had to survive was her mother’s last words to her. They always puzzled her. How was she meant for better things? She was a poor commoner, the daughter of a lonely widow without a silver rōkk to her name. She didn’t have powerful magic. What had she meant?
Back in the present, Arisalen put her mother’s picture back inside the box, still mulling over the distant memories.
Next, she picked up her purple stone. Although she called it a stone, it was actually a gem-like rock shaped like a wing. Carved delicately like an angel’s, the wing was her most prized possession. It shone like a purple sun when she held it, its light flowing across the walls like a rainbow. Arisalen’s mother had given it to her before she had been killed. The young woman picked it up and held it delicately in her palm.
Whenever Arisalen did this, a strange power pulsed through her. It didn’t burn or hurt, but it felt cool, like water rushing through her veins, empowering her. Arisalen didn’t know what it was, but she felt calm when she held it.
Arisalen felt the water rush through her, and then something she had never experienced happened. A sort of power was released. A shock wave ran through her body, and it channeled into the floor and made a slight tremor run through the ground. Puzzled, Arisalen turned the wing over and over in her hand. Seeing no difference, she shrugged it off, and set the stone back into the box and locked it tight. Putting the box back under the floorboard, she closed it and stood up. She stretched her arms and yawned. “I can’t mull over memories forever,” Arisalen said aloud to herself.
Arisalen walked over to the hearth and picked up her longbow and quiver of goose fletched arrows. It was a while till supper time, and she wanted fresh meat.
She strode outside and locked the door tight. A huge flock of sparrows covered the ground like a blanket, pecking at the ground. One almost seemed to wave at Arisalen before they flew away. Birds had always been friendly and comfortable around her. When she had been young, Arisalen would stand out in the yard and wait for the birds to land on her. She could play with them for hours, listening to their chirps and watching them fly around her. They were never frightened by her presence, and the two species got along as if there were no difference.
When she had been little, she had played games with the birds like they were real people. Most of her life, they had been the only company she had ever had. The birds and Arisalen were connected in a strange way she couldn’t understand.
Waving goodbye as the birds took to the air, Arisalen strung her bow, bending the wood and slipping the loop of bowstring over the end. She notched an arrow in it, and walked off into the woods.
Arisalen kept walking through the forest, searching for any trail. After some time, she spotted a fresh scrape mark on a tree. Deer. The deep furrows of the animal trying to scratch the velvet off his new antlers were clear and sharp. Arisalen headed in that direction, occasionally finding a footprint or a bit of hair here or there. Living on her own had taught Arisalen to be an expert tracker.
She followed the trail for a few hours to a large clearing, a pond sitting at its center. Arisalen saw a deer off in the distance, and quickly and silently stepped behind a tree. She slowly headed downwind, then crept through the grass closer to the pond and into a bush, and finally could see the deer clearly.
He was an old and stringy creature that was due to die soon. If Arisalen didn’t get him now, a pack of wolves was sure to. His rack was enormous despite his age. I could make a fine necklace out of those antlers, and sell them for a pretty rōkk. She thought to herself.
He raised his head and pricked his ears, and they swiveled around searching for sound. Arisalen held her breath. He didn’t hear and she exhaled, relieved. He walked up to the pond and bent his neck cautiously, drinking mouthfuls of water. Arisalen silently raised her bow and let the arrow fly. It flew truly, and hit the deer squarely, right in the side. His eyes rolled back and he fell over with a soft thump.
Arisalen stepped out of bushes and walked over to him. She set her bow down and knelt by his side. Once she was sure he was dead, she nodded her head in acknowledgement to his life, then slung her bow across her back. She then took a coil of rope from a burlap sack hanging from her shoulder and waist that she always carried with her. She tied the rope around his antlers and then wrapped some around her hand and wrist. She dragged the deer over her shoulder and headed for home. It was a much easier to use rope and drag the deer then bend over and drag him by the antlers. It saved Arisalen time and energy.
Arisalen approached the large log she had jumped the day before. She shuddered, remembering the two beings, but shook it off. She gracefully leapt over it, and pulled on the rope. The deer’s antlers got caught on the log, and as she leapt back over to free it the hem of her pants caught on a branch. “Stupid, useless, good for nothing…” She cursed as she untangled the cloth from the branch.
Her pants were patchy and ragged, but Arisalen considered them to be her good pair. She had quickly outgrown the dresses of her youth, so she had stripped them and reused the fabric to sew herself new clothes. It had been a slow and painful process, but in the end was worth it. Dresses were impractical, and they had always irritated Arisalen anyway.
Arisalen finally separated them, and grabbed the deer by the antlers and hauled him over the log. “That was hard enough!” She grumbled to herself.
Eventually making it home, Arisalen took out her iron dagger from a pouch at her side. She carefully and skillfully skinned the deer, stretching the hide out to dry. She did it well and with practice. The hides were one of the few ways the girl could make some money. Arisalen then cut the meat into slabs, and took a few smaller pieces inside for supper.
The rest she put into her cooling spot. It was a deep hole dug under Arisalen’s home. Arisalen’s mother told her she and her father had dug it out many years ago to store meat. She salted the meat and stored some on shelves she had dug out of the walls. Arisalen walked back up and closed the little wooden door that protected the meat from hungry predators.
Arisalen walked back inside and began to pile dry wood up in the hearth to start a fire. “Oh, how I wish I had fire magic!” She cried.
A gift some people were born with, different sorts of magic were used to light fires, move objects with your mind, fight, heal, and much more. Arisalen and mother had had a trickle of magic, nothing more. Both of them bore the same power: to see the magic of others.
Not useful for lighting fires or healing, Arisalen and her mother could detect those with magic and others spells, charms, and poisons on their person or on buildings or other such places. Her mother had taught her the meaning of the different magical symbols that their sight picked up so Arisalen could see what the spells were meant for. Although useful in its own way, the magic was next to useless for a commoner who had no fear for mages. Some might have valued it, but in a lonely home it had no worth.
As Arisalen drifted through distant memories, she started her fire after several failed attempts. She neatly sliced up potatoes, tomatoes, and some edible roots she had collected and poured them into the pot. Getting a plain wooden spoon, she tasted the soup. “Hmm,” She thought as she licked her lips, “A couple more minutes should do it.” Leaving the soup, she began to slice some bread.
Slicing done, she got a wooden cup and filled it with some stream water from a bucket. She set it on the table and went back to check the soup.
One more taste. “Mmm, perfect!” She stood up and got a bowl out of her ramshackle old cupboard. A few ladles of soup in her bowl, she sat down at her table to eat.
Arisalen began her thankful prayers to the Great God and Goddess. Her mother had always made her be thankful for what she had. She opened her eyes and ate. Her soup was downed quickly, and she moved on to dine on her bread, a rare treat that she had bought from Rombe in Siigara the day before. After she finished, she cleared up and put the dishes on the corner of the table. I’m too tired to wash the dishes now. Arisalen thought, suddenly overcome by fatigue. I’ll do it later.
Arisalen slowly trudged over to her cot and threw herself upon it. “Why am I so tired?” She whispered aloud. “It’s still…still light out…” Unconsciousness took her into a dreamless sleep.
Arisalen woke to the sweet aroma of warm bread, and her mouth began to water greedily. Then she froze. Someone was in her house. What will I do? She thought desperately. I locked the door, yet they still got in. She kept her eyes closed, listening for the strangers in her house.
Her mind was working fast. What can I use for a weapon? My bow and arrows are atop the hearth. I would never get to them in time. But my knife…it’s on the table, from when I was skinning the deer! I might be able to swipe it!
Another thought burst into Arisalen’s mind. Why haven’t they killed me? She pondered. Why keep me alive? I’m no use to them; I have no living relatives that I know of, no one to sell me too. All I have is my house, which is no use while I’m around. Unless… She shuddered at her next thought. They want to sell me to a slave ship.
Praying her last thought would not be true, Arisalen cautiously cracked one eye open, meaning to scan the room for her intruders and find out if they were mages, and then stared in utter disbelief.
There they were. The two figures from the woods. They where in her house, sitting at her table, eating her food! And, they were talking and laughing at each other!
Not only that, but the silver aura that she had mistaken for glowing skin turned out to be a halo of magical power. They were a type of mage.
A strange fury was suddenly lit inside Arisalen, and a large wind swiftly blew through the house. Then Arisalen’s strength failed her. They drugged me! She thought, enraged. I’ll kill them! Then blackness took her once again.
Arisalen woke yet again, but this time she didn’t wait until her strength was gone. She threw off the blankets of her cot and jumped to her feet. Quick as a cobra she dashed to the table and swiped her knife. She shrieked at them in pure, blind fury. “What are you doing here? What are you? Get out of my house!” She screamed. “If you don’t leave, I’ll kill you!” Then she lunged towards the blue-haired lady.
The lady looked up at Arisalen, and casually waved a hand in her direction. A bloom of silver showed that the woman used some sort of magic, a kind Arisalen had never seen before. The water from the lady’s cup rushed upwards like an upturned waterfall, and it flew rapidly over to Arisalen. Her jaw dropped, but then she recovered her senses. She started for the door, but too late. The water wrapped around her like a giant rope with a mind of its own.
Arisalen struggled to get free, kicking and struggling against it but her legs only got soaked in the process. Arms bound tight to her sides, she couldn’t even throw a punch or use her knife. The only thing Arisalen could do was bite, but all she got was a wet face and a mouthful of water.
Curses streamed out of her mouth, even causing the lady to shudder at her sharp tongue. But it did nothing, only getting her out of breath. She finally ceased her struggle, and collapsed onto the floor, an exhausted heap.
A little breeze came into the house, and a bird twittered encouragingly outside. It swirled around Arisalen, cooling her down. She recovered in body and mind as well, and now the blind fury was replaced by a cautious, but strong, anger.
So they are mages. Arisalen thought. But I’ve never heard of mages who can use water to bind people. Oh, I have to get out of this water cage! She thought desperately.
A large wind swirled up, and it lashed out at the barrier. It attacked like a whirlwind, flaying out, spraying water everywhere. It sliced through the water like it was nothing, tearing the barrier to pieces. Knowing defeat, the water flew up to the ceiling, where it collected itself and settled back into the lady’s cup.
She looked and Arisalen, sapphire eyes glinting with amusement. Her mouth twitched, and then she produced a triumphant grin. “I knew it; I knew she was the one!” She told her counterpart. “I told you, but you didn’t believe me!” She said again.
As she went on gloating, Arisalen started inching her way toward the door. What are they talking about? I’m who? Whatever, I have to get out of here. Maybe I can escape while they are talking? It’s my only chance. I for sure can’t fight mages!
“Ok, fine, fine!” The man finally agreed, exasperated. “I was wrong and you were right. Are you happy now?” He retorted.
Arisalen was so close to the door she could taste freedom. She slowly moved her hand toward the handle, her fingers stretching to reach it. So…close… Her fingers finally wrapped around the cool metal. Yes! Now if I can just-
“Don’t even try it.” The man said, and continued talking to the lady. Arisalen’s fingers' dropped from the handle like it was on fire, and then she turned to glare at him.
“Aren’t you going to sell or kill me now?”
They both broke off from their conversation and turned to stare at Arisalen. The lady tried to stifle a giggle. It burst out, and she laughed quite loudly, putting her hand over her mouth to quiet her laughter. Even the man, who seemed to be able to hide his emotions quite well, burst out laughing. The laughed until the lady had tears in her eyes.
Arisalen was outraged, her cheeks a bright red. “What’s so funny? I was serious! What else would you be here to do other than kill and steal?”
They eventually stopped laughing, and the lady was first to speak. “We aren’t here to steal or hurt anyone.” She gasped. “We are here to find you. You are what we have been searching for.”
