Child of Nyuvreth -Chapter 3

ENURIN


Wiping the sweat off her brow, Enurin peered out from behind an old brick wall, desperately looked around to check if the coast was clear -her sapphire coloured orbs nervously moving left and right. There seemed to be nobody in sight, for the gentle caress of the warm, eastern winds and the absence of people were the only sights and sounds she was able to detect.

Clutching a woollen bag filled with a week's worth of food supplies hidden underneath her tunic, Enurin cautiously placed her right foot out. Eventually she decided it was safe enough and proceeded to step out from the shadows. Everything appeared to be all right and Enurin thanked whatever supreme being was in existence for her miraculous good fortune.

But Fortune appeared to be in a horrendous mood this particular afternoon for not long after a cacophony of shouts could be heard behind her. Enurin cursed softly under her breath and began to run with all her might. The thundering of quickened footsteps soon followed and Enurin increased her speed.

Looking swiftly, Enurin could make out four figures behind her. Growling, she made up her mind to end it right here and now, for they could not under any circumstances discover her hideout. She inevitably bumped against various people, who were obviously disgruntled and some even shouted at her. Ignoring these, she continued to run and led her four pursuers towards an abandoned, isolated and dreary alley.

Enurin stood in the centre of the alley, perspiring heavily. Her feet felt as if they had been pinpricked for the longest duration of time and have been rendered immobile for the time being. Enurin winced as she sluggishly moved backwards and leaned against the wall. As time flittered on, it was becoming increasingly difficult for Enurin as well as the working population of the kingdom of Eyroth to acquire the basic necessities simply to survive. The summers were ridiculously harsh and unforgiving, the winters equally so. This has caused the onset of countless famines and droughts that have afflicted the kingdom to be the worst in Eyroth's history. The current heads of Eyroth -the four Elders- were powerless to stop the unavoidable course of nature. Yet everyone in the kingdom knew the exact medicine to remedy the devastating situation. But to everyone's chagrin, that medicine has been totally absent for nearly 150 years.

Enurin was pulled out of her train of thought when a clamour of noises invaded her eardrums. Her four pursuers had indeed followed her into the dingy alley, and thus her plan had been brought into fruition. Enurin straightened herself up and stretched her legs. She took a large breath of air and stared at what was in front of her.

The four men wore the livery of Melkor the 3rd Elder, which was that of a raven holding a scroll in its beak. All of them stood breathless and unbalanced, but the glint in their eyes assured Enurin that they did not intend to let her escape scot-free. Enurin surveyed her surroundings, for unknowingly to them, she allowed the soldiers to corner her; it was all part of her plan.

There was an intense silence that encroached the air of the alley, as Enurin met their hard glares with an equally intimidating one of her own. Unable to take this any longer, the tallest of the four men growled and pounced at Enurin. In a blink of an eye, Enurin formed her right hand into a fist and banged it against the wall behind her. In an instant, a dozen pair of hands materialised from the wall and covered Enurin's entire body with it. Closing her eyes, the hands pulled her body away from the befuddled soldiers with an almighty strength. The hands pulled her further deeper into the wall, as if forcibly making Enurin one with it. All the four soldiers were able to do was stare in awe and appalling amazement.

Suddenly, the hands stopped. The soldiers were brought out of their apparent trance and quickly realised that Enurin was going further and further beyond their grasp. Shouting, all four of them reached out to intercept the girl, but Enurin flashed her eyes open and the hands whisked her away. She had disappeared and the looming hands had also vanished from the walls, leaving only a bare, flat surface.

The hands transported her through buildings at an alarming speed, ensuring that Enurin was always out of sight. Wind whizzed past her ears as the hands continued to carry her to her destination. With a sudden jolt, the hands stopped and pushed her gently forward as Enurin emerged from the wall. She carefully stepped outward, turning around just in time to see the hands melt back into the walls.

Her hide-out. A simple, one-room apartment on the highest floor. The only other residents in the building was a kindly, middle-aged widow named Myrda and a mysterious elderly gentleman who kept mostly to himself and refused to communicate with a single living thing besides his cat -who looked equally as old as he was. The building was slowly decaying, as was the rest of this part of the kingdom. But it suited Enurin perfectly, for no soldiers even dared step foot in this notorious area dubbed 'The Stink'.

Releasing a relieved sigh, Enurin walked towards the small, round table in the middle of the room and placed her bag of food supplies on it. Sweeping her considerably long, golden hair into a messy bun, she then stretched her weary bones. They made a few audible 'pop' sounds before she changed out of her clothes into her sleeping gown. Enurin plopped herself on top of her rickety, hard bed and began reading a book she had stolen many weeks before.

"The Chosen of Eyroth" written by Elder Gyrgul, the title said in large, silver letters that were printed in elegant and decorative calligraphy. Opening the book, she glanced through the pages, which were filled with different illustrations that moved of their own volition. Enurin never ceased to be amazed by the books in Eyroth, for they were always enchanted with some type of spell that allowed the pictures to move.

As Enurin progressed through the book, she read what the people of Eyroth had been gossiping about repeatedly. About how the Chosen was going to be their saviour and usher them through dark times and into the light. Enurin scoffed, for the Chosen had still not surfaced after 150 years. The people of Eyroth prayed and prayed to countless Gods and nameless deities, but their pleas were always met with silence. Everyone was in a state of severe anxiousness, for if the Chosen does not appear then the kingdom of Eyroth itself will be in the gravest of dangers.

Flipping through the pages, Enurin was utterly absorbed by it. She scanned through the basic knowledge all Eyrothians knew, about how the Festival of Selection was held once every 50 years. In which 12 candidates -mostly children to young adults- are placed in a procession that led beyond the kingdom's gates. Beyond it lies the Red Fountain, where the candidates are required to drink from it and each will be granted a certain power. But only the most powerful of them all would be selected as the Chosen, the leader and protector of Eyroth. But the Elders have taken to holding the procession every year now, frantic in their continuous search for the Chosen. Yet nearly all of the candidates have been granted with useless powers or none at all.

Shutting the book, Enurin placed it underneath her bed. Propping up her tattered pillow, she laid back down and stared at the ceiling. She directed her gaze to her hands as she lifted them and began to ponder over the baffling origins of her peculiar powers. They had always been there ever since she could remember. She had no memory of her parents, or if she ever had any. Moving from one orphanage to another, she had always kept to herself and no other children would try to approach her. Perpetually alone throughout her early childhood, that all changed when she first summoned the hands. At first the 2 year old Enurin was frightened, but gradually she understood that they posed no harm and took time to master control over. In all her 15 years of life, the hands had been her only companion and she rather enjoyed their presence.

Enurin hid her powers from the prying eyes of Eyrothians, for she was wholly aware that the people -especially the overzealous Chosen fanatics- in their despondent state would unhesitatingly view her as their salvation. They will raise her into a high position with responsibilities she would be incapable of undertaking. She was perfectly satisfied with how things are going in her life, and would like very much to keep it that way.