Awake, Chapter 1

This is the first full chapter of Awake, teased last year. It's been done for a while, not sure why it didn't get posted. Anyway, I hope you enjoy!

*******

How very curious.

This was the first thought the rabbit had. His forepaws rested on the smooth, weathered stone disk, the reason for his thought. It was so intricate, so delicate, but simple and solid. It was impossible, this stone. It should not be. But here it was, under his paws, giving him a reason to sit and just ... think.

Thought had never occurred to the rabbit before. All that mattered was being a rabbit; eating, rutting, and running. But all these images and ideas in his head now, they were so much more interesting!  The worst of it was, he could have done it before. But it did not matter as much as it did now, with this enigmatic stone unraveling his brain.

The rabbit knew he was awake now when all his life he had been asleep. One thought now kept running through his expanding mind: "Why?"

There was a rustle in the grass nearby, and old instincts kicked in. The rabbit stood up on his hind legs, peering around cautiously. His heart skipped a beat as he noticed the telltale orange fur of a fox. It dawned on the rabbit that if he panicked like he used to, he would not have noticed the fox.

He looked down at the stone. He wanted to bring it with him, but it would slow him down when he ran from the fox. He could come back for it. It had to come with him, but not now.

Even as he decided, the fox burst from his hiding spot, pouncing for the rabbit just as he dashed away. The rabbit was not afraid, he had done this many times before. But now, even as his legs pumped in sprinting leaps, his mind raced just as hard. He could stay one step ahead of the fox, if he could think on his feet.

A memory of a brook swollen from the spring melt drove him to take a harsh turn, one he almost did not make. The rabbit heard the snap of the fox's teeth just behind his tail, spurring him on to deeper urgency. He noted how much wider the fox's turn was than his own as he scrambled away, his plan taking a more definite shape.

The wild chase bolted through a thicket, startling a flock of tiny birds. The forest filled with chirping and fluttering of the frightened avians, but neither the rabbit nor his fox pursuer were deterred from the hunt. The rabbit weaved through the trees, trying to wile the fox away from his path, but this fox seemed determined to catch him. It seemed like the brook would be his best chance.

Finally, the rabbit could smell the brook nearby. The ground started to slope down in places as the trees thinned. But there was one part that stayed more or less even, culminating in a rise, and that was the path the rabbit took. He bounded over stones and roots, making sure that the fox was always just behind him. The orange furred beast just beyond his tail was completely focused on catching this slippery prey.

The rise the rabbit sought appeared before him, and he heart leapt. He turned up the speed, pushing himself further than he ever thought to before. The fox picked up speed as well, just as the rabbit hoped he would.

Just before the running pair reached the end of the cliff, the rabbit sprung off to the right in another tight turn, skidding to a stop just short of the edge. This time, the fox's turn was just too wide. It scrambled for a foothold just before it realized it was about to slide off the edge, but to no avail. It yelped as it tumbled down the cliff to the rushing water below. There was a loud splash below, and the rabbit released a sigh of relief. He stepped up to the edge, catching a glance of the fox's miserable expression as he drifted downstream with the current. He dropped down onto his side, panting hard with the exertion of the explosive run. Thoughts of seeking out cool water and tasty clover brought him to his feet once more, and he started hopping to a calmer section of the brook for the former.

As he was lapping up water next to the calmer side of the brook, he remembered the stone. He needed to keep it safe, but he did not know why. But how could he do such a thing? He was only a little brown rabbit, what could he possibly do to keep it safe?

He began to hop away in search of the stone once more, when his paws landed on something hard and smooth. Gazing down, the rabbit cocked his head to one side. The stone was under his feet once again.

How very, very curious indeed, the rabbit thought.

********

The orange glow of dusk was a new sensation to the rabbit. It warmed him in a sad way, something unexplainable was happening to the sky, the way something unexplainable happened to him. Without any warning, his whole world was changed, and what would become of him was mostly unknown. His night was approaching, and there would be no moon or stars to show him what was coming.

With a clouded, darkened future ahead, and scarcely any memories to guide him, he knew that he had to leave the forest. There were so many things he needed answered, so many questions that found him so suddenly, and none of the answers were here. What he could remember of his old life was pleasant, if rather lonely. There were no companions he left behind, no offspring, and no family to miss him. Sure, he might have found a mate one day, but that was no longer going to satisfy him.

Besides, there was the stone. The fragment -- he knew that it was broken, but not why -- rested on his back. He wasn't sure how it happened, he was thinking of how he could move the stone long distances, and it was suddenly resting securely just below his shoulders. It seemed to react to his movements, staying with him even when running vigorously. He felt strangely reassured by that; the stone had chosen him, and did not want to leave him.

But it was not safe with him, and it needed to be kept safe.  Somewhere out in the wide world was someone who knew what it was, or what he needed to do with it. He shuddered as he realized that he would need to deal with the most dangerous of creatures, the tall two-legged monsters. They hunted his kind, they treated the forest like it was their sole property, and they spoke in loud rumbles that used to hurt his ears when he was little. But there was no alternative; one of those creatures would have the answers he needed. There was a hive of them nearby, with the big wood and stone nests they made homes out of, he had seen it from far away and knew that it would not be hard to find. The real trick would be what to do once he was there.

He decided to spend one last night in his burrow. It was too risky to leave the forest at night, between predators and the cold he would be far better off starting his journey while he could see. The dry, warm little hole that kept him safe for so long deserved one last visit at least.

Looking up into the sky one last time through the trees, the rabbit could make out the twinkle of stars that were breaking through the branches above his burrow. He watched them glitter, hope stirring in his furry chest. Maybe he would find little lights like that on his journey.

********

Morning found the rabbit already awake. He had woken from dreams that had chased him through the night, wild images that wrested him from rest. Terrifying beasts, wicked laughter, fires in the night, and hawks whose wings blocked out the sky all visited him that night. When he awoke, there was still darkness clinging to the world outside.

The stone was a comfort to him while he waited for the sun. He picked it off his back to study it, to take his mind off the dreams, when it had begun to glow. Not all over, but in the etched grooves that had escaped his attention until now, there was a soft green pulsing light. The shape in the disk's center was mysterious and comforting, even though it was certainly something that should have scared him. It was a monster, with a long snakelike neck and tail, sharp talons, and large batlike wings. But the image was one of majesty, not ferocity. In time it instilled curiosity in the rabbit, and he desired to see such a creature. It was not important that he did so, at least not as important as the stone itself, but a chance he had to see such a thing would not be wasted.

He wondered what that beast was called. The stone gave him the name dragon.

"Dragon," he repeated aloud. The sound of his own voice shocked him. He just spoke like one of those tall beings! Did that mean he could communicate with them, or did he just perceive himself as speaking? If so, would the words of those creatures make sense now, even if they could not understand them?

When the light spilled into his burrow, his new voice was still a mystery to him. He would have to find another sapient being to find out the truth of it.

The rabbit spent the morning crossing through the woods, realizing just how little of it he had truly seen. His section of the forest had always seemed so large, but with the awareness he had now he could see places that he had never been before all throughout the woods. A clearing here, a dell there, little nooks and crannies that were all near places he had been, but had no reason to go. Before, he was controlled by instinct and fear; unless he could find food there it was left alone for fear a predator could be around. Without those restrictions, he was free to let his curiosity get the better of him.

Wisely, he still kept the overwhelming urge to explore in check. He was in no hurry, but there was still danger in the woods. His mind was enhanced, but the rest of him was just as susceptible to claws and fangs of wolves and foxes. He was fortunate yesterday, he could not be so careless with the future of the stone in the balance.

He made his way through the forest, crossing over the brook from yesterday by way of an ancient fallen tree. From there, he climbed up the other side of the valley, making his way into the hilly side of the forest. The rabbit was getting into territory he had practically never explored, only foraging so far from home during dry seasons.

The trees here were spread further apart, which gave him pause for thought before cautiously treading further. It was one thing to hop between tree trunks and tread softly in the shadows, he felt far too exposed in the open parts of the forest.

More than once, he was acutely aware of the predators that were around him. His evolving mind had not enhanced his senses, but it had made him more aware of what sounds meant what, and found himself able to anticipate things before they came to be. This saved him many times from being spotted by hibernation starved bears and prowling lynxes. The ease at which his knew understanding allowed him to move freely frustrated him somewhat. Why could he not have this ability sooner?

As he reached the edge of the forest, he could feel that the regular dangers of the woods were being left behind. He found that the thinner the trees became, the fewer animals were willing to venture out. He felt almost liberated as he found the horizon beyond the trees, feeling safer than he ever had before. There were no telling sounds, no foreboding scents that betrayed any predators. He took a deep breath, letting out a relaxing sigh as he took in the serenity of the open hills.

A cold breeze washed over him, causing him to shiver unexpectedly. Still, he would deal with the cold if it meant he could relax a little.

Something changed in the air, and the rabbit was fully alert once more. He dove away just as a hawk's talons tore up the grass behind him. The rabbit scampered away, his little heart pounding once more, retreating back to the safety of a nearby tree. He glanced back, watching the enormous bird take off again and soar back into the sky.

As he caught his breath again, the rabbit made a mental note: nothing is ever safe.

********

The rabbit slumped against a large stone, panting still from his ordeals. Dusk once again blanketed the sky, and what sunlight remained had guided the poor lapine to the rocky outcropping where he now collapsed. He recounted in his head his travels that day. After the first hawk attack, he had since been accosted by three more of the birds on seperate occasions. In between those, he managed to avoid an angry fisher, a pair of very territorial beavers down by the river, and hungry snake, who had chased him all the way back down to the river again. Whatever sense of serenity he had felt outside of the forest was now gone; he had simply traded one set of dangers for another.

Now that he was sure he was finally alone, he took stock of his surroundings, still out of breath. Despite the erratic path he had been forced to take, the rabbit had made quite the distance for the day. He could still see the treeline, but it was incredibly distant. The brook in the forest became a full river as the valley opened up, and it was along that river that he had found solace. It occurred to him that he should have followed the river out to begin with, just as a guide to follow as he searched for the tall beasts.

The spot he was in was quite different from what he was used to back in the forest. Great, rocky mounds jutted out of the ground, uncovered by lush soil and smelling of strange minerals. With a lack of soil, grass was scarce, as was any other kind of life. The land seemed to get lower and lower all the time, and even though it was dark, he could almost see in the distance where his river would terminate in a waterfall.

It mattered not to the exhausted rabbit. This was the safest he had been all day, that could all wait until tomorrow.

However, another feature he spied filled his tired heart with a mix of curiosity and dread. Not far from the very spot he lay, there was a rutted dirt trail that wove its way down the valley, one the tall beasts must use. He understood now what those trails were for, they marked places where it was safe to walk. He planned to make use of them in the future, other animals would not want to be close to the tall beast trails. 

As he lay in his rocky bed, a nagging thought tugged at the rabbits mind. He should not be alive. There were too many dangers he had escaped, too many predators and threats that had tried to take his life today that he barely escaped from. The more he considered it, the more concerned he became. It was a mystery; his newfound understanding of himself and his surroundings did not make him any faster or stronger, and he certainly was not lucky.

The stone that rested on his back must have been the cause, though he could not say how. It was saving his life somehow, but for what he could not say. Maybe it needed him, specifically him, for some hidden purpose. He wished he could find out more about the stone; why it was broken, what it had done to him, where it came from, what it was capable of, and why it had picked him were all questions the rabbit needed answered.

There were so many questions in the world now, the rabbit thought as he sighed, resting his head as he curled up to sleep. He wondered if he was better off now, or if it would be better never to ask the questions at all.

Morning came to rabbit as gently as he could have asked. A cool fog had settled overnight, obscuring the sun's brilliance and coating the rocks with glistening dew, the rabbit's favorite morning treat. He stretched his limbs, feeling the soreness from yesterdays trials. The wild run he made yesterday felt like an age ago, but the aches in his body told him otherwise.

He lapped up the tasty dew from the slick rocks, and cleaned himself up with water from the stream. He hopped off towards the path he noticed yesterday, hoping to find something to eat, when he heard, no, he felt a low rumble in the ground, as though something large was approaching from down the trail behind him.  He hopped nervously back to his tiny stony shelter, hoping that whatever could shake the ground like this was not interested in eating a rabbit.

Seconds ticked away as the rabbit lay watching the road, his breath ragged and stressed. He thought that his own fearful anticipation would kill him long before this new monster had a chance.  Eventually, though, his patience was rewarded as the source of the rumbling came into view.  A horse, large and proud came trotting down the road, pulling a terrible monstrosity of wood behind it.  Two round wooden disks on either side of the thing's body seemed to facilitate the creature's movement, and allowed the albeit already mighty horse to carry it forward without having to drag it on the ground.

The wooden beast behind the horse also seemed to be carrying itself one of the tall beasts that the rabbit sought. The beast had a tired but pleasant expression on its round face, wearing what appeared to be the pelt of a wolf around his shoulders and some kind of shiny, red skin on the rest of its torso. Its legs were clad in a dark, rough pelt of some kind, almost like that of snakeskin, and feet covered in a thick brown hide caked with mud. The rabbit imagined that the tall beast was compensating for its hairless skin by using pelts from all kinds of other animals.

If this beast had indeed killed all those creatures, it did not appear that threatening now. Indeed, it was rather fat and soft looking, about as menacing as a hog rolling in the mud. But the rabbit still knew better, these beasts were dangerous, having deadly weapons in place of claws and fangs that could make short work of any beast, or certainly the likes of a small brown rabbit.

The rabbit knew that he was likely not going to find a better time to approach a tall beast. He had to learn about his stone somehow, and if he just hopped into their hive, they might hunt him down because he was there. But right here, it was only him and one beast. Perhaps the beast would be understanding, but if he did attack the rabbit, escape would be far easier.

But how could he get his attention? How could he stop the horse and wooden beast? He had discovered his voice, the other day, louder than it had ever been before, but how loud could he make it? Loud enough to be heard over stamping hooves and rumbling wooden disks?

The rabbit gulped and took a deep, steadying breath. He had to try, the stone had chosen him for a reason.

Boldly he hopped up on top of the rock he was using for cover. He felt exposed and endangered immediately, but ignored his instinct and stood his ground. The horse was almost upon him, perhaps a few breaths away.

"Excuse me," the rabbit said timidly. At first, the horse and the tall beast did not respond, continuing on their way, as though not hearing the rabbit's plea. The rabbit spoke again, this time as loud as he dared, just as the horse was passing by. "Excuse me!"

The horse stopped short, and the tall beast glanced over to the sound of the rabbit's voice. The look of befuddled surprise when the beasts eyes fell on him made the rabbit shrink in embarrassment. Silence fell over the trail, broken only by the sloshing of the river nearby.

"I need help," the rabbit said meekly, breaking the seal of quiet. "I don't know what to do."

The horse reacted first, leaning it's long neck down toward the rabbit. Its big, chestnut eyes considered the rabbit with the same curiosity the rabbit found himself capable of recently. The horse then looked back at the tall beast sitting on the wooden monster. The tall beast returned the horse's look, one of trepidatious wonder.

"Are you lost, little one?" the tall beast said, thankfully sharing the same language as the rabbit.

"N...no," the rabbit said. "I just have something that I need to protect."

"Protect?" the beast said, stepping down off of the wooden monster. "What could be precious to a rabbit?" He strode forward, coming to kneel next to the rabbit's perch. The rabbit turned around to show the stone that rested on his back. The beast gave a curious sound in response. "Where did you find that?" he asked.

"In the forest," the rabbit stammered. "It chose me to keep it safe, but it made me ... change."

"Hence why I am speaking with a rodent," the beast said, chuckling. The rabbit turned back to him, to see a warm grin spread on his flabby features. "Though I'm not unfamiliar with conversing with the odd furry creature, eh Tavis?" He turned to face the horse.

The horse chuckled, much as the tall beast had moments ago. "I guess not," the large beast said, his voice grand and booming.

The rabbit's ears perked up after the horse spoke. Another animal that could speak like him! Surely this was a good sign, he thought. Was this common enough that perhaps other tall beasts would not be so startled by him?

"You are lucky, my fuzzy little owl snack," the tall beast said. "not many humans would have given you the time of day. At best they might have ignored you, at worst they would have killed you as an abomination."

The rabbit shrank once more. So much for that fantasy.

"But we are far more understanding," the beast said, reassuring the crestfallen bunny. "My name is Gregor, once an adventurer, I am now but a humble merchant. This studious stallion is my longtime companion, Tavis." He gestured to the horse, who bowed his head quietly. "With whom do I have the honor of conversing this fine morning?"

The rabbit blinked and cocked his head curiously. "What do you mean?"

"Do you have a name?" the horse prompted, his deep voice filled with gentleness.

"I only just learned how to ... well, learn," the rabbit admitted. "I didn't even know things had names until two days ago. I didn't even know what a day was before that! I ... everything just happened so suddenly, I just ran and ran, and the stone just wants to be safe ... what is happening to me?"

"Calm down, it's all right," Gregor said, placing a hand in the rabbits head between his ears. The rabbit was about to recoil from his touch, but the human's hand was so warm, so gentle that he just let himself relax for a moment. Tears began to form at his eyes as the release of his stress began to wear down his need to hide. He sobbed pitifully under Gregor's hand for a few moments, the reality of his situation crashing down on him in the flash of a few moments.

"We'll not ask any more of you for now," Gregor said softly. "Would you like to join us on our journey? Whitemill is not far from here, we can rest and learn more there in the comfort of a toasty warm room, perhaps over a hot meal."

The rabbit looked up at him with tearful eyes, and in that moment knew that the man could be trusted with anything. Maybe the stone told him to trust the man, but it was more a feeling the rabbit got when he met his gaze. The man had cool green eyes that let the rabbit believe that everything would be okay, that in the end it would all be made right.

"Will your monster let me ride with you?"

"Monster?" Gregor asked, mystified, following the rabbit's gaze to the wooden beast. He threw back his head in laughter. "That's no monster, that's my wagon! It's no more alive than the rock you're sitting on."

The rabbit sighed in relief. So much to learn, how would he ever find all his answers?

********

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Twinsoul: Prelude

To kick off the new updates, I thought I'd start with posting chapters of my novel, Twinsoul. I'd much rather have people read it for free and contribute to the patreon if they like it. I'll post chapters of this monthly until what I have is out there, and we'll see after that if people want more!
I hope you enjoy!

********

Toras Voldur stood on the balcony of Castle Tugan, looking down at all his people had accomplished.  A great city full of trade, craft, and power sprawled before him.  Even hours after the sun had set; the city was alive with the lights of his people.  Some would stay open all night and rest during the day, simply because many of his people preferred night to day.  Also housed within the city was one of the largest, most well trained, and highly respected armies in all of Kayledon.  This was Cagar-Tugan, the High City of the Orcs.

Long ago, the ancient, evil god of the Orcs had been destroyed. Faarthus, the god of fire, led the abandoned Orcs west, to the Tharkas Mountains.  In a vision, he told the Voldur’s ancestor to begin a more peaceful life among the peaks.  Since then, under the leadership of seven kings and five queens of Voldur lineage, the orcan race became more civilized, enjoying a life beyond war and conquest. 

Up until then, the orcs had received very little recognition from the humans, even less from the dwarves and gnomes, and outright distrust from the elves.  So when the Demon Horde attacked nearly a century ago, Toras’ great grandfather thought it would be best if he gave the lrest of the world a reason to trust the orcs.

Crovas Voldur had sent orc battalions from his own front lines to the other sites of the attack—the Urdor Mountains, the Elderwoods, the Kingdom of Valora, the gnome city Mistwatch, and the two great schools of magic, Solreth and Luereth.  

His move was the greatest leap forward for orc kind since the death of their god.  The honor and bravery of the orcs earned them the trust and respect of the humans of Valora and Eldrina, and were offered an alliance with both kingdoms.  The gnomes of Mistwatch, who were most thankful for the military aid, were now on the best of terms with the orcs, and offered their future services in any endeavors.  The dwarves of Urdor were not quite as enthusiastic, but willingly accepted the orcs as comrades, and offered to help mine the Tharkas Mountains. 

The elves of Shae’Ildarae, however, still had very little to say to the orcs, though they had received just as much aid as any other area.  They had dropped open hostilities and much of their old hatred toward their ancient foe, and no orc living that Toras knew of held any ill will toward the Fey Folk, but there was no openness, no alliance and no trade between them.  The elves were known to be somewhat cold to others, especially to humans, but the relations between orcs and elves were downright chilly, and not on the orcs behalf either.  Toras had observed an orcan caravan guard offer an elven caravan protection between Shae’Ildarae and Eldrina for no cost, only to see the elven caravan politely decline.  When the goblins of Western Urdor swarmed into the Elderwoods, he personally ordered a company of his finest warriors, the Silver Guards, to aid in the fighting.  What he received in return was a share of the spoils and curt thanks.

Toras furrowed his brow and crossed his burly arms over his barrel-like chest.  He knew the elves could hold grudges on the level of the dwarves, but how long could they hate the orcs for no reason?  The orcs had saved their lives and shown them great honor, and still they were spurned. 

The king of the orcs stepped away from the balcony and retreated to his quarters.  He eased back into a tall, cushioned chair next to a towering shelf filled with literature, most of it history.  He gazed around the room, seeking a distraction from troubles he could not face now.

His eyes fell on the ceremonial flame of his private shrine to Faarthus, a gift from the High Priest of Faarthus and his personal advisor.  The flame’s dance brought him comfort; it reassured him that the Firelord was watching over him.  The God of Fire and Courage had never let down him or his ancestors.  He prayed as he stared, asking Faarthus for aid in these matters.  He knew the welfare of his people would someday depend on the grace of the elves.  He prayed that one day he could gain that grace.

A sudden knock on the door brought him out of his reverie.  He grumbled slightly as he stood up from his seat, wondering who would call on him at this late hour.  Upon opening the door, he was surprised to see his general and retainer, Ganash, breathless and wounded.  A circular breach the size of an orc’s fist in his chain mail leaked blood between the general’s fingers.  The wound was large, but he was in no danger of dying.

“My liege, I bring you incredible news!” Ganash said, not waiting for his king’s response.

“It must be, if you cannot be bothered to see a healer before seeing me,” Toras said, indicating the bloody bare patch on his retainer’s chest.  “I should make it standard procedure that messages are brought to me only after we can be certain that the messenger will survive!”

Ganash looked at his wound, and then shook his head.  “I am not hurt so bad.  Many of my men are worse off; it is they who need the attention of the healers.”

Toras was taken aback.  “I thought you were overseeing a standard patrol of the Northern Hills!  What creatures gave you and your company so much trouble?  I’ve seen you lead a unit against a score of trolls with no casualties.”

“T’was no creature that was responsible for this,” Ganash told him.  Toras’ confounded stare bade him to carry on.  “We were patrolling the Northern Hills, as you said, on the plateaus south of Reylyn’s lair.  One of my men cried out suddenly and pointed to the sky, where there were fiery rocks falling from the heavens!  The storm was upon us before we could seek shelter.  Some have been injured grievously.”

“A meteor shower?” Toras wondered, bringing a hand up to scratch his short, ash gray hair.  “Our seers never predicted one.  Could this have been an attack, the work of a sorcerer, perhaps?”

“No, my lord,” the general answered.  “We were too remote, and Reylyn would have informed us if there was a troublemaker on the loose.”

Toras furrowed his brow for the second time that night.  It could not have been Reylyn.  She was a quiet one for a dragon, and seemed to regard the orcs as her children.  It seemed that Faarthus had given him more mysteries instead of answers.

Just then, an orc clad in the red and gold robes of the Faarthus priesthood came down the hall to stand behind Ganash.  He had long, raven black hair and a red tattoo upon his forehead, contrasting the gray-green skin of his orcan heritage.  Toras knew the orc as Iksol, his most trusted advisor and high priest of Faarthus, with as much faith in his god as in his king.

“Sir Ganash!” Iksol scolded sharply, a fiery glare in his dark eyes.  “I warned you before not to disturb the king after sunset!  He specifically requested that he wasn’t bothered tonight, so be gone from his presence at once!”

Ganash bit back a wicked retort.  He loathed the priest, feeling he was nothing more than a sycophant begging for attention.  But he would not disgrace himself in front of his king, so he held his tongue. 

“It is all right, Iksol.  This is urgent business,” Toras said, gesturing for him to calm down.  The priest quieted, but eyed the general with contempt.  The king turned back to his retainer.  “Can you bring me to where this happened?”

“Certainly, milord,” Ganash responded, ignoring Iksol’s glare.

“Take me there now,” Toras demanded, already moving to his armor stand. 

“May I accompany you, my lord?” Iksol asked.

“This is none of your concern, priest.  This is military matter that has no bearing on you.”

“Not my concern?  No bearing on me?” Iksol said, looking appalled.  “Faarthus would be displeased indeed if the high priest of his most prominent temple was unconcerned about fire from the sky!  This may be a sign from the Firelord himself!”

“Iksol, you may join us,” the king said, sheathing his sword.  “Come, my friends, we have a mystery to unravel.”

              

****

Ganash rounded up as many of his orcs that were healed well enough to travel, after his own wound was tended, and ordered a return to the meteor site as part of the king’s escort.  On the way, Toras spoke with some of the soldiers, trying to find out as much as he could about the phenomenon.  The orc that had seen the shower first readily offered his account of the events.

“I was keepin’ me eyes peeled for the Red Lady, just t’see if she be out fer food,” he started.  Reylyn was often called the Red Lady by the common folk, as not many were aware of the ancient red dragon’s true name.  “Then I sees a star, red as blood, flickerin’ like a candle in th’ sky.”

“That’s not all too strange,” Toras answered.  “On some especially clear nights, you can see colored stars.”

“But tha’s just it,” the soldier said, smirking, “it weren’t there when I looked b’fore!  Then, well, I ain’t too sure, but it looked like summat ripped a hole in the sky, filled with liquid flame!  I hardly saw them rocks comin’ before they was on top o’ us.”

“Rubbish,” Iksol mumbled, off to his king’s side.  “You need to lay off the drink a while, soldier.”

Toras turned an ill look toward the priest.  “What makes his word less truthful than my own?  What reason do you have to doubt him?”  The advisor deferred his glance, looking quite abashed at the scolding.  The king turned back to the soldier.  “What is your name?”

“Kronta Baangs, majesty,” the soldier said proudly, bowing his head.

“Kronta, you are a boon to Cagar-Tugan’s forces.  Your warning may have saved the lives of many warriors.  I will see you commended before the month is out.”

“Thank ye, majesty,” Kronta smiled.  Iksol frowned and wondered if his king was truly impressed with such a coarse soldier.

Later, when Kronta was out of earshot, Toras gave his advisor a much angrier look than he had earlier.  “For someone who brought up the possibility of this being the work of the Firelord, you are being rather narrow-minded.”

“My lord,” Iksol began apologetically, “The common mind is quick to fabricate spectacular details when it can get attention.  I will be quite able to discern the nature of these meteorites when I have inspected them.  Until that time, I have only his word.”

Toras eyed his advisor, and then chuckled.  “Again, I see the attitude that earned you the title ‘Scholar of Flame’, the mind that burns away false knowledge until only pure truth remains.”

Iksol smiled humbly and bowed.  “I believe you selected me as your advisor because of that very title?”

“Just don’t burn too quickly, scholar,” Toras warned, “or not even the truth will remain!”

The night waned as the group marched, and dawn was fast approaching as they came upon the plateaus where the meteors had landed.  Toras understood immediately just how lucky Ganash and his soldiers had been.  The once wide, flat plateau was now a scarred and pocked waste.  The enormous, spire-like meteors stood like gravestones over the empty graves of the fortunate soldiers.“How many lie beneath these stones?” Toras wondered in awe, speaking to no one in particular.

“None, milord,” Ganash told him.  Toras stared at his general in disbelief.  “Thanks to the soldier you were speaking with, we escaped without casualties.”

“That soldier is up for a promotion,” Toras said as he surveyed the destruction before him.

“Aye, milord,” Ganash responded, in full agreement with his king.

Iksol, in the meantime, occupied himself with the meteorites.  He put his hand near the surface of one, to test its temperature.  It was warm, but not hot enough to burn.  When he placed his hand to it, he was surprised to feel a smooth, glassy surface, like a crystal.

“Majesty,” one of the soldiers called, “the Red Lady approaches!”  Toras looked up from the crater he was studying with Ganash to see the huge red dragoness descend just outside the boundaries of the meteor site.  Many of the soldiers backed away when she landed, but none of them took flight, for it was well known that Reylyn was an ally to the orcs.  From head to tail, Reylyn was about fifty feet long, and about three orcs tall at her shoulder.  Her brilliant orange eyes always seemed to glow with their own light.  Massive, powerful wings tucked themselves against her back as she surveyed the damage.  The sun continued to rise behind her, and it seemed to onlookers that she was wreathed in a flaming halo.

Toras walked over to her, followed by Ganash and Kronta.  They stopped just beyond the edge of the site, keeping a respectful distance as she looked around.  Toras held back a smile, waiting for what almost always preceded a meeting with the Red Lady.

When she was done, the dragoness turned a sly smile upon the three orcs before her.  “All right,” she boomed.  “What have you boys done to my favorite sunning rock?”

Kronta and Ganash paled at her words.  Ganash had never actually met Reylyn, and this first meeting seemed like it would be his last.  However, Toras, who had known her since he was young, said, “We thought you wouldn’t notice, at least until you lied down.”

Ganash nearly fainted out of disbelief, shocked that his king would be so disrespectful to such a powerful creature.  Kronta seemed to brace himself for whatever fiery end she would put them to. 

But the great dragon just chuckled, a light sound that seemed out of place for a dragon her size.  “Well met, King Voldur, I hardly believed a simple meteor shower could take you from your home.” She noticed the behavior of the orcs flanking the king, and said, “What's wrong, soldiers?  Lost your nerve?”

Toras smiled, and answered, “Nothing, my lady.  They just aren’t used to your disarming sense of humor.”

“Well, a dragon my age should have a good sense of humor,” she responded playfully.  “Otherwise, we’d just eat anyone we had no taste for!”

Kronta and Ganash chuckled nervously, and the king nodded his agreement.  Iksol approached then, cautious as he always was around Reylyn.  It seemed to Toras that Iksol had very little trust in the Red Lady, as she was still much of a mystery to many of the Cagar-Tugan orcs, and was still not sure how to approach that mystery.

“Greetings, Red Lady,” Iksol started.  “For what reason have you come to us?”

“To you?” Reylyn said curiously.  “My dear priest, I came here to sunbathe.  It is merely a coincidence that you are here as well.”

“Indeed?” The king interrupted.  “Then you have no knowledge of why this happened?”

“Not anymore than you or your soldiers.  I did sense something strange, however,” she said, looking away as if recalling a dream.  “I do not think it was connected with this meteor shower, though.”

“You may be wrong, my lady,” Iksol said.  “I have a feeling this was no ordinary meteor shower.  These meteorites are quite peculiar.”

As if to prove his point, sunlight washed over the field as the sun crested the mountains in the east.  The light revealed the meteors as translucent, blood red crystals. At the heart of each, a fiery glow sprang to life when touched by the sun’s light, as if fed by the fires of daylight.  The “hearts” throbbed in sync with each other, as though connected by some magic.

“By the shinin’ flames!” Kronta whispered.  He walked up to the closest spire and laid his hand on it.  A few moments later, he pulled away from it suddenly, as though it burned.  “It moved!”

“What?” Toras and Iksol said in unison.

“It . . . It twitched!  Like some creature’s heartbeat!”  Kronta stammered.

Reylyn approached a larger meteorite, and laid her large ear to it, closing her eyes.  When she opened her eyes and pulled away, she nodded.  “I couldn’t have said it better myself.  In two hundred years, I’ve never seen meteorites like these.”

“Majesty, I am beginning to believe Sir Baang’s story,” Iksol confided to his king.

“All right, men,” Ganash ordered.  “Sweep the area.  If you find anything at all, report to the king or myself.”

The group split up into pairs, save for Iksol, Toras, and Reylyn.  In order to put the soldiers at ease, the dragoness used her aura magic, the innate magic of all beings on Kayledon, and transformed into an auburn-haired, orange-eyed human woman dressed in crimson robes.  Such was her favored form when dealing on the terms of the smaller creatures of her realm. 

After about an hour of scouring the plateau, Ganash returned to Toras, excitement evident in his features.

“Come quickly my lord!  And you, scholar, I wouldn’t want you to miss this,” he said, and then started back the way he came.  Toras followed on his heels, Iksol and Reylyn close behind.  He led them to a ring of meteor spires, where Kronta stood waiting, over a crater in the middle of the ring, his back to them.

“What is it?” Reylyn asked.

Kronta turned to them, a bewildered expression on his face.  “It . . . It be a child, m’lady,” he said.  Sure enough, when he stepped out of the way, they could see a half-orc child, asleep and unbothered by the dawning sun.  Toras and Reylyn’s eyes widened, and Iksol whispered a prayer.  Reylyn said some words of magic, conjuring a wool blanket to her hands.  She moved next to Kronta and gently wrapped the child, not disturbing his sleep.

“What can this mean?” Toras breathed.

“I do not know for certain,” Reylyn said quietly, smiling.  “But it seems that you have been blessed with a half-orc son by Faarthus.”

“Me?” Toras exclaimed, trying to keep his voice low.  “What are you talking about?”        

“Aye, it be true, sire,” Kronta said as he looked upon the child.  “He’s got yer royal crest on ‘is forehead.”

“That’s not all,” Iksol put in.  He gently took the child’s right hand so everyone could see a red symbol the shape of a fiery star, Faarthus’ holy symbol.

“This child has been blessed by the Firelord,” Iksol proclaimed, “A favored soul of fire and courage!”

Toras felt as though he was seeing everything for the first time, and his vision was sharper and clearer than perfect, razor sharp crystal.  The legends he had studied, the deeds of the past, and his own prayers to Faarthus, they all swirled together into a single, unified vision.  A vision, Toras believed would lead his people to immortal glory.

The Orc King took his adopted son from Reylyn’s arms, and turned to his retainer and his spiritual advisor, never once taking his eyes off the child in his arms.

“Gather the men, so we can return,” he said, smiling gently to the sleeping boy in his arms.  “We have much to prepare for.”

****

Deep in a forest far from the Tharkas Mountains, a lone creature watched a star of red light disappear from the western sky.  The same creature had witnessed a similar blue star extinguish right above his favorite spring.  His surprise was great when a bowl shaped formation of blue crystal suddenly rose up from the depths of the pool, bearing a humanoid infant boy. 

Any other creature may have been scared away or could not be bothered by such a trifle, but Poerna was an asperi, a wind horse of startling intelligence and virtuous spirit.  He walked on the air over to the crystal bowl, to find the child alive and asleep.  He nudged the floating crystal to the edge of the pool and gently lifted it on to the lush grass.

It was then he noticed the symbol.  A silvery blue marking of an eye in a crystal seemed to be etched onto the infant’s left hand.  Poerna knew the symbol, for it was the symbol of Taelri, the goddess of water and magic.

“No ordinary child, this one,” Poerna thought, though it was obvious by the spectacle through which the baby had appeared that he was special.  He considered what he must do, then took the edge of the bowl in his teeth.  With the magic of air inherent to his species, Poerna tread on a cushion of air, slowly climbing the air.  Soon, he walked above the trees, the wind tossing his long mane and tail.

At first, he considered taking the infant to the elven city Fisathvanna.  There were plenty of people there, and more opportunities for him to be found.  But Poerna had no love of cities of any kind, and found that a horse walking on nothing but air tended to frighten people, no matter his intentions.

His mind then turned to the elven and human village of Tyhal.  It was much nearer than the city; he could make the village by morning at his current pace.  He knew a family there as well, one that would have no problem finding a home for a mysterious half-elf child.

As dawn drew near, Poerna touched ground on the outskirts of Tyhal, by the edge of the western orchards.  The cold breeze wafted the alluring scent of fresh apples to his nose, and he suddenly remembered why he loved visiting this village.  Poerna was not the type to take without asking first, so he left the fruit for later, making his way to the village. 

True to its reputation as the Treehome Village, Tyhal could easily be passed over by anyone who did not know where to look.  Any human or dwarven visitor would have looked for dwellings around the trees, or even inside the trees themselves, but Tyhal’s architects must never have figured out an efficient way to implement that idea.  Because the trees in this part of the forest grew so close together, the only room for any domicile was up where the trees were not so close.  High above the forest floor, there were bridges, walkways, ladders, and several crude lifts that connected the tree houses of Tyhal.  Only one home, in the hollowed base of an enormous oak tree in the center of the village, was near to the ground here, and that was precisely where Poerna was going.

Not knowing whether the occupants were asleep, Poerna gave himself an inch or so of air to walk silently on, but his efforts were unnecessary.  Before he even got close, he could hear Siali singing, probably while she was working.  Sure enough, when he could see the entrance of the oak tree house, he could also see the young elven woman on her knees, tending to a garden.  Her soft-looking black hair was tied back in a braid, and she wore a course leather apron and thick gloves, holding a small gardening spade.

He approached without a sound, and then pawed the ground when he was close enough.  She looked up quickly, seemingly startled, but her eyes brightened when she saw the wind horse.  She stood as though to welcome him, then noticed his curious burden.  He set the crystal bowl with the child on the ground before her, and she gasped.

“I couldn’t think of anyone better,” Poerna said to her, communicating telepathically.

“Where did you find him?” Siali asked, her tone breathless.  Poerna explained the circumstances under which he found the child, and she almost laughed in disbelief.  “What does this mean?”

“I haven’t a clue,” he replied.  “I might know someone who would know, but this child needs a home first.”

Siali’s eyes grew sad for a moment, and then she said, “My father and I will be happy to look after him.”

Poerna regarded her sternly.  “That was not what I meant.”

“I know,” she answered softly, “but perhaps this is my gift from Taelri.”

Poerna sighed, which sounded like a normal horse’s snuffle.  About a decade ago, Siali had lost her human husband in the Goblin raid.  She believed that one day his loss would make sense, that Taelri would repay her sorrows.  

“He is marked by her,” Poerna said.  “Perhaps what you say is true.  But know this: he may one day have a destiny greater than this place, greater than all of the Elderwoods.  This is a selfish decision on your part, even though it is made with good intentions.  If it comes down to it, you must let him go, for he is blessed by Taelri, and she alone can decide his fate.”

Siali was silent for a moment, and then she nodded her head.

Poerna turned about.  “Take care, Cat Shadow,” he said, calling her by the Common translation of her name.  “I will return in a few days.”

Siali watched the wind horse ascend into the sky, galloping to the clouds.  She picked up the infant and crystal bowl, and turned to see her father, the elder of the village, come out of the oak house.

“What is that?” The old elf said, his eyes wide.

Siali smiled, looking to the face of the boy, his face lit by the dawning sun.  She looked at her father and said, “This is our future."