Bow Before Griffin: Prologue

      The boy stood outside the smoldering embers of the house. The last flames were starting to die down, and he smiled, knowing that now he was finally free. No one would be coming after him. They were dead. His smile grew as a soft breeze blew through the debris, lifting his black hair around his face and carrying with it the scent of burning timber and flesh. The sun was rising slowly through the trees to the East, painting the sky a wonderful orange color and promising a new day.
         
      The boy turned, leaning and picking up his sword from the ground. It wasn’t a large sword. The blade was of normal length and thin, but in his slender, young hands, it looked bigger than it was. He searched briefly for the sheath before finding it lying to the side under one of the large oaks ringing the perimeter of the clearing the house had formerly sat in. He walked over to the tree, noticing as he did the slight fires burning along some of the higher bows where the wind had carried the flames when the house had still been blazing brightly. He lifted his sheath from the ground, tying it to the sash at his waist. The sheath looked out of place, red and black designs twisting ornately along the length contrasting with the plain, black cloth of the boy’s pants. When he was done, he continued walking through the trees, wishing to get as far away from this clearing as he could. It was a place best forgotten.
         
      Several hours later and far away from the embers of his former home, the boy sat in front of a small fire pit which he had constructed hastily from twigs and leaves he had collected nearby. The fire was bright and he had to give silent thanks to the servant who had taught him how to build one. He might not have any food and he might not know how to catch any, but at least he would be warm. He rubbed his arms vigorously, the chill of the morning sinking through his flesh and seeming to chill his very bones. He couldn’t have picked a worse time of year to finally complete his task. Autumn was quickly changing to winter and here he was in the middle of the woods with no idea how to survive, a stolen sword, and no money. Fine predicament I’ve gotten myself into.  He sighed, holding his hands out to the warmth. It was better than still being in that place; better than sitting in that clearing watching his old life burn. The fire light crackled in the boy’s pale lavender eyes as he leaned forward, letting the warmth cover his face. He yawned and sat back. He was tired having not gotten much sleep the night before. It would be best to sleep.
         
      He turned, pulling the leaves and sticks closer to himself, and lay down. After he had gotten a little sleep, he would know what to do. He would figure it out when he woke up. Closing his eyes, the boy immediately saw the front room of his former home; saw the blood splattered over everything, the glazed look in his mother’s eyes. He saw the wound on her neck, still lightly dripping. He saw his father, or the grotesque remains of his father. He saw himself holding the blade with which they had been killed. Shaking his head, the boy forced his eyes open. He didn’t regret it, would never regret it, but it was still a horrible thing to see before falling asleep, and some people he had spoken to in the village had spoken often of bad deeds being repaid in full. He was afraid of evil spirits coming for him. Had he not been so young, only thirteen, maybe he could have convinced himself that talk of evil spirits and repayment were just superstition, but as it were, he couldn’t force himself not to believe it. It was hard going to sleep but eventually he managed.

         He was so soundly asleep that he never heard the man enter his camp. The man was wild looking with disheveled hair and a long beard. His clothes were in tatters. He entered the camp quietly, barely making a sound with his bare feet. He licked his lips when he spotted the dying fire, assuming there would be food somewhere nearby. Crouching, the man poked around in the leaves and sticks to the side of the pit. When he found no food, he cursed softly and turned his attention to the sleeping boy. He looked peaceful and he had an expensive looking blade sitting next to him. The man smiled a gap-toothed smile and softly lifted the sword from the ground. He stood and turned the sheath around in his hands, studying the designs. If he couldn’t get food from this camp than he could at least get some money out of it. He looked the boy over, trying to see if he had a pouch of some kind lying near him, but when he found none he frowned. The boy had no food, he had no money, and he had nothing worth any value but this sword. The man pulled the sword from its sheath and studied it. There was dried blood on the sword, a lot of it. The man’s eyes widened. He knew what the blood meant. At least he was sure he did. He didn’t want the evil spirits that would be tracking this young murderer after him as well. If he killed this boy, he reasoned, he would be appeasing the spirits looking to avenge whoever he had killed. He would be doing a good deed and perhaps he would be rewarded. He was wrong of course, but never the less, he lifted the sword.

         The blade came down, cutting across the side of the boy’s throat. Blood spurted from the wound and the boy’s eyes shot open. He gasped then choked on the blood. The carotid artery on the right side of his neck had been slit, and seconds later, the blood covering him, he slumped. The man stood still, shocked at the amount of blood that had come out of this small boy. It was all right though because now he had done a good deed, and he would be rewarded. Or so he thought. He looked at the blade and whimpered, dropping it. It wouldn’t do to carry the sword with him. It was cursed now. He turned and ran, trying to gain distance from the grisly sight.

                                                                       ~                    ~                    ~

         The boy frowned, standing still in the empty darkness he had woken to find himself in. He couldn’t seem to make sense of it, and so he stood there flexing his fingers and toes to be sure he could still feel them, and staring straight ahead. Suddenly, to the left, he saw a light, soft and pale blue coming towards him. He turned slowly to face it. As the light came closer, he could see there was a man walking in it. The man was tall, probably over six feet and with long blond hair. He had nice eyes, a wonderful pale blue the same as the light surrounding him, and a comforting smile. He stopped in front of the boy.

         “Griffin,” he said in a wonderfully melodic voice. “Do you know who I am?”

         The boy, Griffin, shook his head. He had thought he was sleeping in a clearing but he was beginning to wonder what magic was at work to bring him to this strange, empty place.

         “I am Nyoka, The Serpent, The Dark One.” He smiled a small smile, one meant to comfort, but Griffin only felt cold. This couldn’t be happening. Nyoka chuckled. “It is happening child. A vagrant killed you thinking he would be rewarded for killing the boy who murdered his parents.”

         He lifted his hand, a small ball of blue light hovering there. An image slowly formed, one of the last moments of Griffin’s life. He thought he had imagined the man standing over him, the blood. Griffin lifted his hand to his lips, trembling. This couldn’t be. He had been free. I was starting over.

         “Yes, child, and you are starting over.” Nyoka closed his hand, banishing the images. “The man is dead as well. He was trying to pick some other poor soul’s pockets when the man turned and gutted him.” He chuckled, shaking his head as if it were all very funny.

         “I don’t understand. Why am I here?” Griffin asked, a tremor edging his voice. He was trying so hard to be brave, but he couldn’t hide how his hands shook, or his voice.

         “You are here because you killed your parents.” He was suddenly standing inches away, the breath from his lips touching Griffin’s face. “You are here because your soul is full of vengeance. I could use you.” He walked slowly around him. “I want to give you the things you desire; revenge, respect, and power. I want to give you all the things you were denied in life.” He brushed his fingers down Griffin’s cheek, causing him to cringe away. “Everyone hated you. You were worthless. Everyone told you this.” He tilted his head. “You want them dead. You want everyone who ever looked at you and laughed to feel the anger inside you. You want them to grovel.”

         Griffin shook his head. “I don’t want—“ Nyoka slapped a hand over Griffin’s mouth. “Don’t tell me what you do or don’t want, boy. I can read the truth on your heart. I don’t need your half truths.” He removed his hand. “I will give you everything you ever wanted.” He took a step back, twisting his fingers in the air. A small red jewel formed there. It was in the shape of a diamond and no bigger than a coin. Nyoka manifested a black leather strap. He fastened the jewel in wire and set it on the strap. Leaning forward, he tied the jewel around Griffin’s neck.

         Griffin gasped softly, feeling the power emanating from the jewel. He closed his eyes, entranced by the feel of this strange power. Nyoka smiled, watching the change come over Griffin as he took in the power he was being offered. “This jewel must never be broken. It holds my power in it, as well as your soul. It will be your lifeline. If it is ever broken, you will be sent straight back to me.” He ran his fingers through Griffin’s hair, tainting pieces of it red. He chuckled, fingering the red pieces. “You are mine now, Griffin. You have my power.” He dropped his hand from Griffin’s hair, stepped back away from him. “There were two who escaped you. You know this. Find them Griffin. This will be your first task. Once you kill them, we can use your power to make everyone bow before you.”

         Things blurred and Griffin gasped again, feeling as though he were being ripped apart. Nyoka disappeared and Griffin found himself standing in the same clearing in which he had been sleeping. There was still blood covering the ground but no body. He looked down at himself, laughing aloud. He ran his hands over his chest and stomach, pressing and making sure he was really standing there. Looking up, he steeled himself and began walking in the direction the man had gone, led by some voice in his mind. He leaned over and scooped up his sword. He would need the sword or something better if he were to find the two he needed to destroy.