The Beginning (4 page)

That night, Jahrra found it hard to fall asleep. It had been months since she’d seen Denaeh, having only had two chances to visit the Mystic during her busy summer. And now the season had progressed well into fall, one of Jahrra’s favorite times of the year. The leaves were turning crimson and fire, and the green of the fields was ripening into gold. The crisp air weighed heavily with winter’s coming cold, but it couldn’t depress Jahrra’s spirits. Her vengeance upon her enemies was nearly complete, and as she finally drifted off to sleep, her lips curled into a satisfied smile.

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Chapter Three
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Tales of the Past

“I can’t wait!” Jahrra cried, pulling Phrym up alongside Bhun and Aimhe as she left the Castle Guard Ruin resting in the mid-morning light. “Denaeh promised to tell us a Sobledthe story, remember?”

Gieaun shook her head in amusement and Scede rolled his eyes as they nudged their horses into a slow walk behind Jahrra and Phrym. The siblings were still reluctant to travel deep within the Black Swamp, but the idea of hearing a good Sobledthe story and doing something besides hauling slimy seaweed around at Lake Ossar was too good an opportunity to pass up.

“Here is some of the extra horse hair we collected,” Gieaun said, reaching into her saddlebag and pulling out a huge tangle of multi-colored tresses as they moved eastward towards the forest. “I thought it would be a good idea to work on our Sobledthe costumes while we were listening to Denaeh’s stories.”

Scede snorted softly. Jahrra cocked her head in his direction, but said nothing. She knew that although he agreed to accompany her and his sister into the Black Swamp, he didn’t have to like it. His distrust of the Mystic was even greater than Gieaun’s.

“Now all we have to do is figure out
how
to use this in our costumes,” Jahrra said lightly, taking the large chunk of brown hair from Gieaun’s hands.

“We could be horses,” Gieaun stated hopefully, reaching down and patting Aimhe affectionately.

“No! Everyone dresses as a horse at the Fall Festival!” Scede complained, dropping his quiet reverie. “We’ll be in Lensterans, and everyone will be in costume. Do you want to look the same as everyone else?”

Gieaun just stuck her nose up at Scede, thinking he was taking this all too seriously. Scede ignored her and kept talking.

“I wish we could stay until after dark, that’s the most exciting part!” he grumbled.

“I know,” Jahrra sighed. “It would have been neat to see the rituals and it would have been fun to dance around the bonfire all night.”

Although Hroombra had given Jahrra permission to go to this year’s Sobledthe celebration in Lensterans with her friends and their parents, he hadn’t agreed on an all night excursion. Jahrra could only stay until sunset, but she was allowed to stay the rest of the night at Wood’s End Ranch with Gieaun and Scede.

“When you are older, you will be allowed to go by yourselves,” Nuhra had told the complaining children.

“When will that be?” Scede had asked rather flippantly.

Kaihmen had almost smiled when he answered his son, “Oh, a couple more years at least.”

“That’s ages from now!” Scede insisted.

But his father refused to budge.

Although they wouldn’t get to witness the fall festival in its entirety, Gieaun, Scede and Jahrra were looking forward to seeing the city of Lensterans in full fall decor. They had heard many wonderful things from those who had been to the festival before. For weeks they’d held images of brilliant costumes and towering bonfires in their minds, their mouths watering at the very thought of eating caramel apples and spiced, roasted nuts. Jahrra had almost fallen out of the oak tree in the school yard several times as she’d tried to stretch her ears closer to catch a word or two from a tale someone had heard the year before. It was almost too much to endure, but finally, the time of the Harvest Festival was only a handful of days away.

“I bet Denaeh will have an idea for our costumes,” Jahrra said, breaking the long, thoughtful silence as they entered the Wreing Florenn along the trail that followed the Danu Creek. It was a cool day, sun-brightened but fringed with coastal fog and Jahrra, Gieaun and Scede were dressed warmly.

“Jahrra, are you sure you want to go see Denaeh today?” Gieaun said faintly as they passed under the towering trees. “I mean, I’m sure we can come up with our own costume ideas.”

Gieaun, although she’d been into the Belloughs before, was still frightened of the strange swamp and the dank atmosphere that surrounded it.

“No, no, Denaeh will have better ideas than us, I guarantee it,” Jahrra chirped, not detecting the hint of trepidation in her friend’s voice.

“Besides,” she continued after awhile, “don’t you want to hear one of her Sobledthe stories?”

Gieaun gave Scede a nervous look. Scede just smiled, trying not to take sides. He felt the same way that his sister did, but the idea of hearing a good story was too much of a temptation to insist they turn back.

Once the group had descended further into the bog, the mist began thickening just as it always did and after an hour more of quiet travel, they finally reached the Belloughs. Denaeh poked her haggard head out of her cave at the sound of company, wrinkling her nose as if to detect a foul smell on the wind. When she saw that it was Jahrra and her friends, she welcomed them all heartily, transforming into her younger self.  Even Milihn, Denaeh’s strange raven-like bird who was usually shy around Scede and Gieaun, joined the small party.

“He’s here to set the mood,” the Mystic teased as he cawed loudly from her shoulder.

This was the first time Gieaun and Scede had ever seen the korehv up close, and they were dumbstruck by his size and color.

“Don’t worry, he won’t attack you,” Denaeh said with a smile as she watched a timid Gieaun and Scede approach. “Usually, he takes to the deep woods when you two come along.”

Jahrra, Gieaun and Scede climbed down from their horses and tied them to a nearby tree, letting them drowse in the somber atmosphere of the swamp. The Mystic stoked a tired fire beside her sleeping garden and once everyone was comfortably sitting on a great, fallen tree, she spread her arms wide for effect and began the tale she had promised them. The children all huddled close together, waiting to hear about some horrifying beast that ate people alive.

“For it is said,” Denaeh began, pausing and looking at each of them with a frightful gaze, the fire’s smoke providing great effect, “for it is said that long ago, the world was peaceful. All creatures, great and small, lived in harmony together, and even the spirits of the earth and sky had no reason to be angry. But one day Ciarrohn, the god of the dead and evil, under the gaze of his parents’ eyes, began changing the beauty of this world.

“He used dark magic to warp and transform what beasts of the earth he could capture, and soon he had an army of loyal and horrible servants, dark creatures that roamed the world searching out the good only to destroy it.

“The ancestors of the creatures that Ciarrohn created still roam the earth to this very day. The boarlaque, for instance, is one such creature thought to be a result of his many creations.”

Jahrra shivered as she imagined the fearsome boarlaque, a great, bear-like beast that lived in the mountains and terrorized villages, looking for victims.

“Living beings weren’t the only things influenced by the god of the dead,” the Mystic went on. “All of the evil spirits hidden away during the daylight hours are his minions as well. They avoid the light and brightness of day, and once every year, they come out at night and walk among us. You see, Sobledthe is not just a festival to celebrate the ending and beginning of a new year and the joy of a good harvest. It is also a time to remember the dark spirits and creatures of the earth, and on Sobledthe Eve, they wait in the shadows to capture an unsuspecting soul.”

Denaeh whispered this last sentence harshly, her young face looking very demonic and shrewd. Jahrra, Gieaun and Scede were entranced, and all three of them were afraid to breathe, in case one of these evil spirits was waiting to pounce on them the moment they did.

The Mystic stood suddenly from her dramatic pose, causing everyone to jump. After a several seconds she continued on in a more normal voice, “And so, many remember the Harvest Day not only as a celebration of Ethoes herself, but also as a time to be wary of the creatures of darkness. For on the very day of this sacred festival, long, long ago, Ciarrohn and his underlings gained absolute power and corrupted many of the beings living in this world.

“He sent his horrible grouldahs, a terrifying wolf-like, skeletal creature with a mane like a horse running down its back, to the far corners of the world to kill those who didn’t acknowledge him as the supreme god. Fortunately, many of those who opposed Ciarrohn survived this hunt, but they lived on in fear and darkness.

“Many years passed, and Ciarrohn became lazy, assuming that all in the land obeyed him. But it was the dragon Traagien that finally overthrew him. He destroyed the god’s mortal form and hurled him down upon the western coast of Ethoes, his body becoming the Elornn and Thorbet Mountain ranges. This is why the Crimson King does not dare come to this part of Ethoes. It is a cursed place in the eyes of Ciarrohn.”

Denaeh paused and looked at the attentive children. She smiled in spite of herself, and continued on, “But, the following peace would not last, unfortunately. A young boy had been born in the east, and he would grow to become a tyrant and a ruthless ruler, his father having already been tainted by Ciarrohn’s power. You see, the god had his sights set on this young boy, this child who would one day wreak havoc against the world once again.”

Denaeh’s voice quavered a little as she spoke, but Jahrra and her friends were too captivated to notice.

“No one knows why Ciarrohn chose him,” she continued, releasing a deep breath. “Like I said before, many suspected this young man to be the evil god’s own son, but it could never be proven. Time passed and the hateful boy grew into a cruel man. With the help of his father and those still loyal to Ciarrohn, he overthrew the elfin king of the east and began to gain power.

“He captured what dragons he could find, the creatures that helped defeat his master, and began breeding them, creating his own warrior race. The terror and fear began to spread once more. This is the day the whole world changed.”

Denaeh paused again, but this time she was not smiling. She was frowning and Jahrra noticed a glimmer of sorrow in her eyes. She watched silently as the Mystic’s features became almost glazed; as if she had been swept back to some other time, leaving the shell of her body behind.

Jahrra suddenly wondered how far back Denaeh’s own history reached. She couldn’t be sure how old her eccentric friend was, but she had some idea about the lifespan of Mystics. Denaeh had told her a little about her kind once, hinting that once a woman became a Mystic, she also became immortal. Jahrra just wondered how long ago Denaeh became one of the mage-kind.

The ancient woman, currently in her youthful guise, drew in a sharp breath and let it out on a long sigh. She blinked her eyes several times and seemed to come out of her trance.

“Now, where was I?” she said, smiling faintly and looking as if she was fighting back tears.

Jahrra felt awkward and glanced at Gieaun and Scede to assess their reactions. Gieaun was staring at her hands, folded and resting awkwardly in her lap. Scede just shrugged and looked back at Denaeh, but his eyes didn’t meet the Mystic’s.

Jahrra looked timidly up from where she rested her chin on her knees. “Um, you were at the part in the story where the Crimson King first came into power.”

“That’s right, forgive me. It was so long ago and I sometimes forget the story.”

The three children nodded, and Denaeh continued on with her tale.
Forget the story?
Jahrra thought to herself.
Denaeh never forgets anything, no matter how long ago it happened
. Jahrra shook these thoughts out of her mind and listened to the Mystic continue on with her tale.

“The new tyrant king, who had come to be known as Cierryon, began spreading his evil throughout the land. But just like Ciarrohn before him, Cierryon became languid and arrogant and soon his opponents were plotting against him. The Korli dragons, along with the races of men, elves, and dwarves, were rallying together to defeat the dreadful oppressor they called the Crimson King. They knew that Traagien, long ago, had defeated a powerful god. If one dragon could destroy a god, then what kind of damage could several dragons do against a mere mortal?

“Their attempts were all in vain however, for the first war against the king failed, and many lives were lost against his battle-bred Morli dragons. Like a dormant volcano, the Crimson King erupted, the wrath and anger that had been held at bay for so many years poured out into the world, raining hatred and anguish down upon the people of Ethoes.

“It was a time of terror, darker and more fearful than anyone could ever remember. For years, the Tyrant’s minions roamed free upon the land, seeking out the weak, the poor and the down-trodden, sucking away any joy or happiness that graced their meager lives. Several years passed before anyone, mortal or immortal, dared to challenge the king again. It was the king of the Tanaan race of humans who finally decided to act. The good king of the west gathered his soldiers, all of his best fighting men and seven of his eight sons, and traveled to confront the evil king in the east. He left behind his kingdom, his queen and his ten year old boy, the youngest of the eight. The small prince begged to go, but the wise king knew the battle field was no place for a child.

“The Tanaan king and his men fought bravely, but one cannot simply defeat an enemy who is immortal. Cierryon had earned the power and favor of the dormant deity Ciarrohn, and he’d become as invincible as a god himself. The Tanaan king and his allies perished in the land of Ghorium, and when word of this awful defeat reached the people of the west, the land fell deeper into despair. The queen took this news the hardest and died shortly after of a broken heart. Her son, the last Tanaan prince, was left alone with his suffering people; alone except for a wise Korli dragon who had been the lost king’s own mentor and one of his majesty’s most loyal vassals. The dragon, devastated by the king’s death, looked after the boy, caring for him and teaching him about the ways of the world.