The Belirocean Chronicles Prologue+Ch 1

The Belirocean Chronicles
PART ONE:
Prologue

         The events in this story are true. This is the story of a world in a universe that a prisoner created in the name of science. That prisoner’s name is Ledar Hanelle. I am here to document the story of Belirocea, and the results of Ledar’s madness...

         In the beginning, the supreme ruler Ledar created the universe. She made the stars, and she molded the planets from the leftover material. Then, Ledar created life.
         She chose several planets to place her beings on. Humans were given Earth. Satyrs were granted the planet of Perali, in the galaxy neighboring Earth. In fact, most of Ledar’s creations were centered in a large cluster of galaxies near the Milky Way.
But there was one galaxy, thousands of light-years from the hustle and bustle of the central galaxies, that was ever silent. Ledar thought long and hard about what she would place on the planet she called Alesranet. Nothing she thought of seemed right. Then it hit her. The most powerful of her creations. The dragons.
         The dragons were given the land of Belirocea as their home. The land was beautiful. Gently rolling hills of green pastures supported flocks of sheep-like creatures, and the flowing, crystal clear, blue rivers on the continent irrigated all of the land. The dragons were given the responsibility of keeping the land alive, and they did their job well. Ledar was happy with her creations.
         But the dragons forgot their duties over the centuries. Ledar saw them stumble for many years. Elsewhere in her universe, the living creatures were ignoring Ledar’s decrees. Ledar became sad, and she decided to wipe out this universe, and start fresh.
         Before she destroyed the universe, however, Ledar thought about her creations. The planets were perfect, though the breathing creations weren’t. The people of the universe would have to be punished as what they really were. Unruly children.
         On the hardy planets, Ledar caused the skies to open, and rain on the lands for 40 days and 40 nights. There was one planet, however, that was so evil, Ledar knew she’d have to destroy all traces of civilization. The Martians were the only people in the history of the universe to undergo the horrors of a Harvesting. The Harvester was a machine that first took all traces of vegetation from the planet’s surface. Then it harvested all water from the world. Finally it stole the oxygen from the atmosphere, and thus destroyed the planet.
         On Alesranet, Ledar did not use a flood. She unleashed something good on the planet, something that would show the dragons that they had forgotten their duties. Ledar created the elves. She modeled them after the humans. But, knowing about the dragons’ flames, Ledar gave the elves the gift of magic.
         The elves landed and drove the dragons to the river they would call Te Arylo pei Caraso. The River of Love. They named it thus for the actions of many of the dragons retreating over the waters. Many times, a dragon would take a spell for their loved ones. So the elves, to honor their foes, named it Te Arylo pei Caraso.
         Two borders were drawn, one on each side of the river. The river would be inter-racial, to promote the peace. But, within 30 years, that peace would die.












 

Chapter One
         Rijon Moonshine stared at a small bull’s-eye 1,000 yards away. He held his bow in his left hand, and in his right, Rijon had a single wooden arrow. Quickly, yet steadily, Rijon aimed for the target. He fired his arrow, and it sped straight into the center of the middle ring.
         The arrow should have never reached the target. Any human being could never shoot that far. But Rijon Moonshine was no human. He was a seventeen year old elf, dedicated to the art of archery. With good cause. Belirocea was at war, and continent-wide destruction was the normal. Only one creature could dare to cause so much damage against the elven magicians. The dragons of the eastern wilderness were angry about the elves who had entered their wastelands. Tempers flared 20 years ago over a border between the two races. A group of elves had shot and killed a dragon they claimed had crossed the border. The dragons had been outraged, even as they admitted that the dragon in question just might have crossed the line. For ten years, the dragons had bided their time, planning to punish the elves mercilessly.
         Now, the dragons were fighting back. For the last decade, there had been open warfare against the dragons. Rijon’s parents had led an army of experienced magicians against the draconian stronghold of Akarada after the first attack on the elven city of Ceta pei Zaliana. No one came back.
Rijon had been six years old at the time. He was taken in by the Red Hand of Revenge, a seasoned elven battalion, stationed to the northeast. The army had trained Rijon in the art of archery, and had nurtured Rijon’s hatred of the dragons. For, as the elves well knew, only those who had a deadly hatred could lead them to victory over the accursed dragons.
         So, Rijon trained alongside the elves for the next eleven years. He learned how to survive the harsh northern winters, and he quickly rose in the ranks of archers. By the time he was twelve years old, he had a recorded 113 kills against the dragon army. 113 and rising rapidly.
Most elves continued to live the way they had before the outbreak of war. They hung out with friends, settle down in a nice forest somewhere. Not Rijon. The art of war had consumed all of his days. That is why he found himself shooting at targets in an empty arena in the middle of the night when all other elves on Belirocea were gathering in secret recesses of the land to celebrate Te Nata pei Sokilu. The Day of Discovery. It was on this day, 50 years ago, that the first elves had landed on Belirocea.
         But Rijon just continued to practice. He would not let down his people just because he had gone to have fun instead of training.
Rijon heard a blood curdling bellow off somewhere to the far east. It didn’t bother him at all. The dragons were always doing that in the middle of the night, to keep the elves from sleeping. Then the elven magicians would be too tired to effectively cast their spells the next day. By now, most elves had learned to ignore the noise.
         The next morning found the Red Hand on the march. They were spearheading a campaign against the captured supply route of Te Sirea Curiat. The Winding Road. Ten elven cities were on this road, under dragon control. Rijon was marching behind a force of 1000 robotic swordsmen. 500 elven archers were trudging behind the bright metal.
         Three miles beyond Arlegato, the elven city just to the west of Akarada, the Red Hand was spotted. A dragon bellowed, and several elves fell to the ground, holding their ears in pain. Rijon ignored the screaming elves. He placed an arrow on his bow, and fired in a single moment. The arrow flew into an empty sky, and a dragon suddenly sped by the group. It flew right into the arrow, and fell towards the earth. Rijon sprinted towards the wounded dragon as it tried to limp away. The beast snarled at Rijon, and Rijon unsheathed his sword. He leapt back as the dragon snapped at him, and then he stabbed at the dragon’s mouth. Blood spurted from a slash in the dragon's snout as Rijon danced away from a weak claw thrust. The dragon fell from the effort, and screamed in agony as the arrow slid deeper into its stomach.
         The dragon moaned in pain as it stared into Rijon’s cold unfeeling eyes. Rijon snarled and raised his sword. The metal flashed under Rijon’s pale arms, and the dragon’s last scream was cut short.

         Masia Duale thundered down a strip of weather worn rock. She felt her best friend’s presence right beside her. A cliff was speeding towards her, but Masia wasn’t worried at all.
         With a mighty roar of delight, Masia leapt off of the cliff’s edge, and plummeted towards the valley floor, 4,000 feet below. When she was just 50 feet from the hard ground, the 30 year old dragon spread out her wings, and glided around a large clump of trees. She floated westwards, enjoying the feel of the wind blasting around her body.
         40 year old Wyrsalin Telanir followed his lifelong friend around the large canyon, seeking refuge in her ever comforting presence. He was silent as usual. The dragon hadn’t spoken a single word to anyone since the death of his brother, 20 years ago.
Masia understood his sorrow, and she let him mourn as he wished, even as she gently comforted her grieving friend. All of the other dragons just pestered Wyrsalin, and increased his misery. But Masia just left Wyrsalin to himself. And as a result, Wyrsalin was greatly comforted by Masia’s kind words and soft voice. She could soothe him like no one else could.
         Wyrsalin couldn’t stand to be away from Masia. So, whenever Masia’s inner bird yearned for the freedom of falling off a mountain, Wyrsalin was always right there beside her.
         Masia couldn’t help herself. Her effervescent personality constantly shedded off of her, and into all who were around. Everyone who met her claimed to have seen an angel. Even the dreaded elves had stories of a dragon unlike all others. A dragon who was gentle, and friendly towards all creatures of Belirocea.

         Rijon had heard the stories about Masia, but he didn’t care about how gentle the dragon was. The dragons had killed his family and, angel or not, they would all pay for the murders. Anyways, Rijon had just held off a dragon attack on the elves. He was exhausted, and still, the elves plodded on.
         They finally stopped for the night on the western bank of Te Arylo pei Zaliana. The River of Tears. It was here that the dragons had ambushed the elves at the start of war, and it was here that 5,000 elves died.
         That night, the elven ranks were replenished with 50,000 fresh warriors of the group Te Orapi Dusalei. They were all seasoned warriors, from the marshland war in the south. With their help, the new masters of Ceta pei Zaliana would be decided.
         Early the next morning, Rijon scarfed down his rations of laerisa and saliono. Laerisa was a flat bread, brittle, yet also a little soft. It was the base of all elvish meals, and easy to bake. Saliono, on the other hand, was a special treat. It was a sweet, yet also tart, piece of fruit, which grew only to the east of Te Arylo pei Zaliana. It had an indigo peel that needed to be removed before it was eaten, and the juice tasted like the Emperor's paridise in a drink. To wash it all down, Rijon drank a cup of ralise. This was a bitter liquid, which was usually sweetened with honey.
         After his meal, Rijon went to the armory, and took a bow and a sword. He didn’t bother suiting up in his armor, because he knew the metal would be a death trap in a fire. And there would be plenty of fire in this fight. The tall elf knew better than to dress up in an oven when he might burn.
Then the command was finally given. Silently, 65,000 elves glided across a wooden bridge constructed in the night. They approached the village, and a signal was given.
         Inside the city, a young elf, no older than nine, crept carefully around a sleeping dragon. The elf attempted to step over a board he knew creaked loudly, and when his foot landed, the floor gave a long groan. The elf froze as the guard stirred. The dragon yawned widely, and fell back to sleep.
         After a minute, the elf continued warily towards a log lever. He slowly and silently pulled the lever down, and the city’s gate slid into a trench below it. The elves swarmed into the city, and silently set about murdering all of the sleeping dragons.

         Rijon shot a dragon in the throat, and ran into a house built by his people. He entered a bedroom, and found an elf in it, lying so still that Rijon began to think she was dead. Cautiously, Rijon reached for the elf, and a voice behind him snarled, “Don’t you dare.”

         Masia sleepily opened her eyes. Two elves were slithering towards her, with swords in their hands. Masia bolted upright, but it was too late for her to do anything.
         With an ear-splitting bellow of anger, Wyrsalin flew upon the elves, his claws tearing them to pieces.
         Masia stared in shock. It wasn’t the violence that affected her. No, it was something far greater. Wyrsalin had spoken again. Masia stood frozen, remembering the sweet ring of Wyrsalin’s voice as if from a dream. If she would have to go home to Ledar again, Masia knew she wouldn't care, as long as she died listening to Wysalin’s voice.

         “Who are you?” The elf demanded.
         “My name is Rijon Dragonslayer. I’m he-”
         “Dragonslayer?” The elf bellowed. The silver knife in her hand began digging into Rijon’s flesh. “The dragons of Ceta Halina are peaceful!”
“Ceta Halina? I’ve never heard of this Happy City.”
         “You’re standing in it,” the elf growled.
         “No. You are mistaken. This is Te Ceta pei Zaliana.” Rijon said.
         “The City of Tears? Ki Tesa Ledar!” The elf cried.
         “Of course! You should know of the massacre here in the early days of war. All of those dead elves who fell from here to the river!” Rijon exclaimed.
         The elf suddenly spun around, and headed for a window. She opened it, and climbed out onto a ladder outside. Rijon went to the window and gasped in terror.
         The elf was heading for two wide awake dragons!

         Barasila ran to the two dragons.
         “Masia!” she yelled.
         “Barasila?” The dragon said, surprised.
         Barasila slowed as she neared her friends. She noticed Wyrsalin’s bloody claws.
         “Ki Tesa Ledar!” She exclaimed, speaking in the dragons’ language. “What happened?”
         “We were attacked by a couple of elves.”
         Barasila jumped at the unfamiliar voice.
         “Wyrsalin?” She gasped.
         “No!” Someone yelled.
         Barasila whirled around, and saw the stranger fire an arrow from her window.
         “Siate!” Barasila shouted.
         The arrow froze in mid-flight, and Barasila released the spell. The arrow fell to the street with a clatter. Barasila threw her knife at the elf with deadly accuracy. It sliced through the wooden bow, and Barasila once again barked out, “Siate!” The knife froze less than an inch from the elf’s neck.
         As with the arrow, the knife fell when Barasila released the spell. Rijon leapt out of the window, and grabbed the ladder while he was five feet above the street. He dropped again, and ran at the dragons, drawing his sword.
         Once again, Barasila yawned, “Siate!”
         Rijon tried to strike at the dragons who were slowly walking towards him.
         “Adalante!” Barasila snapped.
         Rijon’s sword suddenly shattered, and he flinched. Barasila drew breath for another spell, and Masia said, “No Barasila. He is terrified. Leave him alone.”
         Barasila let the spell die unspoken. She turned towards the two dragons as Rijon regained control of his motion. Wyrsalin strode past Barasila, and stopped in front of Rijon. The elf stared back with terrified eyes. Wyrsalin knew that look. It spoke of unimaginable pain. With a soft sigh, Wyrsalin sent a spell that would allow the elf to sleep free of thoughts.
         Then, Wyrsalin turned to Masia.
         “Masia, it’s time to go. The elves will be here soon, and then we will never survive,” he said.
         “What? You’re leaving?” Barasila cried.
         “You need to stay here Barasila. Watch over this elf. I sense that he will play an important part in our victory,” Masia said.
         “He is a sad creature. He has been through a lot of pain. Help him and teach him the ways of the dragons,” Wyrsalin said gently.
         The two dragons flew off into the morning skies, leaving Barasila to drag Rijon’s sleeping body into her house.