Chapter 1
The fish’s scales
glinted through the water. The water was unusually clear, or perhaps the water
only looked clear because the reflection of the blue sky made it look healthy.
My face rippled on top of the water, brow knitted in concentration. I have dark
hair, strange eyes the colour of fire and high cheekbones that make me look
harder than I am inside.
My nails are long and white, I have calluses on my fingertips
– I am a trained warrior. My hand pierces the water, and closes around the
fish’s slimy scales. The fish’s scales are like silver plates all aligned on a
table. The fish struggles in my hand until it dies in the open air. It goes
limp, and I prepare the fish for my dinner. The sky is dimming, an orange glow
hanging around the clouds. I gather some branches and lay them down to light a
fire. The fire provides vague light, but it will do.
The hand-drawn map I carry with me indicates that I am now in
the Older Woods – the long forgotten woods that were once inhabited by my
ancestors, before the first attack from the Niranda-kuul. My ancestors were the
Anatanians, the first elves. The ruins of their mighty city still remain here.
I am far north from the elven city Iona, and far south of the
Dead Stretch. The elven city, Iona, is where I’ve lived for the past six years,
since our home in the Green was attacked by the Niranda-kuul and my mother,
Aliel, disappeared. Iona is my first real home – with actual buildings, and not
just tents that we pack up with our belongings and carry with us as we move
from place to place, avoiding danger.
I finish devouring the fish, and take a drink from the lake.
My head is pounding, and I feel unwell. I settle down for the night, and the
same dream haunts me. The same dream I see each night. I know it’s not healthy
to let something from the past haunt you, but I can’t help it. What I saw
unnerved me and made me afraid.
The fire goes out.
“Tulas, farewell, Elka. May your journey lead
you to your quarry.” My guardian, Induagel said at the gates of Iona, as I left
to find my mother. He held my head with his two blacksmith hands, and kissed my
forehead. Through teary eyes I waved goodbye, and although it was hard to leave
my tribe behind, first I had to find my family.
And so I walked away from my life, going back through time on
the trail on which I’d first came to Iona. The trees were straight and tall,
and soon the structures of my elven home blended with the trees in the distance
until I couldn’t tell the city was concealed within the forest…
The
next morning the sky is a pink haze. I fold my sheets, and stuff them into my
satchel. I attach my scabbard to my belt, and sling my satchel over my
shoulder. I attach my quiver of arrows on my back, and in my right hand is my
trusted bow.
I hope to move quickly through the Older
Woods. There is a strange presence in here. The trees seem to bend; none of
them seem to point to the sky directly. The light flickers through the high
leaves in an almost eerie fashion. The light shifts all the time, but the
leaves of the trees stay still.
I move deeper into the woods, and up
ahead I can see a silver mist. I reach the silver mist, and I walk through it.
Time seems to freeze for a second, then the mist clears and I am standing
amidst the ruins of the Anatanian empire. Large stone buildings must once of
stood here. There were tall spirals of towers and huge domes, made of white
stone flecked with grey once upon a time. The gold and silver they used is gone.
The ruins show faint elaborate designs and patterns the elves would have carved
into the stone. It is a very majestic place, full of memory.
But the damage the Niranda-kuul caused
remains like a stain.
I touch one of the walls, almost reduced to rubble, and I
feel it tingle beneath my skin. Then I take some steps forward, and I cannot
help but feel a little regret at moving on from this place. There is magic in
the air and it makes me want to stay forever.
But I have a mission to fulfil.
So I keep moving, and as I walk I can
hear birds singing and the Silver Brook rushing next to me. I can’t see the
brook, but I can see the reflection from the water – a light coming through the
trees.
This is just the first part of my
journey.
First I shall move through the Older
Woods, rumoured to still be inhabited by the Niranda-kuul, then I shall travel
through the Ancient Bush – a land of white, crooked trees and dead soil.
Up ahead, I hear a twig crack, and
leaves rustle. I duck behind a large oak. Could it be the Niranda-kuul had
returned to this place after so many years of abandonment? The leaves seem to
steal the light, and the clouds seem to cover the sun, as everything is bathed
in grey. I hear the crack again. Slowly and cautiously, I reach back and slide
an arrow from my leather quiver. The wood of the arrow is cool. I nock my arrow
and pull the bowstring and my elbow back so my index finger is nestled just
below my cheekbone.
I swing around the tree and there is a
black shape. A memory flashes into my mind…
…I
see far away a flame light up the sky like a beacon. Then I hear familiar
drums, and chanting. They are saying, “Niranda-kuul, enda u Anul.”…
“They are coming!”
I yelp as I see the figure, and release
the bowstring in surprise. The arrow whistles into the sky. When I look back,
the figure is gone. I duck back behind the tree, and the footsteps upon twigs
continue. I reach above me, and search for a branch to lever myself into the
tree. I find one, but I’m not sure it can hold my weight. Holding the small
branch, I bend my elbow and my body rises a few inches off the ground. I put my
feet on the trunk to push myself upwards. My bowhand reaches up and I find
another branch. I leap for the branch with my free hand, and I’m dangling from
it. Then I start to swing, and with the momentum from the swings I can get my
leg around a thicker, more stable branch. And it’s easy climbing from there.
The cracking of twigs and the rustling
of leaves is faint now, but it’s below me. I feel a looming presence. I rest
with my back to the trunk for a moment, and observe the ground below. Nothing.
Then the air rushes past me and
blackness caves in.
Slowly
I open my eyes, and the blackness fades away. I am on the ground, in a bed of red
autumn leaves. The green leaves are all the way up there, the light streaming
through them in rays. I feel strangely calm.
I roll onto my stomach. Leaves crunch beneath me as my
vision does a 360° turn and a child comes into view. A boy with a small, white
face, jet-black hair and pointed ears like mine. An elf-boy. I raise an eyebrow
in question.
Why would an elf-boy be out here? It might be dangerous.
Cautiously, I ask, “What is your name?” The boy doesn’t seem
to respond. His large grey eyes watch me intensely, or observe me as a father’s
eyes would. But then he reaches down, and sticks one of his fingers in the
soil, and begins to write. I follow his hand as he writes one word:
Édan.
Édan leans down so he can see my eyes. He touches my cheek
with one of his fingers, and smiles. Édan then takes my hand and tugs me to my
feet. Then he leads me through the trees, pulling me after him. The trees sway
in his presence, bending, then rippling straight again. I stare in amazement as
we run. Édan is dressed in small grey garments, dashing over the sticks and
leaves with an unseen grace. Perhaps it is the way the sticks and leaves brush
aside, clearing a path as if Édan had an aura of the very wind that weaves
through these woods.
Édan leads me down a small slope and we enter a glade. The
Silver Brook is now in view, gushing past. There is long green grass, and trees
are tall and arranged like candles in a cake. There are a few hills, and a pool
of crystal water, surrounded by grey rocks covered in dark green moss.
Édan sits down at the base of the slope we came down. He is
playing with a silver, spherical object. I turn from him to admire the glade.
It is beautiful. I walk over to the pool, and drink. For some reason, my throat
is dry. The cool water trickles down my throat, and restores my croaking voice.
I wipe my mouth with the back of my hand and turn to thank Édan, but he is
gone.
I turn back to the pool, and something is written in the
soil at my feet:
The glade is safe, but they are waiting for you.
Waiting to kill you.
I
continue through the woods until it is night, and the stars are the only things
to guide me. A carpet of cloud covers the moon, so there is sparse light to
help. Édan is nowhere in sight, and I’m starting to think he was a dream. I
trek through the woods, stepping over fallen trees, and winding ribbons of
streams. The leaves of the bushes and other vegetation whip my arms as I walk
in the shadow of the tall trees. I have been walking through the Older Woods
for five days. The elven city of Rithandir lies ahead, and there is where I
will stop for supplies. It is but two days from where I now step.
As I push my way through the woods, I
still feel that unearthly presence hanging around. It is like an imaginary
drape across my shoulders, that I can feel but cannot see. I stop walking, and make
camp. Salted meat is my dinner, and then I fall into sleep. There is a rush of
water as I enter the dream…
“Mother! They are coming!”
She lay there, motionless, eyes still open. Tears formed in
her eyes and she screamed. Her scream ended with a gurgle; as if she were
drowning and then she screeched and hissed like a cat. I jumped back, startled.
She rose from her bed with a glinting knife and lunged at me. The knife entered
my flesh; bore straight through my muscle and ribcage to my heart.
I screamed, pouring blood, and died.