Tyrson
Cadet
Saul Niles’s right knee gave way to the force of Benin’s staff. A loud grunt came from the unfortunate young man as he knelt down, recovering just enough to block a swing to the right of him with his own staff. Benin wheeled his body around to Saul’s opposite side, and the man on his knee barely managed to deflect the oncoming swing created by his opponent. Almost in a blur, Saul made a rowing motion with his staff just above the ground. Benin did not have time to react as the staff hooked around his lower legs and brought him quickly to the ground. They were both back on their feet within a moment’s notice, poised defensively, waiting for the other to make a move.
“That was fast, Saul,” commented Benin with a smirk but in the shadow of surprise as their staves were lowered.
Saullir nodded, grinning as he took a brief glance around his surroundings. "Hopefully it will be fast enough for the tournament tomorrow."
The Garesh Pass ran through a large mass of trees inside a forest bearing the same name. Trees both young and ancient, the elders shielded a good amount of sunlight from the forest floor. The result was an enchanting soft green color that seemed to make the entire area radiate with an emerald glow. It only served to accentuate the eerie supernatural history contained in these woods.
They had both heard the legend of the city that used to reside where the forest is now. Once called Garesh, it was a mighty seat of power in a kingdom that encompassed all of modern-day Arbara, stretched north to the upper reaches of what is now the Darkwatch Province, south into what is now Ectmont, back into the western mountains, and east to the outer reaches of Garban. The city itself had been destroyed by a legion of the Dark Dragon, which was a legend and history itself known throughout the continent. The vile cult had existed for the sole purpose of bringing the entire continent under their control, destroying anything and anyone who resisted. They were brutal and exacting; and for a time unstoppable. Their leader, known to the continent as Sant Tarnis, was a dark dragon himself; the very last one known to exist. No trace of his body was found after the final battle that the resistors, led by a splinter group called the Luminaire Legion, won after a chilling struggle.
Shortly after that period of time, the ruined city that once held a hundred thousand in its borders fell into disrepair as an alarming increase in restless spirits began to infest its walls. Any attempt to dispel the haunted souls met with failure...or worse. The road that ran through the city, now the very pass that Benin and Saullir walked down, was barred from travel until the Spires of Calendir were built. Within weeks after its anti-magic affected the entire country it encircled, the spirits of the ruined city disappeared and Garesh fell to dead silence. No attempt was made to rebuild in the area, and over time nature took up permanent residence. Even the road became so inlaid with trees and bushes that it could not be traveled by wagon. Since the days of Maghistir Morar, the residents of Arbara have been overly superstitious about rebuilding the city that for centuries contained hostile supernatural entities. In recent decades, the forest had completely claimed the city, and now if not for the stone monuments and crumbling granite walls that littered the area, there would be little indication that the city ever even existed.
The forest, however, still seemed eerily quiet, even to this day. Very little wildlife was ever heard or seen in this area. Some of the people that did not give in to the superstition or legend walked this path frequently; including Benin and Murani. Saullir did not mind walking through the forest in the day, but he was extremely hesitant about walking through at night.
Mendicants also frequented this path for symbolic reasons. One mendicant would walk the length of the pass and back to the temple per day, which lay on the south side of the Arbaran River. Along the way, they sang and they chanted. It was said that they did this both to protect them on the walk and to soothe the once-troubled spirits of the area. Though the supernatural presence has been sealed, the ritual is still done as a form of tradition.
One such man - a rotund, middle-aged man in a plain brown robe - waddled down the Garesh Pass, just within sight of the two young men. Saullir was the first to see him, and immediately jogged off to meet him. “Calar!” exclaimed the larger of the two young men as he approached the older man.
“Ahh, so good to see you two,” Calar said with a grin and wide open arms as Benin approached. He was like an uncle with a story to tell to his two young nephews. “What brings you out to these dark woods, young masters?”
Both dipped their heads a bit. They hated bringing bad news to a cheerful man. “Father had told us to inform you of dead and wounded coming to your temple,” replied Ben in a lowered voice.
Calar arched a bushy brow. Every time he took a step or turned his body, the large medallion around his neck would dance around, which was a purely silver disc etched with interlocking circles surrounding a tree and the sun. "That is most unusual. He would merely have a few of us go to the Graw Garrison - that is, unless there is a terrible amount of...did he give you a count of the casualties?"
Saullir shook his head, then looked to Benin in concern. "We did not hear a count, Calar," spoke the thin young man, looking down to the ground. "However, he rode to Vantel at an urgent pace."
The brown robed man stared past the two youths, ahead to the narrow path. "Well, I suppose that is an adequate measure of what the Draoidh are up against."
Draoidh was another name for the mendicants, an ancient name that had existed for the mendicants since before the rise of Garesh. Their prowes for healing was exceptional, though viewed by some as primitive as it relied on old rituals and herb-based cures. Even the Border relied on them less in recent years with their own breed of mendicants - graduated from the Border Academy and trained with teachings from the east and south. Magic that relied strictly on the healing of physical wounds. Though it proved to be faster in result and made for adequate combat mendicants, the Draoidh shunned the teachings, claiming that such healing was fragile and superficial. Their stand was unpopular, however, and their once-overwhelming influence in the western side of the northern continent diminished.
If not for the constant insistence for Benin's father to use the Draoidh mendicants to treat his wounded, the temple might have been torn down by now...
"Calar," said Saullir as he tapped the mendicant's shoulder, breaking the round man's reverie. "I sense that your ovens are operating today."
All three figures shared a grin as Calar nodded in the direction behind him. "The sweet smell of butter-bread carries far it seems. Go to the temple grounds and take what you like. I'll be back when I finish my walk!"
The grins on the two young mens' faces continued as they looked to each other. "Last one there is a rat's tail!" exclaimed Benin quickly as he bolted forward, running in the direction of the temple.
Saullir darted after him a split second later. "Yeah...quite fair, Ben!" he yelled sarcastically, followed by laughter as the two young men hurried off.
Calar turned back to the path, humming a merry tune as usually did along this trail. His smile faded however; his thoughts began to drift to the joyless event that would transpire when the dead and wounded were carted in. The Droidh could not even begin to imagine what sort of battle had taken place in the northern reaches of the province.
* * * * *
A middle-aged man with a long beard of both flame and grey stood peering over the wooden balcony of a lavish home. The evening mid-summer breeze gently toyed with the folds of his red-dyed robe. The night was cool, an omen of the waning days ahead. The aging man was lost in thought until a youthful feminine voice called his name from the room behind him.
The robed man broke his gaze from the starry night and turned to the area behind him. “I think the Duke relies too much on his front wall,” the voice continued.
The voice sourced from a young woman, with skin of almost pale white and hair that could not decide between silver and gold. She was of Southland descent; as was the bearded man. However a common trait found within the Southlanders were the slightly tanned skin tone. The older man had this; the younger woman did not.
“And why do you think that, young apprentice?” questioned the red-bearded man with a touch of amusement to his voice. He folded his arms and smirked as if challenging her to answer.
The young woman was studying the contents of the table, but directed her cool blue eyes up to the older man, who seated himself directly across from the side of the rectangular table she sat behind. Between them lay heaps of parchments, all seemingly depicting places and structures that were of interest in their current conversation. “Master Korus, I know of the mages who can send the alarms if the tower is being attacked.” The older man nodded slightly as she continued. “I also know that the tower can be attacked by enemy mages, which is why we have a second and third mage to accompany the guard at each tower."
Again, Korus nodded. “Do you believe that is not enough?” he questioned, his eyes starting at her as if weighing all that she said.
The young woman paused as if to consider the right words. “For numbers, that is enough. Yet…we also know that in recent months our enemies have been equipped with ways of the shadow. Oftentimes they are undetected by the guard until it is too late. Yes, we can repel them, but at the same time we lose many of the guard in the process.”
The red-robed man put his folded arms upon the table. The candles at the corners jiggled slightly. “Did you have an idea to counter this?”
The other nodded. “The Bardic Mages inscribe symbols in the ground, and when something – or someone – makes contact with that symbol, it plays a note, a sound, or even a word or phrase if the symbol is made proficient enough.” The young woman took the pointed end of a sextant and began to trace lightly around one of the parchments that depicted a tower. “If we were to inscribe these symbols in our more vulnerable areas, even a master of the shadows would not be able to cross them without it setting off a noise to alert the guard around the tower.”
The older man leaned back in his chair with a smirk of amusement upon his face. “A great idea, Ruthera,” he answered slowly. He left a long pause before he continued. “However, the task is finding a Bardic Mage that would stay more than one night in Borand.”
The young woman known as Ruthera fumbled around with the papers on the large table until she came across the one that she was looking for. She then shoved the paper toward the older man. “I was given this last evening at the Heavy Eye Inn. It appears that we shall see one at the Blind Uncle’s Tavern.”
Korus raised a brow and leaned back toward the table. “What business does a young mage’s apprentice have at the Heavy Eye Inn, lass?”
Spots of rose could be seen upon Ruthera’s cheeks. She had no chance to explain herself before the older man continued. “Exercise patience, my young apprentice. He will be here soon; there is no need to scout like a falcon over the inn every single evening.”
Ruthera let the silence fill the room a moment before speaking. “The dreams are more frequent now. I see him almost every night. He is shy, and unsure of what he sees in his dream. He is unaware of the talent of Dream-Thought, though he is a Southlander in blood.”
“Many do not realize their talent,” Korus stated plainly. “We had only found out of your potential when we mulled over one of the ancient Southlander texts, only a few years ago.”
The young woman closed her eyes. “I can see him in my waking thoughts, too.”
Korus half-smiled as he stood up. “You have fallen for him, I see.” The red-bearded man sighed slightly. “Do not fear; I am sure he will arrive in due time. For now, keep yourself focused on the task at hand and I will pay a visit to the Bardic Mage.”
Ruthera stared at the older man as he walked out of the room. When Korus was out of sight, she gently parted the maps in front of her, to reveal a parchment that contained a rough sketch of a young man. “Soon,” she said simply, with a radiant smile. She touched a finger to her lips, and then placed the finger upon the image.
* * * * *
Saullir watched his best friend stop and close his eyes. “Benin, what is wrong?”
The other smiled gently. “Nothing,” he replied in an almost euphoric state. “It’s just…it felt like someone just kissed me.”
Saullir sighed heavily and shook his head. “You’re daydreaming of that woman again, are you not?”
Benin blushed as his trance broke. “She is real, Saul. She has to be…”
The larger of the two young men shrugged as he continued walking down the Garesh Pass, on their way to Saullir’s home. The young man stuffed a piece of butter-bread in his mouth as he motioned for Benin to catch up.
“Too many nights have I dreamed about her, Saul,” the other continued. “It’s as if I am destined to meet her.”
Saullir nodded nonchalantly. He appeared more interested in the taste of the bread he was eating. “What would you know of women anyway,” Benin stated spitefully.
The other laughed hard. “My life will be with the Border, Ben,” he stated as his laughter died down.
“You do not think of family, or a legacy to carry on your name?”
Saullir shook his head. “Ben,” he replied softly, his voice taking on a tone of sudden despair. “I dare not put a woman through what my mother has gone through. If I did love a woman, I would have to push away the emotion.” Saullir then looked briefly to his best friend. “An old soldier once told me: ‘There is no room for love on the battlefield.’”
Benin sighed and shook his head, but his mind soon drifted back to the warm feeling he had experienced upon his lips. He knew she was going to be waiting for him in the dream this night. At least, that was his hope.
As they exited the Garesh Pass and returned to the road that would bring them to Saullir’s home, they saw the sun sink down below the mountains. They were going to make it home just in time for total darkness. What they did not observe in the sky however were the black clouds that began to form in the north.
“That was fast, Saul,” commented Benin with a smirk but in the shadow of surprise as their staves were lowered.
Saullir nodded, grinning as he took a brief glance around his surroundings. "Hopefully it will be fast enough for the tournament tomorrow."
The Garesh Pass ran through a large mass of trees inside a forest bearing the same name. Trees both young and ancient, the elders shielded a good amount of sunlight from the forest floor. The result was an enchanting soft green color that seemed to make the entire area radiate with an emerald glow. It only served to accentuate the eerie supernatural history contained in these woods.
They had both heard the legend of the city that used to reside where the forest is now. Once called Garesh, it was a mighty seat of power in a kingdom that encompassed all of modern-day Arbara, stretched north to the upper reaches of what is now the Darkwatch Province, south into what is now Ectmont, back into the western mountains, and east to the outer reaches of Garban. The city itself had been destroyed by a legion of the Dark Dragon, which was a legend and history itself known throughout the continent. The vile cult had existed for the sole purpose of bringing the entire continent under their control, destroying anything and anyone who resisted. They were brutal and exacting; and for a time unstoppable. Their leader, known to the continent as Sant Tarnis, was a dark dragon himself; the very last one known to exist. No trace of his body was found after the final battle that the resistors, led by a splinter group called the Luminaire Legion, won after a chilling struggle.
Shortly after that period of time, the ruined city that once held a hundred thousand in its borders fell into disrepair as an alarming increase in restless spirits began to infest its walls. Any attempt to dispel the haunted souls met with failure...or worse. The road that ran through the city, now the very pass that Benin and Saullir walked down, was barred from travel until the Spires of Calendir were built. Within weeks after its anti-magic affected the entire country it encircled, the spirits of the ruined city disappeared and Garesh fell to dead silence. No attempt was made to rebuild in the area, and over time nature took up permanent residence. Even the road became so inlaid with trees and bushes that it could not be traveled by wagon. Since the days of Maghistir Morar, the residents of Arbara have been overly superstitious about rebuilding the city that for centuries contained hostile supernatural entities. In recent decades, the forest had completely claimed the city, and now if not for the stone monuments and crumbling granite walls that littered the area, there would be little indication that the city ever even existed.
The forest, however, still seemed eerily quiet, even to this day. Very little wildlife was ever heard or seen in this area. Some of the people that did not give in to the superstition or legend walked this path frequently; including Benin and Murani. Saullir did not mind walking through the forest in the day, but he was extremely hesitant about walking through at night.
Mendicants also frequented this path for symbolic reasons. One mendicant would walk the length of the pass and back to the temple per day, which lay on the south side of the Arbaran River. Along the way, they sang and they chanted. It was said that they did this both to protect them on the walk and to soothe the once-troubled spirits of the area. Though the supernatural presence has been sealed, the ritual is still done as a form of tradition.
One such man - a rotund, middle-aged man in a plain brown robe - waddled down the Garesh Pass, just within sight of the two young men. Saullir was the first to see him, and immediately jogged off to meet him. “Calar!” exclaimed the larger of the two young men as he approached the older man.
“Ahh, so good to see you two,” Calar said with a grin and wide open arms as Benin approached. He was like an uncle with a story to tell to his two young nephews. “What brings you out to these dark woods, young masters?”
Both dipped their heads a bit. They hated bringing bad news to a cheerful man. “Father had told us to inform you of dead and wounded coming to your temple,” replied Ben in a lowered voice.
Calar arched a bushy brow. Every time he took a step or turned his body, the large medallion around his neck would dance around, which was a purely silver disc etched with interlocking circles surrounding a tree and the sun. "That is most unusual. He would merely have a few of us go to the Graw Garrison - that is, unless there is a terrible amount of...did he give you a count of the casualties?"
Saullir shook his head, then looked to Benin in concern. "We did not hear a count, Calar," spoke the thin young man, looking down to the ground. "However, he rode to Vantel at an urgent pace."
The brown robed man stared past the two youths, ahead to the narrow path. "Well, I suppose that is an adequate measure of what the Draoidh are up against."
Draoidh was another name for the mendicants, an ancient name that had existed for the mendicants since before the rise of Garesh. Their prowes for healing was exceptional, though viewed by some as primitive as it relied on old rituals and herb-based cures. Even the Border relied on them less in recent years with their own breed of mendicants - graduated from the Border Academy and trained with teachings from the east and south. Magic that relied strictly on the healing of physical wounds. Though it proved to be faster in result and made for adequate combat mendicants, the Draoidh shunned the teachings, claiming that such healing was fragile and superficial. Their stand was unpopular, however, and their once-overwhelming influence in the western side of the northern continent diminished.
If not for the constant insistence for Benin's father to use the Draoidh mendicants to treat his wounded, the temple might have been torn down by now...
"Calar," said Saullir as he tapped the mendicant's shoulder, breaking the round man's reverie. "I sense that your ovens are operating today."
All three figures shared a grin as Calar nodded in the direction behind him. "The sweet smell of butter-bread carries far it seems. Go to the temple grounds and take what you like. I'll be back when I finish my walk!"
The grins on the two young mens' faces continued as they looked to each other. "Last one there is a rat's tail!" exclaimed Benin quickly as he bolted forward, running in the direction of the temple.
Saullir darted after him a split second later. "Yeah...quite fair, Ben!" he yelled sarcastically, followed by laughter as the two young men hurried off.
Calar turned back to the path, humming a merry tune as usually did along this trail. His smile faded however; his thoughts began to drift to the joyless event that would transpire when the dead and wounded were carted in. The Droidh could not even begin to imagine what sort of battle had taken place in the northern reaches of the province.
* * * * *
A middle-aged man with a long beard of both flame and grey stood peering over the wooden balcony of a lavish home. The evening mid-summer breeze gently toyed with the folds of his red-dyed robe. The night was cool, an omen of the waning days ahead. The aging man was lost in thought until a youthful feminine voice called his name from the room behind him.
The robed man broke his gaze from the starry night and turned to the area behind him. “I think the Duke relies too much on his front wall,” the voice continued.
The voice sourced from a young woman, with skin of almost pale white and hair that could not decide between silver and gold. She was of Southland descent; as was the bearded man. However a common trait found within the Southlanders were the slightly tanned skin tone. The older man had this; the younger woman did not.
“And why do you think that, young apprentice?” questioned the red-bearded man with a touch of amusement to his voice. He folded his arms and smirked as if challenging her to answer.
The young woman was studying the contents of the table, but directed her cool blue eyes up to the older man, who seated himself directly across from the side of the rectangular table she sat behind. Between them lay heaps of parchments, all seemingly depicting places and structures that were of interest in their current conversation. “Master Korus, I know of the mages who can send the alarms if the tower is being attacked.” The older man nodded slightly as she continued. “I also know that the tower can be attacked by enemy mages, which is why we have a second and third mage to accompany the guard at each tower."
Again, Korus nodded. “Do you believe that is not enough?” he questioned, his eyes starting at her as if weighing all that she said.
The young woman paused as if to consider the right words. “For numbers, that is enough. Yet…we also know that in recent months our enemies have been equipped with ways of the shadow. Oftentimes they are undetected by the guard until it is too late. Yes, we can repel them, but at the same time we lose many of the guard in the process.”
The red-robed man put his folded arms upon the table. The candles at the corners jiggled slightly. “Did you have an idea to counter this?”
The other nodded. “The Bardic Mages inscribe symbols in the ground, and when something – or someone – makes contact with that symbol, it plays a note, a sound, or even a word or phrase if the symbol is made proficient enough.” The young woman took the pointed end of a sextant and began to trace lightly around one of the parchments that depicted a tower. “If we were to inscribe these symbols in our more vulnerable areas, even a master of the shadows would not be able to cross them without it setting off a noise to alert the guard around the tower.”
The older man leaned back in his chair with a smirk of amusement upon his face. “A great idea, Ruthera,” he answered slowly. He left a long pause before he continued. “However, the task is finding a Bardic Mage that would stay more than one night in Borand.”
The young woman known as Ruthera fumbled around with the papers on the large table until she came across the one that she was looking for. She then shoved the paper toward the older man. “I was given this last evening at the Heavy Eye Inn. It appears that we shall see one at the Blind Uncle’s Tavern.”
Korus raised a brow and leaned back toward the table. “What business does a young mage’s apprentice have at the Heavy Eye Inn, lass?”
Spots of rose could be seen upon Ruthera’s cheeks. She had no chance to explain herself before the older man continued. “Exercise patience, my young apprentice. He will be here soon; there is no need to scout like a falcon over the inn every single evening.”
Ruthera let the silence fill the room a moment before speaking. “The dreams are more frequent now. I see him almost every night. He is shy, and unsure of what he sees in his dream. He is unaware of the talent of Dream-Thought, though he is a Southlander in blood.”
“Many do not realize their talent,” Korus stated plainly. “We had only found out of your potential when we mulled over one of the ancient Southlander texts, only a few years ago.”
The young woman closed her eyes. “I can see him in my waking thoughts, too.”
Korus half-smiled as he stood up. “You have fallen for him, I see.” The red-bearded man sighed slightly. “Do not fear; I am sure he will arrive in due time. For now, keep yourself focused on the task at hand and I will pay a visit to the Bardic Mage.”
Ruthera stared at the older man as he walked out of the room. When Korus was out of sight, she gently parted the maps in front of her, to reveal a parchment that contained a rough sketch of a young man. “Soon,” she said simply, with a radiant smile. She touched a finger to her lips, and then placed the finger upon the image.
* * * * *
Saullir watched his best friend stop and close his eyes. “Benin, what is wrong?”
The other smiled gently. “Nothing,” he replied in an almost euphoric state. “It’s just…it felt like someone just kissed me.”
Saullir sighed heavily and shook his head. “You’re daydreaming of that woman again, are you not?”
Benin blushed as his trance broke. “She is real, Saul. She has to be…”
The larger of the two young men shrugged as he continued walking down the Garesh Pass, on their way to Saullir’s home. The young man stuffed a piece of butter-bread in his mouth as he motioned for Benin to catch up.
“Too many nights have I dreamed about her, Saul,” the other continued. “It’s as if I am destined to meet her.”
Saullir nodded nonchalantly. He appeared more interested in the taste of the bread he was eating. “What would you know of women anyway,” Benin stated spitefully.
The other laughed hard. “My life will be with the Border, Ben,” he stated as his laughter died down.
“You do not think of family, or a legacy to carry on your name?”
Saullir shook his head. “Ben,” he replied softly, his voice taking on a tone of sudden despair. “I dare not put a woman through what my mother has gone through. If I did love a woman, I would have to push away the emotion.” Saullir then looked briefly to his best friend. “An old soldier once told me: ‘There is no room for love on the battlefield.’”
Benin sighed and shook his head, but his mind soon drifted back to the warm feeling he had experienced upon his lips. He knew she was going to be waiting for him in the dream this night. At least, that was his hope.
As they exited the Garesh Pass and returned to the road that would bring them to Saullir’s home, they saw the sun sink down below the mountains. They were going to make it home just in time for total darkness. What they did not observe in the sky however were the black clouds that began to form in the north.
Tyrson
Cadet
Oh, and...
This is the only surviving sketch from an artist back in late high school made specifically for my developing story. I had it partially scanned to make a website banner from it years ago. I had them all stored in a folder that got ruined when part of my grandparents' roof collapsed.
2
Though it's Saullir's quote, the image is actually of Arthuros.
This is the only surviving sketch from an artist back in late high school made specifically for my developing story. I had it partially scanned to make a website banner from it years ago. I had them all stored in a folder that got ruined when part of my grandparents' roof collapsed.
2Though it's Saullir's quote, the image is actually of Arthuros.
Thaos Nightwind
Cadet
See.. great lines like that are just good stff.
Nil_CinVin
Cadet
Consider me a Tyrson fan.
HJ-Pinnelipe
Cadet
I'm the self-appointed leader of his fan club.
Tyrson
Cadet
Want more? How about some chapter 4!
------------
Benin could not remember how long he had been aware in his dreams. It just seemed gradual, and strengthened over time. In years past, he would awaken from his dream as soon as he came to the realization the he was dreaming. Now, he was fully aware during his dreams, and could almost end them at will.
He had heard stories about those who had this ability in the distant past. The ability of Dream-Thought, it was called, commonly practiced by an ancient race far to the south called the Jirath, their descendants now commonly known as “Southlanders.” Of course, Benin had never met one with Dream-Thought, and people have told him that they have not existed for centuries. Those with the innate ability were almost unheard of; the last one that existed lived during the time of the Luminaire Legion.
He knew he had strong Southlander blood, but was this what was happening to him?
“Benin, are you alright?” questioned Tallia, her voice snapping the thin young man from his near-trance. Saullir was also looking at Benin questioningly, but continued to feast on his mashed potatoes and blue corn.
The three of them were seated around an old rectangular table made of cordanis oak, a grey-colored wood that was used in almost any construction, from bowls and utensils to tables to house structure. It was a softer wood that hardened to nearly the durability of steel under a certain mixture. The tree grows everywhere in Arbara, so it was not difficult or expensive to obtain it.
Benin looked down at a plain cordanis oak-carved bowl in front of him, noticing that the same amount of food was there as when it was served to him. He sighed softly as he spoke. “Sorry…I got distracted.” Though Tallia looked at him oddly, Saullir tacked on a miniature smirk from the corner of his mouth. He had a good idea of what his best friend was thinking about. Benin looked to him, but did not show any emotion in his face.
Dream-Thought was laughed off by most as insanity. No one believed that anyone could train themselves in it in this day and age. Even the stories told were sometimes thought to be legends, or songs conceived in the minds of bards. Benin did not believe this, though he knew no one would believe him if he had claimed it. He had only told two people: his father, whom would merely shake his head and change the subject, and Saullir, who only seemed confused by the idea. No one wanted to try and understand his situation.
Ruthera. She was the girl in the dreams, or at least identified herself as such; the one who visited him in the majority of them. She seemed to know the Dream-Thought well. Perhaps he could ask her tonight…the time to sleep was not far away.
“…but mother!” said Saullir in a raised tone, the increase in volume shaking Benin from his reverie once again. Benin noticed that both were already finished their meals and the plates taken care of. “If we take the road, we will be late for the Harvest Call!”
“I need not remind you what I had said,” Saullir’s mother spoke in an even tone, but one that warned against talking back. “The north path is unsafe. I have warned you two about taking that route before. It has not been kept up in years. The coy-hounds are everywhere in the deeper parts. As much as you think your harvesting tools will help, and as much as you think you are self-proclaimed Border Captains, you are no match for a pack of them!”
Her voice grew strength in her last sentence, enough to stop Saullir from speaking against the issue. Benin looked back down to where his plate had been moments ago. “Saul, I think we should get to bed now, so we can start early.”
Saul’s only reply was a defeated huff as he rose from the table and shuffled out of the dining room. The wooden floor made a slight creaking sound as he walked away. Benin reluctantly got up, preparing to follow suit. He looked toward Tallia with a calm expression. “Good night,” he replied softly. “Thank you for letting me stay the night so I can go to the Harvest Call with Saul.”
Tallia, who had her back turned to the table the whole time, finally turned around. Her facial expression was of undisguised worry. “Stay to the road, please,” she replied in a low voice, almost pleading. “You know that there may be worse things out there than coy-hounds.”
Benin nodded once, which seemed satisfactory for Saullir’s mother. She offered a small smile, but it was more than enough to soften her features. “Rest well, Benin.”
The young man nodded once again, smiling back, though restraining himself from doing more so. He anticipated his Dream-Thought tonight. “Thank you.”
* * * * *
The world around him was black, save for a small window that was positioned several human lengths away from him. The frame around the window was a reddish stone, set in perfect squares around the frame. There was nothing to shield the window from what was on the other side. A small glow resembling the moon's shine but more bluish in tint, radiated through the window, lighting the window’s frame but nothing else. He was in a room, he guessed, but nothing more.
This was the very setting that he had met Ruthera before. The Dream-Thought had begun.
Usually, Ruthera would be there to greet him, in soft red robes, with silver and gold hair. The soft, pale skin felt real when he touched her face...even in the dream. He had done so only once – the last time they had met. The dream ended immediately after.
Perhaps he intimidated her when he did that. Maybe she was not here because he was too forward last time. But that couldn’t be…he thought he had felt her lips earlier that day when he was walking along Garesh Pass.
Something touched his right hand…something from behind. He tensed briefly, ready to recoil, but he then recognized the touch, as another’s hand enveloped his.
“You are early, Jiratha’na,” stated Ruthera as she moved slowly to his right. The name was unfamiliar to him, though he recognized the word ‘Jirath.’ He asked her on several different occasions, each time her reply was simply, “You.”
“The Harvest Call is tomorrow, is it not?” questioned Ruthera, her voice soft and gentle. Benin equated it to an arrangement of small chimes being touched gently by the breeze.
The young man nodded slightly as he stared ahead to the soft glow at the window. His mind was in euphoria now that Ruthera was here. Something in the back of his mind poked at him, that this was just a dream and not reality. Tonight, however, that sense of disbelief was being eclipsed by the ecstasy he was feeling now. For a brief moment, he didn’t want to wake up…
“Then the time is near,” continued Ruthera, who moved around to stand face-to-face with Benin. To feel her hand in his was one thing, to lock onto her sky-colored eyes was far beyond even that feeling. “The time when you arrive here is close at hand.”
Benin felt a bit of reality sink in. He blinked a couple of times before replying. “It is?” he inquired, his facial expression changing quickly to one of confusion. “Where? How do you know?”
“The days are fading,” she indicated, her soft blue eyes never blinking, staring deep into Benin’s. The young man felt frozen in place; whether or not that was true did not matter to him. “The morning sun will rise behind darkness. Circles of light will block your path. Those in red will hunt you…”
The words echoed in Benin’s head. He did not understand the meaning of Ruthera’s words, but he nodded nonetheless as she continued. “It is your fate, Jiratha’na. It is also the fate of the Ro’nin. Your path is inevitable. This will be your First Journey.”
He barely understood what she was saying, but the words still set heavily upon his mind. Circles of light? The First Journey? And, who was the Ro’nin? Was that Saul? Questions multiplied in his head with each passing second.
Ruthera put one of her hands to Benin’s face, caressing his cheek. “I apologize. I have said more than I should have. Just know that your life is changing, and that we fill finally meet.”
Benin smiled, though his mind was still treading in a pool of confusion. He lifted his hand to touch hers; the one that caressed his face. “We have met here, together, for months. You have told me many things I do not yet understand. I do sense a change in my life, though I feel it has already done so.” Ruthera began to smile in reaction as he continued. “I have so much to ask, yet I fear that it will only bring more questions. I am not very good with words. In fact, I still do not understand how this-“ he made a sweeping gesture with his left hand, “-is possible.”
Ruthera closed her eyes briefly, but it was almost as if sunlight was stripped from Benin. “There is much I cannot explain, and there is still much that even I cannot understand. All I can say is that legends are not mere stories.”
There was a long moment of silence as she opened her eyes once again, her mood looked a little more sorrowful this time. “Dream-Thoughts pass much more slowly than the real time. We must part before the sunrise.” Ruthera let her hands fall to her sides as she always did at the Dream-Thought’s end. It was unclear whether Benin could end a Dream-Thought or not, but they had always been ended by Ruthera anyway. It was probably for the best; if it was left to Benin, he would stay in these states forever if he could.
As it was, the young man felt as if the Dream-Thought did not last long enough. Just a few brief moments…not nearly long enough to even get a few simple questions answered. Though even if he did have more time, he felt it would be difficult to keep his wits on the question. Ruthera was simply too beautiful for casual conversation..
As the glow from the window started to fade, a signal of the dream’s end, Benin spoke softly, “I have one thing to offer before you depart.”
She was taken by surprise by Benin’s forwardness when he lunged forward and met his lips to hers. It was neither heated nor passionate; just a simple but tender touch on the lips. The touch, however, quickened both of their hearts. Dream-Thought or not, the experience was real for both of them.
It was Ruthera who drew back, though very slightly, enough for Benin to smile and reply as the world around them dimmed to complete darkness. “A return for the one you had left for me.”
* * * * *
“Just in time,” whispered the voice of Saullir as Benin opened his eyes to a barely-lit room. As consciousness collected about him, he realized he was staring up at the ceiling of the guest room in Saullir’s home. The orange light of dawn shined intensely through the east window, but its illumination was narrow, as if it was peeking through a small slot instead. A continuous amount of rustling was heard on the other side of the room, as if something was being stuffed into a pack.
Just as Benin was sitting up to take a better look, a plain shirt and pants were thrown at his head. Unable to avoid them, he let them hit his face. “Saul, what are you-“ started Benin in a hoarse whisper, but he was cut off when a scabbard-covered short sword fell on his lap, making a dulled metallic sound on impact.
“Get ready and keep quiet,” Saullir whispered loudly as his body blocked the sun’s light from the window. Even though Benin could not see his best friend’s face in the near-total darkness, he could tell he wore an impatient and anxious expression. He almost knew what Saullir was going to say next, and he didn’t like it.
“We’re heading through the Old Berglen Pass. Now.”
------------
Benin could not remember how long he had been aware in his dreams. It just seemed gradual, and strengthened over time. In years past, he would awaken from his dream as soon as he came to the realization the he was dreaming. Now, he was fully aware during his dreams, and could almost end them at will.
He had heard stories about those who had this ability in the distant past. The ability of Dream-Thought, it was called, commonly practiced by an ancient race far to the south called the Jirath, their descendants now commonly known as “Southlanders.” Of course, Benin had never met one with Dream-Thought, and people have told him that they have not existed for centuries. Those with the innate ability were almost unheard of; the last one that existed lived during the time of the Luminaire Legion.
He knew he had strong Southlander blood, but was this what was happening to him?
“Benin, are you alright?” questioned Tallia, her voice snapping the thin young man from his near-trance. Saullir was also looking at Benin questioningly, but continued to feast on his mashed potatoes and blue corn.
The three of them were seated around an old rectangular table made of cordanis oak, a grey-colored wood that was used in almost any construction, from bowls and utensils to tables to house structure. It was a softer wood that hardened to nearly the durability of steel under a certain mixture. The tree grows everywhere in Arbara, so it was not difficult or expensive to obtain it.
Benin looked down at a plain cordanis oak-carved bowl in front of him, noticing that the same amount of food was there as when it was served to him. He sighed softly as he spoke. “Sorry…I got distracted.” Though Tallia looked at him oddly, Saullir tacked on a miniature smirk from the corner of his mouth. He had a good idea of what his best friend was thinking about. Benin looked to him, but did not show any emotion in his face.
Dream-Thought was laughed off by most as insanity. No one believed that anyone could train themselves in it in this day and age. Even the stories told were sometimes thought to be legends, or songs conceived in the minds of bards. Benin did not believe this, though he knew no one would believe him if he had claimed it. He had only told two people: his father, whom would merely shake his head and change the subject, and Saullir, who only seemed confused by the idea. No one wanted to try and understand his situation.
Ruthera. She was the girl in the dreams, or at least identified herself as such; the one who visited him in the majority of them. She seemed to know the Dream-Thought well. Perhaps he could ask her tonight…the time to sleep was not far away.
“…but mother!” said Saullir in a raised tone, the increase in volume shaking Benin from his reverie once again. Benin noticed that both were already finished their meals and the plates taken care of. “If we take the road, we will be late for the Harvest Call!”
“I need not remind you what I had said,” Saullir’s mother spoke in an even tone, but one that warned against talking back. “The north path is unsafe. I have warned you two about taking that route before. It has not been kept up in years. The coy-hounds are everywhere in the deeper parts. As much as you think your harvesting tools will help, and as much as you think you are self-proclaimed Border Captains, you are no match for a pack of them!”
Her voice grew strength in her last sentence, enough to stop Saullir from speaking against the issue. Benin looked back down to where his plate had been moments ago. “Saul, I think we should get to bed now, so we can start early.”
Saul’s only reply was a defeated huff as he rose from the table and shuffled out of the dining room. The wooden floor made a slight creaking sound as he walked away. Benin reluctantly got up, preparing to follow suit. He looked toward Tallia with a calm expression. “Good night,” he replied softly. “Thank you for letting me stay the night so I can go to the Harvest Call with Saul.”
Tallia, who had her back turned to the table the whole time, finally turned around. Her facial expression was of undisguised worry. “Stay to the road, please,” she replied in a low voice, almost pleading. “You know that there may be worse things out there than coy-hounds.”
Benin nodded once, which seemed satisfactory for Saullir’s mother. She offered a small smile, but it was more than enough to soften her features. “Rest well, Benin.”
The young man nodded once again, smiling back, though restraining himself from doing more so. He anticipated his Dream-Thought tonight. “Thank you.”
* * * * *
The world around him was black, save for a small window that was positioned several human lengths away from him. The frame around the window was a reddish stone, set in perfect squares around the frame. There was nothing to shield the window from what was on the other side. A small glow resembling the moon's shine but more bluish in tint, radiated through the window, lighting the window’s frame but nothing else. He was in a room, he guessed, but nothing more.
This was the very setting that he had met Ruthera before. The Dream-Thought had begun.
Usually, Ruthera would be there to greet him, in soft red robes, with silver and gold hair. The soft, pale skin felt real when he touched her face...even in the dream. He had done so only once – the last time they had met. The dream ended immediately after.
Perhaps he intimidated her when he did that. Maybe she was not here because he was too forward last time. But that couldn’t be…he thought he had felt her lips earlier that day when he was walking along Garesh Pass.
Something touched his right hand…something from behind. He tensed briefly, ready to recoil, but he then recognized the touch, as another’s hand enveloped his.
“You are early, Jiratha’na,” stated Ruthera as she moved slowly to his right. The name was unfamiliar to him, though he recognized the word ‘Jirath.’ He asked her on several different occasions, each time her reply was simply, “You.”
“The Harvest Call is tomorrow, is it not?” questioned Ruthera, her voice soft and gentle. Benin equated it to an arrangement of small chimes being touched gently by the breeze.
The young man nodded slightly as he stared ahead to the soft glow at the window. His mind was in euphoria now that Ruthera was here. Something in the back of his mind poked at him, that this was just a dream and not reality. Tonight, however, that sense of disbelief was being eclipsed by the ecstasy he was feeling now. For a brief moment, he didn’t want to wake up…
“Then the time is near,” continued Ruthera, who moved around to stand face-to-face with Benin. To feel her hand in his was one thing, to lock onto her sky-colored eyes was far beyond even that feeling. “The time when you arrive here is close at hand.”
Benin felt a bit of reality sink in. He blinked a couple of times before replying. “It is?” he inquired, his facial expression changing quickly to one of confusion. “Where? How do you know?”
“The days are fading,” she indicated, her soft blue eyes never blinking, staring deep into Benin’s. The young man felt frozen in place; whether or not that was true did not matter to him. “The morning sun will rise behind darkness. Circles of light will block your path. Those in red will hunt you…”
The words echoed in Benin’s head. He did not understand the meaning of Ruthera’s words, but he nodded nonetheless as she continued. “It is your fate, Jiratha’na. It is also the fate of the Ro’nin. Your path is inevitable. This will be your First Journey.”
He barely understood what she was saying, but the words still set heavily upon his mind. Circles of light? The First Journey? And, who was the Ro’nin? Was that Saul? Questions multiplied in his head with each passing second.
Ruthera put one of her hands to Benin’s face, caressing his cheek. “I apologize. I have said more than I should have. Just know that your life is changing, and that we fill finally meet.”
Benin smiled, though his mind was still treading in a pool of confusion. He lifted his hand to touch hers; the one that caressed his face. “We have met here, together, for months. You have told me many things I do not yet understand. I do sense a change in my life, though I feel it has already done so.” Ruthera began to smile in reaction as he continued. “I have so much to ask, yet I fear that it will only bring more questions. I am not very good with words. In fact, I still do not understand how this-“ he made a sweeping gesture with his left hand, “-is possible.”
Ruthera closed her eyes briefly, but it was almost as if sunlight was stripped from Benin. “There is much I cannot explain, and there is still much that even I cannot understand. All I can say is that legends are not mere stories.”
There was a long moment of silence as she opened her eyes once again, her mood looked a little more sorrowful this time. “Dream-Thoughts pass much more slowly than the real time. We must part before the sunrise.” Ruthera let her hands fall to her sides as she always did at the Dream-Thought’s end. It was unclear whether Benin could end a Dream-Thought or not, but they had always been ended by Ruthera anyway. It was probably for the best; if it was left to Benin, he would stay in these states forever if he could.
As it was, the young man felt as if the Dream-Thought did not last long enough. Just a few brief moments…not nearly long enough to even get a few simple questions answered. Though even if he did have more time, he felt it would be difficult to keep his wits on the question. Ruthera was simply too beautiful for casual conversation..
As the glow from the window started to fade, a signal of the dream’s end, Benin spoke softly, “I have one thing to offer before you depart.”
She was taken by surprise by Benin’s forwardness when he lunged forward and met his lips to hers. It was neither heated nor passionate; just a simple but tender touch on the lips. The touch, however, quickened both of their hearts. Dream-Thought or not, the experience was real for both of them.
It was Ruthera who drew back, though very slightly, enough for Benin to smile and reply as the world around them dimmed to complete darkness. “A return for the one you had left for me.”
* * * * *
“Just in time,” whispered the voice of Saullir as Benin opened his eyes to a barely-lit room. As consciousness collected about him, he realized he was staring up at the ceiling of the guest room in Saullir’s home. The orange light of dawn shined intensely through the east window, but its illumination was narrow, as if it was peeking through a small slot instead. A continuous amount of rustling was heard on the other side of the room, as if something was being stuffed into a pack.
Just as Benin was sitting up to take a better look, a plain shirt and pants were thrown at his head. Unable to avoid them, he let them hit his face. “Saul, what are you-“ started Benin in a hoarse whisper, but he was cut off when a scabbard-covered short sword fell on his lap, making a dulled metallic sound on impact.
“Get ready and keep quiet,” Saullir whispered loudly as his body blocked the sun’s light from the window. Even though Benin could not see his best friend’s face in the near-total darkness, he could tell he wore an impatient and anxious expression. He almost knew what Saullir was going to say next, and he didn’t like it.
“We’re heading through the Old Berglen Pass. Now.”
Thaos Nightwind
Cadet
You weave a story together very well Tryson. I particularly like, the cordanis oak for example, how you fill the room.. no, 'scenes' in with details of the moments. Like the forest of Garesh:
"Trees both young and ancient, the elders shielded a good amount of sunlight from the forest floor. The result was an enchanting soft green color that seemed to make the entire area radiate with an emerald glow. It only served to accentuate the eerie supernatural history contained in these woods."
My imagination could also see numerous tall rays of sunlight cascading down through the branches lighting up patches of the forest floor. Yeah, the eldar trees were that tall and sparsely dense you know? Wanted to sit there and chill for a few.. how could anyone just pass through that forest and not hang for awhile is beyond me.
I really liked Garesh.. the history of the City and whence the forest and pass got it's name for some odd reason. I think it was becasue the forest really leaped out as being a beautiful place so the city must've been majestic when it was there.
See what ya did. When published I want the rare hardback oversized editions with gold leaf lettering with the Titles overlaid on the Garesh Crest and... yea.. each book with those hand stiched little tassled bookmark things.
Anyways, you're a very good 'scene' painter.
"Trees both young and ancient, the elders shielded a good amount of sunlight from the forest floor. The result was an enchanting soft green color that seemed to make the entire area radiate with an emerald glow. It only served to accentuate the eerie supernatural history contained in these woods."
My imagination could also see numerous tall rays of sunlight cascading down through the branches lighting up patches of the forest floor. Yeah, the eldar trees were that tall and sparsely dense you know? Wanted to sit there and chill for a few.. how could anyone just pass through that forest and not hang for awhile is beyond me.
I really liked Garesh.. the history of the City and whence the forest and pass got it's name for some odd reason. I think it was becasue the forest really leaped out as being a beautiful place so the city must've been majestic when it was there.
See what ya did. When published I want the rare hardback oversized editions with gold leaf lettering with the Titles overlaid on the Garesh Crest and... yea.. each book with those hand stiched little tassled bookmark things.
Anyways, you're a very good 'scene' painter.
Tyrson
Cadet
Again, thanks for the compliment!
Alright, in light of the 10,000 word limit for posts on these forums (some of my bare-bones chapters will exceed this), I've rebuilt my site that has my story posted on there.
http://www.tiwnor.rackhost.net/luminaire-legion/
Chapters 1-7 are on there, and 8 is very nearly done - I just have to figure out where to end it and start on 9. I'll post updates in this thread whenever I get a new chapter!
And yes, the background is a 'faded' paint-style image of the Arbara province with location names.
Alright, in light of the 10,000 word limit for posts on these forums (some of my bare-bones chapters will exceed this), I've rebuilt my site that has my story posted on there.
http://www.tiwnor.rackhost.net/luminaire-legion/
Chapters 1-7 are on there, and 8 is very nearly done - I just have to figure out where to end it and start on 9. I'll post updates in this thread whenever I get a new chapter!
And yes, the background is a 'faded' paint-style image of the Arbara province with location names.
Tyrson
Cadet
Chapter 10 is now up.
Naeya
Cadet
Link seems to be broken. I get a 404 error.
blur
Cadet
My advice then, in all honesty, would be to not give as much away on the site as it could cruel the book's chances with a publisher. Also, are you also looking into getting some short fiction published in magazines of sf and fantasy? This is an excellent way to not only hone your skills and get comments from professional editors about your writing as you go (this is an essential, as comments from friends can only take you "so far"), but also makes for a more compelling pitch when you do go to real publisher and can say, "I've had short fiction published in Asimov's, etc, etc..." as it will instantly put you a cut above many of the other first time novelists in the eyes of the editors who are about to look over your m----cript. A quick and easy way to do this is take one of the characters from your story and do a little short story on him/her. You already know the person, the environment, etc... just dash off a little piece that might be a side mission to what's happening in the novel, and shoot that off as your first short story. See what happens. See what the comments are.
Goodluck.
blur
Cadet
My advice then, in all honesty, would be to not give as much away on the site as it could cruel the book's chances with a publisher. Also, are you also looking into getting some short fiction published in magazines of sf and fantasy? This is an excellent way to not only hone your skills and get comments from professional editors about your writing as you go (this is an essential, as comments from friends can only take you "so far"), but also makes for a more compelling pitch when you do go to real publisher and can say, "I've had short fiction published in Asimov's..." (or wherever it might end up), as it will instantly put you a cut above many of the other first time novelists in the eyes of the editors who are about to look over your m----cript. A quick and easy way to do this is take one of the characters from your story and do a little short story on him/her. You already know the person, the environment, etc... just dash off a little piece that might be a side mission to what's happening in the novel, and shoot that off as your first short story.
Goodluck.
Tyrson
Cadet
Thanks, and the advice is appreciated. Writing is the easy part; getting it out is all together different.
I have considered pulling the chapters off the site before getting too far, but I suppose it all depends on what I want to do with this 'book.' I was also thinking of taking a brief respite on the story itself and chug out a few world-building write-ups (for myself if not for others). As I write and create more areas, I get more and more ideas for historical events that I could write a spin off of, so I might write a mini-story to get my name out there beforehand.
I have considered pulling the chapters off the site before getting too far, but I suppose it all depends on what I want to do with this 'book.' I was also thinking of taking a brief respite on the story itself and chug out a few world-building write-ups (for myself if not for others). As I write and create more areas, I get more and more ideas for historical events that I could write a spin off of, so I might write a mini-story to get my name out there beforehand.
