Prologue
Nervous, Winlaurdik paced at the abandoned village’s northern edge, scanning the area to the west for any sign of his overdue ogre general. Previous to his arrival on this continent, Winlaurdik had searched his own lands for his most prized possessions; stolen from him by a mysterious traveler. He had tracked the thief across the eastern sea, and followed his path to a secluded valley on the eastern side of the larger continent, hundreds of miles away from his familiar continent. With an army of three different races in tow—all despising each other with utter hatred—the interracial squabbles and great distance was a miniscule price to pay in order to retrieve the twin sentient daggers he had created and fittingly named Amethonyx; one dagger fashioned entirely of Onyx, and the other from Amethyst.
Years ago, an old dying Monk had used his final cycle of life to teach Winlaurdik an ancient and secret technique he declaired should not die with him; a perversion of the natural use of energies that resulted in frighteningly awesome power. Winlaurdik has since used it to his own gains, to climb the levels of control in this world. If he knew more about the ancient lineage whom had discovered this perversion of the natural Way to reach the higher levels of Consciousness, and the consequences therein, he would not have delved into it. His old dying mentor apparently had insufficient time to recount such genealogical knowledge to Winlaurdik, or the withholding of the story was intentional, but Winlaurdik never gave it a second thought once enveloped in the greed and sense of invulnerability inflicted by the newfound power that the monk had unlocked within him.
He had used that spectacular power to fashion the daggers he now saught to reclaim.
The sky brightened in the east and the Ascni’Chii, a title earned from decades of study and experience, sensed something out of place. He felt vulnerable. The hairs on the back of his neck stood on end. He stopped pacing to gain a still perspective of his surroundings. Winlaurdik wanted to save his magical energies for the more important battle in the caves deep beneath the mountain where the thief and villagers had holed themselves up behind a maze-network of tunnels.
Justifying the use of his energy for magic with the reminder that it would be difficult to fight that greater battle either alone or dead, he stared into the spaces betwixt the air itself and, focusing on his breathing to open the pathways from his mind to the Universe, he sank into the spheres of energy residing on a different frequency than his mortal coil and the material world. These invisible energy spheres symetrically stretched from his groin to the space above his head, and every Human had the Chxaurii whether they knew it or not.
His corporeal eyes at rest, Winlaurdik inflated his senses outward in all directions like an expanding cloud. He detected several auras in the area; all owned by animals and not a threat to his plans. What, then, raised his guard?
Winlaurdik spread his energy probe out wider, further, and triangulated on the western region where he believed his army camped. He was surprised indeed to find the sea of green forms fleeing from the forest at full stride as if chased by an army of elves. There was only nature in their wake as far as he could tell.
Then he saw the crumpled form of his ogre general at the base of a towering cliff.
Winlaurdik retracted his energy in a fit of rage. Still centered, he instantly performed the precise gestures and chants to prepare his energy for his intended feat, and then transconsciously slipped a hand into one of the many deep pockets of his robes to retrieve a shard of resin-glass. He threw the object out before him as he finished the vocal incantation; even speaking in this state is very difficult, but he had trained under a master of light, sound, and frequencies, and spent decades mastering the level of multitasking required to do so.
The shard stopped in mid-air five feet away, hovering for a moment to absorb the first rays of dawn, then elongated to the ground and stretched to the width of a door before shattering. The door’s outline remained, though the inner rectangle was replaced with luminous blue-white wavering sheets of energy.
Grumbling with every step and cursing the death of his general, and the potential collapse of his plans, Winlaurdik rushed through the atomic fold in space-time and instantly stepped onto the field in the path of his fleeing army, a full three miles east of the village he had just occupied.
A pair of fairies watched his amusing frustration from the boughs of a tall pine. After precious hours spent arguing with their Mia’traline—Mother Fairy in the common tongue—the Eldest fairy reluctantly permitted involvement. Her motivation was more to divert the threat from their own home in the mountains north of the valley, rather than to aid the humans.
Maireelay cursed when the Ascni’Chii slipped away, her vibrant pink eyes narrowing to the size of a cat’s pupil. She moved to follow him through the gate.
“Wait,” Alishiscina said, holding the other back with an outstretched arm. Her silver hair fluttered with the lightning quick movement, her purple eyes fixed on the shimmering portal. “The gate remains open; seems he would plan to return through it.”
“With three hundred minions,” stated Maireelay in warning. “Do you think he discovered our presence here?”
“No. His magic could not circumvent our Cloa’ii,” refuted the fairy, speaking of a special energy blend that made them invisible to the naked human eye. “Bringing the entire army through the gate, though, would be most bothersome regardless.”
“We could close the gate,” Maireelay winked, a mischievous grin splayed across her face.
Alishiscina shared the grin and clapped. Her excited eyes dazzled at the thought of the evil Ascni’Chii’s confusion and ultimate frustration when his gate inexblicably closed behind him. She wished Mia’traline would allow them to get more involved than just acts of sabotage, but their plans advanced with unsurprising smoothness.
Winlaurdik’s sudden appearance slowed the charging sea of goblins and orcs to a crawl. His Chxaurii-magnified voice stopped them altogether. “Why do you flee?” the Ascni’Chii demanded in anger.
The standing army covered half a mile, but even the soldiers in back heard the echoing voice. Every ugly creature fell to their knees in cowardice, whimpering apology after apology to their master.
“Gorgraul is killed,” one orc in the front line squeaked.
Winlaurdik nodded and surveyed the gathering, then fixed his narrow-eyed gaze on the orc that dared breathe an answer. The pitiful creature shrank back in fear of a horrible death, as he expected it would.
“And where are the other two, Gorgraul’s second and third? And where are the lesser ogres?”
The addressed orc hesitated. It must have realized it was not yet going to die, because it stood straight and responded with a shrug.
“They vanish,” piped another.
“Ate by ghosts!” wailed a goblin from a few rows back. The soldiers seemed to gain confidence when their cohorts, after speaking and rising from their knees, still drew breath.
“Haunted wood!” cried the first orc, pointing back to the east.
“Not haunted!” Winlaurdik roared.
The mass shrank back to their knees as one, again falling silent.
“What is your name?” the Ascni’Chii barked.
“Frundrik,” said the first speaker.
“Frundrik,” he reiterated. “Who is your most hated enemy?”
“Stumpies!” hooted the orc in reply, the mention of their racial rivals drawing similar hoots from all over.
“Besides dwarves, Frundrik,” Winlaurdik sighed, rolling his eyes with impatience. “Smaller, and better tasting than dwarves.”
Frundrik stared ahead, deep in thought. A very long moment of silence passed.
“Fairies!” the orc to his side blurted, followed by another chorus of hoots.
Winlaurdik nodded, his grin sending waves of relief through the crowd. “There are no ghosts in those woods, only fairies. You run from a snack, cowards!”
Winlaurdik felt the sudden anger in his tone shatter the growing comfortability and send most of the creatures into a whimpering fit. His voice grew more ominous, projecting to their senses his promises of their satisfaction, as he pointed behind him and said, “Follow me back through this gate, and you will feed on fairy flesh.”
A mass of confusion was not the effect he had predicted; goblins and orcs all scratching their heads and looking to each other, bewildered. A short moment later, Winlaurdik finally guessed the source of their abashment and turned around.
The gate was gone.
He cursed himself for not sensing the dissipation of his own magic. “What is this?” he exclaimed in outrage.
Winlaurdik forced himself to a level of rational thought, though, when he realized how vulnerable he was with his back to an army of pragmatic goblins and orcs. He spun around, relieved to see the dumbfounded creatures still scratching their heads or sitting still, waiting for their companions to act—for any action at all. “No matter,” he said, more to himself than to any of his minions. “I will simply reopen the gate.”
He began the incantation and reached into his pocket for the appropriate component, but stopped. His eyes widened in horror when he realized he could not focus on any spot in, or even near, the village! The army’s mindsets changed from confused to curious as their leader growled in fury and kicked at the grass again and again.
Winlaurdik took a deep, calming breath. He sensed a large group of his minions in back break off to the northwest; those who lost faith in him, apparently. He paid them no heed, though, for those remaining were grinning and whispering to each other, no doubt planning the demise of their incompetent master to earn their freedom. He felt their fear dissipating.
He could not allow that.
Winlaurdik hid well his nervousness, knowing he had to coerce the beasts into submission in haste, or risk total mutiny. He felt the lead goblins and orcs prepare to charge; he felt their thoughts and adrenaline.
When the front several lines rushed forward, he raised a wall of high-frequency energy—manifested as fire—between them and their intended prey.
“You dare challenge me?” Winlaurdik’s voice boomed above the roaring flames.
He breathed deep, gathering the air around his arms and willing the element to spin spirals until the moisture in the air, altered by Winlaurdik’s energy, sparked into electricity. White hot bolts of lightning shot through the firewall and ricocheted through the mass of creatures, killing several and dropping many more to the ground in a twitching fit. The fire ebbed, returned to the unmarred ground, to reveal him, their master, in a stance of confidence.
“We march to the village!” he commanded with forced vigor. Beneath the surface of appearance, he was shaken and weakened from the use of so much energy, concerned with how close he had come to losing control over his minions.
Winlaurdik and his two hundred remaining fodder marched to the east. Though he was frustrated, for the mission had been nothing but wretched surprises thus far, Winlaurdik still wielded one weapon against unpredictability: confidence.
More emphatic; his drive was fueled by a seething desire to recover his creations. Nothing short of death would stop him.
Alishiscina shook her head in disappointment. She hoped more of the invader’s army would have fled, and knew of only one more way to divert the threat. “We must remove the Ascni’Chii. It is our only chance.”
“Not an easy task; and Mia’traline would not be pleased.”
Alishiscina agreed with a nod, but her determination dwindled not in the least.
“What is your plan?” Maireelay asked with qualm.
Alishiscnia knew Maireelay had never faced an Ascni’Chii—their name for a human who climbed levels of Consciousness to gain access to powerful energies—in battle before, and nervousness was evident in her rapid rubbing hands.
Alishiscina hesitated, preferring to save the plan for a last act of desperation, but she could think of no other way. “Do you remember the artifact Iyan found long ago, the dagger that denied our attempts to analyze its empathic properties?”
“Vaulinque-litaya,” Maireelay nodded with a shudder.
Mia’traline labeled the artifact with the name upon its discovery, translating to “Dark Consciousness” in the human tongue.
“The Ascni’Chii would not expect a direct attack from us. If we eliminate him, his army would lose its will to fight,” explained Alishiscina.
“Since we will need to reserve our energies for the minions in case our plan fails, the dagger will require both of us to carry it, and we will be vulnerable with the cumbersome item.”
Alishiscina looked back to the west, to the approaching band of monsters, and sighed. “I detest a gamble, but it is our only chance.”
Maireelay, too, looked to the coming tempest; led by a single human, an Ascni’Chii.
“Let us hope he will be alone,” Alishiscina said, seeing her companion’s worried expression. “We don’t have much time. Come, I know where Vaulinque-litaya is stored.”
Winlaurdik stopped walking and tapped into the aura he had cast upon himself that would allow him to sense destructive energies from twenty paces in every direction. The emanations were outstanding. Indeed he sensed destructive magic, though the source just barely crossed the perimeter of his sphere’s reach. There could be only one possibility as to what radiated such a powerful aura, he believed, and he rubbed his slender hands together in anticipation. Amethonyx was within reach. With renewed excitement, he did not even realize how far ahead of his army he had marched.
“So the prey has come to the predator,” he snickered in glee.
The Ascni’Chii used his magic sight to ascertain the direction and then headed off to recover his stolen artifacts. The source was only a dozen yards away when Winlaurdik sensed that only one source emanated energies equivalent in strength to five of his Order’s most powerful items combined.
This was not his treasure, Amethonyx.
Perhaps this is a greater power? He grew afraid and enacted his strongest barriers to protect him from predatorial energies. During the preparations, he could not focus on the energy that held his sphere together and thus was unaware of his peril a mere fifteen feet away.
The beautiful, mysterious weapon glinted in the sunlight. Its unique crosspiece embraced a strange, clear gem that seemed to hold a world of its own. Alishiscina and Maireelay, struggling to keep a firm hold on the heavy dagger, soared in as straight and quick as their little wings would allow. They centered their aim for the Ascni’Chii’s heart and released, then flew off in separate directions in case any unseen guards stood watch nearby. The fairies’ diving momentum carried Vaulinque-litaya right into Winlaurdik’s chest. Then the fairies were gone; to report to their waiting kin, and the dead Ascni’Chii was alone.
Not long after, Frundrik and a few others stumbled upon the scene, amazed to see the great and powerful Ascni’Chii lying still in the dirt with a mere dagger protruding from his chest. The cowards scanned the trees in fear before running with great haste for home, terrified that they would be the next victims of the haunted forest.
Later that night Alishiscina, Maireelay and Mia’traline returned to the Ascni’Chii’s deathsite. They scratched their chins and heads and frowned in confusion upon finding that the corpse and dagger had both disappeared.
“It was here,” protested Alishiscina. “I swear it was!”
“She is right,” said Maireelay.
“Then where is the corpse?” Mia’traline huffed, not happy with the results at all. An artifact of undecipherable power disappearing was just as detrimental as the missing Ascni’Chii; and worse, they vanished from the same spot.
Neither of them could provide an honest answer, so they bowed their heads in silence.
Mia’traline snorted then closed her eyes. She hopped around and spun pirouettes as she sang a supple song to the forest, and then stopped and stood still to listen to its chorus reply. A few moments later she peered at the ground at her feet.
“The evil human was here. He died here, says the forest, in this very spot.”
The two friends looked to each other and smiled, but Mia’traline’s disappointed frown stole their elation.
“He died here, and yet there is no blood. Not a single drop touched the forest floor. He died here, and yet he somehow got up and walked away, back to the west.”
They frowned as their Mother Fairy did.
“He arose, and he took Vaulinque-litaya with him.”
A century has passed.
The valley from whence Winlaurdik and Vaulinque-litaya disappeared has since seen peace, while the rest of the region, dually ruled by the Hosttowers of Nimbdell and the kingdom called Chea’Laern, was nearly non-existent to the woodland settlers in the northeast.
The valley’s inhabitants tried to avoid the politics infesting the rest of the region. They cloaked their children in a protective veil of ignorance; both knowing and fearing that one day they would have to let their offspring venture out to learn the truth of the world. Until that day, however, the tales of magic and kingdoms were just that...fireside tales.
Until that day, they would ensure their children knew only the serene harmony of a natural, peaceful life.
