Alton Tem fell to his knees in the slight shade of the cliff and looked out over the land. Sky and sand blurred in his heat-stained vision and he wondered how many days it would take him to reach the distant mountains. Already he had been three days without water and four without food. His bronze skin, usually adapted to the climate, had burned and peeled, then burned again. Despite the dry wind that stole the sweat from his brow, he shivered and then took to wonder how many days it would take him to die.
Only six days previous his father had given him all the dried food they had, two waterskins, and sent him and his little brother, Benni, out into the desert. They were meant to escape the terrible plague that had already sickened and killed most of the village; meant to, but no man can run that fast. Benni died delirious and shrieking on the fourth day and surely the scavengers had dug up his frail little body and torn the bones apart by the next nightfall. Now, Alton closed his eyes and begged the spirits to take the blinding pain from his head, ease the fever that cooked him, or take away the sun that would finish the job.
Something moved in his field of vision and he turned weakly. It was the lioness again. She’d watched him and followed him for longer than his desert-mad mind could fathom. Maybe she’d been there forever. He wished she would kill him and end the horrible game, or else leave him to the sun. Along his worn belt he still wore the throwing knives the weapons-master had given him with he came of age, but to take one out and attempt to hit the great beast seemed more effort than worth.
He fell back against the cliff, crying hoarsely, but his wracked body was so dry that no tears welled up in his stinging, gritty eyes. It was time, it must be, Alton dimly considered as the land began to fade into dark silhouettes. He felt the rush of wind and scent as the lioness leapt towards him, and a muscle in his neck twitched; the only reflex that remained in the face of tearing fangs and claws.
No strike came. Alton forced his darkened eyes to focus and see light again, and watched in amazement as the lioness jumped again, jaws locked on the sandbear’s throat. The monster roared in pain and fury, falling to its back and raking its back-claws across the lioness’ underside. The sun was bright, so bright and burned, that it felt to Alton as if the hot wind lifted his withered frame and flew him at the howling two, pulling the great cat away and making a deadly whirlwind of his fists that left the sandbear a mangled lump of noxious fur and flesh.
Then, the wind brought him to rest on the scorching sand with the dying creature in his arms. The lioness looked into his eyes and then the eyes looked away, fixed on the desert forever. Musk from the fallen beast filled his nostrals and threatened to choke him, but Alton could only fall on the body of his savior and accept the darkness that finally came.
The small village of Panjan was two days march south of the city of Gem. Its people were a hardy breed who mined the hills for jewels that would be sent to the city, or tirelessly tilled the sandy soil for the crops that fed its population. Here, the Realm was only part of the people’s lives through tales told by travelers and news brought infrequently by Guild caravans. Most of Panjan had never even seen a Dragon-Blooded noble, and that was just fine with them.
In this village dwelled a miner by the name of Pism Tem, and he and his wife had two sons, Benni and Alton. The latter was a strapping young man just past his eighteenth birthday; at six feet six inches, he towered over most of the people of the village, but they had no fear, for everyone knew of the kind heart of the miner’s son. It was a marvel, this huge boy, trained as a fighter, laughing and running with his brother and friends on the river’s shore, or walking through the canyons, singing. Though no village elder, Alton was no dullard either, and many of the young women dreamed that one day he would turn his golden eyes on them.
However, the heart and soul of Alton Tem belonged to one girl, Arra the blacksmith’s daughter, and they were betrothed to be wed come mid-summer. And it was on a day one month before that time, that he met her by the banks of the small river.
He was sitting in the shade of the canyon’s wall, letting the cool waters flow over his bare feet when he saw her, her white work-dress ruffling delicately in the slight breeze that blew from the mountains.
“Hey! Over here!” and he waved.
Arra shielded her eyes against the sun, and seeing him, smiled and came over to join him. Her long red hair was a shade lighter than his, as was her smooth skin, but even to look at her made Alton wish they were the only two people in the world. They sat together, leaning on each other and watching the river, and she finally spoke.
“I’ve been thinking, that perhaps we should start building our house soon.”
“Huh,” he considered. “I thought we were going to start next summer, and stay this season in my father’s house?”
“Oh, well,” she blushed and touched his toes with hers, “that would be fine, I guess. Though, that house is big, but not big enough for six people.”
Alton looked at her, puzzled. “How six? There’s my father, mother, Benni, and you and I. That’s only five. Where are you getting six?”
Arra laughed lightly and took Alton’s hand, putting it on her gentle stomach. “Where do you think?”
It took a moment for him to realize her meaning but when he did, he leapt up and took her in his arms. Laughing, he swung her around in an impromptu dance on the river’s shore.
“Are you certain?”
“To ask such things! A woman is always certain!” Arra replied, wrinkling her brow in mock annoyance.
Still, Alton grabbed her hand. “Come! Let’s go back to the village and tell everyone!” Smiling and feeling her love for him, she followed as her betrothed, massive fighter of Panjan village, danced through the canyon with her, singing of his future child.
This was on the day that Stennen, one of the village elders, took sick with a sudden fever, and it was five days later that Alton stood at the edge of the desert, watching Arra’s ashes be taken by the wind. Eyes red from crying, he turned his face towards the setting sun and away from the fire that was already burning low. It would be another two days before his father would send him and Benni into the desert, praying they could escape death and the doom that came to Panjan.
Old Senya groused to herself as her sandals filled with hot sand. Thirty years of living in the desert, and she still hated the first few steps of the day. She wouldn’t have even gone out in such heat if she hadn’t needed more water, a fact that she bemoaned loudly to the wind over the dunes. It was her own fault, she stated, for not having picked up her lazy bones to do it the evening before. Someone’s head would roll for it, she continued, although now she was not so annoyed and only complaining to hear the sound of her voice. Yes, divine justice from the skies, she promised.
A roar split the heavens and the old woman shrieked and threw herself to the ground. Trembling, she looked up to see a huge rampant lion filling the sky before her. It reared its head and shone as if made of gold. Wide-eyed, Old Senya swore and raced towards it, sandals kicking hot sand up her legs but even she forgot to complain.
What she found, only a league from the oasis, was a giant young man lying unconscious on a dead lioness with the corpse of what she assumed to be a sandbear not far off. Timidly, she pulled the boy off the great cat and laid him on his back feeling his breath with the back of her hand; it was shallow, but he still lived. Most shocking, however, was the golden rising sun sigil that shone brightly on his forehead. Old Senya remembered the tales and was no fool. Grumbling, she grabbed the back of his tunic and started dragging him back towards her hut. Water could wait until he was out of the sun.
The first thing Alton noticed about the darkness was that it was cool, and there was a breeze. It also smelled sweet and dusty, and he tried to remember what the elders said the afterlife was like. However, he could think of nothing but how good it felt not to be burning, and his closed eyes could see only a flash, like the sun halted forever as it rose. The next thing he discovered was that he hurt all over and it was a trial to move. Still, there was a feeling running through him that he had never felt before; a strange energy that flowed and darted through him like tiny fish in a stream. He realized that he must be dead.
“I am dead,” he said evenly, muscles relaxing and mind adjusting to the fact. Alton was quite shocked, then, when something thumped him over the head.
“Don’t be an idiot, boy! You’re not dead.” The voice sounded like an old woman. “Open yer eyes and you’ll see that.”
“I can’t. The dead lie still with their eyes closed, and as I’m dead, so must I.”
The voice sighed. “If you’re dead, how do you have eyes to close?”
He thought about that for a moment, and guessed the voice was right. Wincing, Alton opened his eyes, and found that he was lying on a straw mat in what looked like a little stone hut. There was an old and very wrinkled woman sitting on a stool beside him and staring.
“Oh,” he said, rather sheepishly, then groaned as the fatigue and pain came racing back.
“Do you remember what happened?
“Mmm. There is a plague in Panjan village. My father sent my little brother and myself into the desert with supplies, that we should return when the sickness is gone,” he whispered, arm over his sore eyes.
“Well, can’t do that. I was down that region yesterday and there’s no one. Um-hum, all dead there. Then what?” the old woman asked.
“My brother, Benni, he died of the fever and I was dying also…” Alton trailed off, thinking. “The plague! I was ill, yet now I feel fine?”
She nodded, “All in good time, boy. Then what?”
“There was a lioness following me for days. I figured she was hunting me, and just when I sat down to let her take me, there was a beast. A sandbear, I think. The lioness fought with it and then, then…it gets hazy. I think that I fought the sandbear too, but I can’t quite remember.”
“Ah. Well, I’m Senya Starborn. And if I remember your face from years ago, you are Alton, son of Pism Tem, the miner, yes?”
He nodded, wondering vaguely if she was the hermit-woman that his father had called for years ago when Benni was born and his mother was very sick.
“I’m going to explain everything, so don’t interrupt except if I ask you a question. Now, Alton, which is brighter, the sun or the moon?”
“The sun? Yes, the sun.”
“Um-hum,” she answered, “and which is the greater creature, a man or a beast?”
“A man.” He felt like he were only six years old again, in the elders’ Basics lecture.
“And of the beasts, which is the king?”
“Easy, the lion.”
Senya leaned forward. “So, what would be the brightest, greatest, king of the gods?”
He considered that for a moment. “A lion-man who shines like the sun?”
“Exactly!” and she gave a gap-toothed grin.
Dizzy but holding together, Alton slowly sat up. “But what does that have to do with me?”
“Everything!” and Senya whapped him on the head again. “You’re not listening. The greatest of the beasts is the lion, which is sacred to the god, the Golden Lion. He is long dead, but his ghost remains here to watch over his children. You fought against the sandbear to save a lioness, and so the Golden Lion extended his protection and strength to you. You are now his servant and carry with you the protection of the ghost of a god.”
“I…I do?”
“The mark you wear now on your forehead is his mark, and when you fight, he stands above you in aid. You feel different, powerful, yes?” She didn’t wait for him to answer, “that feeling is the strength of the Golden Lion in you.”
Alton rubbed his forehead, which felt the same as it always had. But the old woman was right about the feeling. Already, his exhaustion was lessening and the pain soaking out of his tired muscles. “Wow,” was all he could manage.
“Never use it, except in times of great need! Such power draws unwanted attention, understand?”
“Yes,” although he didn’t.
Senya explained much that day, and even more in the few that followed it. She read his fortune in tea leaves, and told him the answers he sought were on the far-off island of Jade. The old woman went to Panjan and took everything of value, telling him to sell it for passage to Jade, and with her she brought a young lion cub that she’d found sleeping next to its dead mother at the scene of Alton’s fight. So, as the last survivor of a small village of the South, Alton Tem, unknowing Dawn Caste, took his cub and crossed the desert to seek his destiny on an island called Jade.