The Shadows of Evil

The Shadows of Evil:
The First and the Key
Graham Jordan

Part One:
A Journey of Discovery

Chapter One

The small ball of light skittered nervously in the dark, struggling to light-up the dark chamber. Beads of sweat formed upon the conjuror, Faern Ri’Ataan, coating his body with a reflective blanket. He struggled to keep the minute ball alight and floating, but the magic left him like water in cupped hands. The light dwindled then snuffed-out and the tiny ball of cotton fell to the floor, slightly singed.  Faern sighed and lay back with exhaustion against the wall of the stuffy room. At a spoken word, the magic of the place lit candles surrounding the room. “I can’t do it, Honoured One. I just can’t!” 

A figure moved away from a corner of the bare room and smiled reassuringly at Faern. “Sure you can. You just need to try a little harder and practice more.  It will come to you eventually.”

“But I practice all the time and it’s never enough!” Faern felt a resigned look of self-pity bloom on his face.

“Faern, patience almost always pays off; remember that.  But for now, I think it wise that we get a bite to eat before we starve!” That said, the adolescent’s teacher rose and left the practice room. Faern sighed again and stretched stiff joints as he too stood up. He glanced around the room with hatred at his own inadequacy, then quickly shut the door and followed Honoured One Milenne.

Faern quickened his pace to match Milenne’s long strides as they headed for the Dining Hall. His stomach growled in anticipation, confirming his body’s need for food.

“What do you suppose is on the lunch menu for today, Faern?”  Milenne fixed him with a look of interest.  Faern glanced at her and quickly turned his head away. Her piercing blue eyes always seemed to accuse him of something. 

“I heard from one of the kitchen maids this morning that there’s soup for lunch today, but who knows?”

Milenne’s eyes brightened and she wet her lips in anticipation. “Did you hear what kind of soup there would be?” Her eyes demanded hungrily of him.

“Uh, I think that she said something about maltar strips, Honour.”

“Oh wonderful!  I can’t wait!” Milenne sped-up and left Faern, being of shorter-legged origin, far behind. Cramps were beginning to form in his legs from the already quick pace, so he slowed his gait and wondered how to occupy the rest of his day.

Faern’s eyes skimmed over his surroundings, barely noting the fineries of this haven. Here and there, a finely carved table would be supporting a vase from some past era. Exquisite paintings decorated the walls, depicting the histories of the many different cultures that coexisted.  Carpets lining the halls were infamous throughout the kingdom of the Rytar and beyond; soft, luxurious and worth many a large fortune, they were kept intact and undamaged by spells of preservation. Upon these ancient carpets, many different tongues related stories of great deeds accomplished by magnificent and legendary Rytar, the human magic-users of the land.  They were woven with such skill and grace that they seemed almost alive.

Few other than the Rytar and the Chosen were permitted to walk these magnificent carpets, the Chosen being children with the potential to master magic.  The other few consisted of the immediate family of the Aytri (the king) and of course him or herself.  After many strenuous years of training from the Rytar, the Chosen were given a set of tests, aptly named the Dey’la’an, which, loosely translated from Ancient Rytarian, the old language of magic, meant “The Powerful Proceed Where The Weak Do Not.”  The Dey’la’an consisted of a test of courage, of purity and of intelligence. Depending on the outcome of the Dey’la’an, the Chosen would be named Rytar, or if their outcome was insufficient to convince the judging Rytar, they would be asked to retake the test at a later date.

A Chosen would attempt the Dey’la’an sometime after their twentieth birth year, but in some cases, though rare, a Chosen might take the test before then. Faern, being barely fourteen, sometimes fantasized himself as one of those special cases.  As he rounded the last beautifully decorated corner before the dining hall, he groaned at the sight of the long line winding lazily out from the kitchen into the hall. He made his way to the back of the queue and prepared himself for a long wait.

Just as he was about to join the kitchen line-up, Faern caught a glimpse of a small twinkling creature scampering across the resplendent carpet. At first glimpse, Faern took it to be a simple mouse and almost dismissed it, but a nagging voice in the back of his mind insisted that he follow the creature. Curiosity swept him up in a search for the telltale mouse as he entered the room where it had seemingly disappeared into. He carefully closed the door behind him and scanned the dimly-lit room. Simple furniture filled the small living-space and a modestly-sized drawing of a young man hung on the wall above the bed.  Obviously a girl’s room.  Oh my, wouldn’t the student headmistress have a fit if she knew I was in here.  No carpet numbed the chill of the floor on bare feet which made Faern grateful for his slippers.  He stepped further into the gloom. He walked stealthily toward one corner of the living quarters and suddenly lunged at the cot and threw back the covers. Nothing. Like a predator patiently stalking its prey, he methodically rummaged through the closet and bed without any result. The only possibility left was the clothing chest. Faern stepped over and opened the first drawer. Clothes; woolen outfits, plain sashes, lacy undergarments, but no small creature. He closed this drawer and opened the last one with a jerk. A few books, quills, paper and supplies were neatly tucked into this drawer. The young boy closed the drawer sadly, unable to find this magical creature his mind must have created from lack of interest.

Faern swiftly rearranged the contents of the room and trudged toward the door. He took one last furtive glance around the room, sighed resignedly and left. Fortunately though, the line-up for lunch had dwindled to a more acceptable length. For the moment, the search was forgotten. Faern smiled happily and took his place in the queue to await his afternoon’s serving of food.

After receiving a bowl of soup and a wheat roll, he surveyed the eating area with hooded eyes and made his way to a deserted table in a shadowy corner, his usual mealtime seat. As he passed the other Chosen of the Rytar, Faern kept his golden eyes downcast, unwilling to catch the eye of any, especially the Rytar. He couldn’t take the pity he saw in their eyes and the shame their looks made him feel.

Faern set his tray down, turning his back to the entire room. It made him feel better not having to look at the other students who stared at him and whispered to each other, “Did you know that he still hasn’t been able to light the cotton ball?” And then they would giggle at him, attempting to hide their laughter behind their hands.

He dipped his spoon into the moderately warm broth and absent-mindedly lifted it to his mouth.  Free of distraction, he recalled the creature he had seen.  What was it? Faern asked himself.  Not a mouse from the way it sparkled, but definitely a small creature to be able to fit through the crack underneath the door and then hide from me...  Faern sat and pondered the mystery of the creature while continuing to eat his soup until, rather embarrassingly, he realized that his bowl of soup was empty and he had continued to “eat” the nonexistent contents of his soup bowl.  He looked around and the colour started to rise in his cheeks.  Again he was glad that he faced away from the general populace of the Tower of the Rytar.  Faern rose rather quickly from his seat and placed his bowl among other empty ones as he left the dining hall.

As soon as he stepped into the hallway, Faern scanned the carpeted floor for any sign of sparkling creatures.  Realizing there was no indication of some such thing, he sighed for what seemed to him like the hundredth time that day and then proceeded to his room, having decided to spend the day there.  He opened the green door set in a white, cheerful wall leading to his room.  The bed sheets were a little crumpled, but it was the only place he truly felt safe from the criticism of others.  He trudged over to his undersized desk and sat down on a little wooden stool, folding his arms and placing them on the desk, pillowing his head upon them.

Suddenly, Faern jerked up violently and started to pound his fists on the desk in front of him.  His anger at his incompetence was fuelled by the reactions of the other Chosen and it grew and grew in him.  His eyes flashed red and he couldn’t see anything, couldn’t think straight, couldn’t even move anymore.  He sat there, seething with anger and hate.  Unbeknownst to Faern, a red aura had enveloped his body.  He felt rather than saw movement in the room and whirled about inhumanly fast.  Something was moving across the floor erratically, yet in a slightly predictable pattern.  Faern’s mind grasped this pattern easily and he snatched the thing from the floor faster than his eyes could see it.  In a moment, he realized it was the mouse-like creature he had seen earlier and almost let go of it, but something made him keep hold of it.  After struggling for a few seconds, it gave up and looked impatiently at him and spoke.

“Since I have been caught, I am now obliged to give you something that is within my power to give.  What is it you wish?”

“The key to the gate.” The voice that Faern heard was hardly his own, yet it uttered itself from his mouth.  Some unconscious aspect of his mind was prompted by the capture of the creature to speak out.

“Now that is not an everyday request.  What is your need for the key?”

“To walk the path.” Again, Faern’s voice spoke involuntarily.

“Ah, I see the path that lies ahead of you.  Unfortunately, I cannot give you the key because it is not for me to give to you, nor is it within my power.  But I can set you on the path to finding it. I wish you luck, Crystling.”  With that, the little creature disappeared and Faern was left grasping nothing in midair.  He shook himself and the red aura faded.  He had not noticed the aura of power that had surrounded him.

A twinkling on the edge of his vision caught his eye.  He looked to the source of the light.  A book sitting on his bed was reflecting light from an uncovered window.  That’s funny, Faern thought to himself.  I don’t remember leaving a book there.  He stood up and walked over to his bed, curiosity shining eagerly from his eyes as he picked up the book.  He looked at the cover for any sort of title, and upon seeing none, Faern opened the cover to the first page.  The word Crysting stared up at him from an otherwise blank paper.

“That’s an interesting title for a book,” he said to the room, as though it were listening.  Faern thumbed the next page and searched for the words that were supposed to be there.

“Interesting?  Is that what I am now?”  A voice spoke in his mind.

Faern quickly jumped up off his bed, emitting a frightened shout, the book falling to the floor.  He stared at it a full minute before the voice spoke again.

“Well, aren’t you going to pick me up off this dusty floor?  You really should do something about all the mess here.  It really is disgusting!”

Again, Faern stared at the book a while, then, slowly, he reached down and carefully lifted the book off the floor.  He turned it over in his hands and brushed a few dust particles from the cover.  He opened the cover and thumbed to the second page where he saw the face of a hawk-nosed, dark haired, middle-aged man.  Faern was too dumbfounded to drop the book this time.

“Why hello there.  I am the book you now hold in your hands, or rather, an entity that was conjured to fulfill the task of teaching a Crystal Mage.  You may call me Crys, after my task.  And I suppose you’d like to learn how to follow the path of the Crystal, am I right?”

A pause, and the face on the page continued to look up at Faern expectantly.  After a moment’s hesitation, he mentally shook himself and seriously considered the offer. 

“Wait a minute.  What exactly is it a Crystal Mage does, or can do?”

The face sighed and would have started pacing impatiently as if talking to a dull-witted child if it had had any legs.

“Well, to make a lengthy explanation short, let me put it this way.  You’ve most definitely heard of the Ay’kra?”  Faern shook his head, imitating with perfection the role of the dull-witted child.  Crys rolled his eyes.  “My goodness!  Either they are a very well kept secret, or they have been forgotten, neither of which is a very good thing, especially the latter.  During the creation of our world, to maintain the balance between good and evil, four shadow entities, also called the Ro’kra, were spawned.  Our beloved creator would have none of it and so he constructed three magical spheres, each representing a different sun, each drawing energy from their sun, to bind these Shadows.  The spheres are called the Ay’kra, the Spheres of Binding, Power and Creation.  A Crystal Mage draws energy from the source of the Ay’kra.  In answer to your question, a Crystal Mage can do whatever he wants to do with his power, even bring death.”

“Haven’t there ever been any Crystal Mages?  I haven’t ever heard of anything like that.”

“Unfortunately, I am the only way for a Crystal Mage to learn to use his magic, the only way.”

“Much as this sounds intriguing and full of adventures, I don’t think I’m cut out for the job.  Truthfully, I’m a failure at magic, I can’t do a thing besides make a fool of myself.”

“Ah, did I not say that a Crystal Mage draws his energy from another source?  The wizards you know all have their power based within themselves, and so they are slaves to their own limitations.  You however have the opportunity, and the potential, to drink from the infinite sea of the Ay’kra.  How about it?”

“This is way too much for me to handle right now.  Give me until tonight and I’ll give you my answer then.  Alright?”

“Deal.” With that, Crys’ face disappeared from the blank page and Faern was left staring, rather dumbly, at a page devoid of anything remotely bookish.  He shook his head at the situation he was getting into and laid the book down beside his bed.  He stood up and headed for the door,  After a moment’s thought, Faern turned back and grabbed the book, stuffing it inside his black robe for safekeeping.

On impulse, he headed to the library to look for anything that might give him a clue as to what was going on.  As he was walking, he barely noticed any of the other students or teachers, leaving them to their own devices as he floated in his reverie of thought.  So absorbed was he in his thoughts that he narrowly missed walking into Jojir, the Mistress of Students, who resolutely blocked his path.

“Faern, my son, may I snatch a few seconds out of your day to have a quick word with you?”  It was more the mock-sweet tone in Jojir’s voice, than her actually being in his way that woke Faern to the goings-on around him.

“Wha..?  Oh!  Yes, yes of course!”

Jojir stepped to one side of the hall and beckoned Faern to join her.  The look in her eyes was not one that Faern judged he could escape from; he knew that he was going to get it.”

“Faern, I heard from one of the students as she was waiting for her lunch that you entered another person’s room, unaccompanied, I might add, by the person to whom the room belongs to.  That is absolutely against the rules that we have set here in our Tower to allow others their privacy!  You invaded someone’s privacy, and for that, you must be punished.  I’m going to talk to the kitchen master about giving you some lessons in respecting the privacy of dishes by washing them and learning what they have to say!”

“Geez, I wish she could just forget about the whole thing!  I didn’t mean to invade her privacy.” Faern mumbled under his breath.

“Excuse me?  I didn’t quite catch that.”

Faern looked up at Mistress Jojir, hatred burning in his eyes.  All the frustration of the past few months came to the surface and he could barely keep his voice from shouting out, “I want you to forget about the entire incident!  I was just looking for something!”

Mistress Jojir blinked once and stared blankly at Faern.  She didn’t say a thing, just stood there, eyes glowing dully.  Faern thought this was weird and his anger subsided to be replaced by confusion.  Wouldn’t she have been yelling at him and dragging him by the ear all the way to the kitchens by now?  But no, Mistress Jojir didn’t move a muscle.

“Mistress, is everything okay?” asked Faern in as sympathetic a voice as he could muster given the current situation.

Jojir shook herself and gave a start when she noticed Faern looking up at her.  “I’m sorry, I don’t recall why I wanted to talk to you...”

Faern’s mouth dropped open and his mind raced trying to grasp what had just happened.  Apparently, Mistress Jojir actually had forgotten everything about the incident.  But how?  He couldn’t do magic, that was a well-known fact throughout the entire Tower.  Except...  Hadn’t the man in his book just said that he had some potential for a Crystal Mage?  Could the sudden appearance of this book have awakened some of his latent power?

“I’m sorry, I have urgent business I must attend to.  If you’ll excuse me, Mistress Jojir?”

“Yes yes, of course.  If I remember what it is that I wished to speak to you about, I’ll find you later.”

“Yes Mistress.”  Faern bowed towards Jojir in the formal method of leaving the presence of a fully-qualified Rytar.  He straightened up quickly and continued on his interrupted trip to the library.  Fortunately, the library was only a few hundred metres from where Mistress Jojir had stopped him.  Faern stepped through the double-doors and paused a moment to gather his bearings and decide where in the library to start researching.  Magic Texts, Languages, Herbal Concoctions, none of these genres helped Faern in his quest.  Finally, near one of the dusty corners far below the entrance of the library, he came upon something that looked promising;

Forbidden Pasts
Only students with a written note from either
the Head Librarian or the Rytar may take
books from here.

Faern’s sense of curiosity immediately compelled him to look at some of the titles in the area.  Looking through the magically-reinforced bars of the storage area, Faern scanned the titles for one that could help him.  After fifteen minutes of looking through the titles, Faern was starting to become anxious that one of the librarians would come down here and catch him looking at these books.  He still couldn’t see anything that fit in with the day’s events, until, On Other Magics: A History of the Long-Lost Magics of Old,, seemed to scream at him, it was so obviously apparent.  This was definitely the book he needed to read.  But how to get through the magic securing the place?  Faern groaned, to be so close to some answers, and yet so far made him feel despaired and frustrated.  He wanted that book so much...

Close your eyes Faern.  Feel the book, feel it between your fingers. Crys’ voice whispered quietly in his mind.  Faern did so and realized his hands were now tightly grasping On Other Magics.  Faern’s eyes widened in shock and he quickly got up from his sprawled-along-the-floor position to move somewhere with more privacy.  Small practice rooms falling into disrepair from lack of use could be seen up ahead and to his left.  He didn’t believe they’d be safe to be in, so he went back to his room quickly, attempting to avoid notice, then pulled out his Crysting book.

Faern opened up the book to the blank page and found Crys watching him with an amused expression on his face.  I see you have already begun your training; listening to your instincts.  Acting upon that compulsion brought you here where you can find some answers on your own.  I suggest that you flip to the section on the Ay’kra.  With that, Crys’s face disappeared into the parchment of the page.  Faern found himself shaking his head, wondering what he was getting himself into, as he opened up his newest possession and scanned the chapter index at the beginning of the book.  The Ay’kra: The Magical Spheres  Page 342.  He flipped through the pages leading up to 342, most containing detailed drawings of different magics that existed before the Rytar, or near its very beginning.

The book flashed at him as he accidentally passed the page he was searching for.  He flipped a few pages back and sat staring at the picture below the title.  In the picture, a powerful-looking being had his hands over a mountain range eyes closed, and appeared to be working some great magic.  His hair was white, and his face reflected many years of wisdom.  The mountains were separated into four distinct parts, each with its own captivating beauty.  Below the drawing of the mountains, three balls of blazing power seemed to be growing, in size and in power.


Beneath the picture, there was a label stating: The creation of the Shadow Prisons.  Faern looked at the subtitle to make sure he’d gotten it right.  “Shadow Prisons?  Who are the Shadows?”  He continued further down the page and found his answer.

The Shadows are nature’s balance to all that is good.  One must have balance to exist.  They are the four spawn which were created near the end of the Creation of this land.  Upon discovering the Shadows, the Creator bound them in four respective prisons, each surrounded by four forbidding mountain ranges.

“Well, that explains that!”

Faern stopped reading abruptly upon hearing the knock at his door.  The knocking sounded impatient and he assumed that he had zoned out and not heard it.  He carefully stowed the book under his mattress and went quickly to open the door.  He looked out and found himself staring into the face of the Rytarian, the head of the Order of the Rytar.

“Faern, if I may have a word with you…?”

Faern was dumbstruck; the Rytarian had never even glanced at him except to initiate him into the Order.  He stepped out into the corridor, closed the door to his room, and blindly followed the Rytarian.  Faern was led through the entire fortress that belonged to the Rytar, up to a room he didn’t even know existed.  The Rytarian produced a key from somewhere in his cloak and turned it in the lock with a click.  He entered and beckoned to Faern to follow.  The room was momentarily pitch black when the door closed, but a moment later, the lights flared.  He looked around at his surroundings and moved towards an interesting-looking object.  He immediately regretted it at the cloud of dust that mushroomed around him, causing him to have a coughing fit.  When the dust settled down, Faern slowly and carefully turned around to face the Rytarian.

“I’m glad to see this place hasn’t been disturbed since the last time I came here,” the old man said with a smile.

“Um sir?  What exactly is this place?”

He paused for a second, then suddenly sighed and his face fell.  “You know my name, Faern?  It’s Devon, Devon Litari.  Almost no one around here knows anything about who I really am.  They look at me and see only the Rytarian.  I’m actually just an old man, waiting until my time is due to rejoin the Creator.”

”Sir…?”

“Don’t…  call me sir.  Devon, call me Devon.”

Faern looked at his leader timidly.  “Okay…  D…  Devon, I don’t understand.  What’s all this got to do with me?”

The lines in the old man’s face grew longer and he looked sadly down into Faern’s innocent eyes.  “Ah, my child.  Life is such a fragile thing, such a shame to waste it on fruitless ambitions.  I wish to tell you something.  Come closer.”

Faern edged nearer to the Rytarian, almost to the point of touching him.  “Yes sir, I’m listening, sir.”

“When I was about your age, I was very much like you.  I struggled with my power, I could not find it.  I did not know how to perform any magics.  I blamed it on my teachers and left this place for a time.  I travelled to some nearby mountains to reflect and decide what I wanted, and how to get it.  I hiked all around those mountains, I sorted out a lot of thought.  I even met a girl whom I loved for a time.  But eventually, I found my calling, which was to be here.  And when I returned, it all came to me.  I caught up to those around me who were my age, and quickly passed them in skill and power, and look at me now; I’m the Rytarian.  I guess what I’m saying is that I think you need to get out of here for a while, find yourself, get some things out of your system, and I’m sure you’ll return ready for anything!”

“Your Honour, sir…”

“Devon, if you please.”

“Uh, Devon then.  Where would I go, how would I get there, how would I pay for anything?”

“Sh, calm down.  I’ve already arranged everything.  A kindly farmer agreed to take you down to the same place that I went.  It’s a little town about 4-days horse-ride from here named Cryt.  The farmer’s name is Parj, and he’s quite likeable, if lacking a few years’ schooling.  As for any money you may need, I’ve put enough money in here to get you by for close to two years, provided you don’t spend it all on a large property.”  Devon placed a heavy, velvet sack in Faern’s hands.

“But sir, how do I know when I’m ready to return?”

“Trust me Faern, you’ll know when you’re ready.  And by that time, you’ll be all set to learn what we have to offer.”

“Okay, if you’re sure about this, sir.  I’ll believe you.”  Faern smiled kindly up at the old man.

“I’m sure, child.  May the Creator shelter you with his grace.  Now run along back to your room to pack.  You leave after breakfast tomorrow.  Oh wait!  I have something for you.”  Devon reached into a nearby table cupboard and removed an amulet on a necklace and handed it to Faern.

Faern smiled again as he accepted the gift, and left the room, careful not to upset any more dust.  Devon stayed in the room a moment longer, and a figure came out from around a few large crates.

“Devon, you sure about this?  I know you made up that tale about your childhood, so you must have something up your sleeve.  Why did you tell him that story?”

The old man tightened his expression and resumed the posture of his office.  “I told him what needed to be told.  He’ll find it hard either way, I just thought that it would make life easier if I made it seem like he wasn’t alone.  I have a feeling that with his future, he walks a very lonely path…”


Chapter Two


When Faern awoke the next morning, he felt a faint flutter in his heart.  A new dawn, bringing with it a new adventure; He would be leaving the Tower of the Rytar!  Am I excited?  Or fearful?  I do not know which…  Should I be glad that I have this opportunity?  Or should I feel sad?  I don’t know…  The only thing I know is that I will come back, and I will be ready to learn all that the Rytar can teach me.  With that, Faern dressed in clothing given to him yesterday by Mistress Jojir, and headed down to breakfast with a medium-sized bag over his shoulder.  In the bag, Faern had placed the Crysting book, along with Crys, the amulet given to him by the Rytarian and the book he had taken from the library on lost magics.  Along with these, Faern packed a few clothes, some paper with quill and ink and the generously-hung pouch of money.

Mealtime today was different.  There were none of the usual stares or snide comments, in fact, none of the students and teachers were even taking any notice of him.  He placed his bag at the entrance to the Dining Hall and served himself.  In order to keep an eye on his belongings, Faern sat at the front of the hall for a change, at a table with five other students.  None of them looked at him, except for one, a pretty girl about two years younger than Faern smiled at him for a second, then looked away and resumed eating. This had been the first time that any student had ever acknowledged him in a positive way.  Faern was too surprised to react accordingly and she had looked away before he had a chance to smile back.  He turned back to his meal and ate his food slowly, letting it digest as he consumed it, allowing his thoughts to stray to his future.

After he finished his meal, he placed the dishes in the same place he had for his entire life with the Rytar.  He sighed and walked back to pick up his bag and as he was leaving, and tried to catch the eye of the girl who had smiled at him, but she was too engrossed in her conversation to notice.  He sighed and slung his bag over his shoulder as he left the hall and made his way to the entrance of the Tower of the Rytar.  There was only one way to enter and exit from the Tower, a fact which the Rytar were quite proud of, making their home virtually unconquerable.

Devon Litari, the supreme leader of the Rytar, was waiting for him beside an elderly man with a small hump on his back, and who wore patchy clothing.  The grin he flashed at Faern contained as few teeth as he had hair on his head, for the man was bald, Faern discovered when he took off his cap in order to bow to the Rytarian.

"Aye, thankee sir fer the custodianship of this 'ere boy. I'll be takin' good care o' this 'un, y'have my word, sir."

"Splendid!  Now Faern, I want you to meditate and get some thoughts sorted out.  Relax and enjoy the scenery while you’re out there.”

“Thank-you, sir.  I think I will, Devon, sir.  I won’t let you down sir.”  Faern tried to genuinely smile, but couldn’t help the feeling that he would never be coming back.  He stepped up to the Rytarian and surprised even himself when he wrapped his arms around the old man’s body and caressed him.  It took a moment for the man to react, but he also embraced the teen.  Faern moved away after a moment and smiled at Devon Litari, a tear sliding down his cheek.

“We’ll see you soon hopefully, Faern,” the Rytarian called as Faern departed, giving a small wave.

Faern turned around and looked into the man’s eyes and said, “I’m afraid we won’t see each other again, sir.”  And with that, Faern climbed aboard the wagon that Parj had come with, and didn’t look back at the old man.  The horses pulled on the wagon and he was off to Cryt, to seek his future.  Somewhere, close to where Faern was headed, a creature, blacker than night, shifted in its slumber…


* * * * * * * * * *


The cart rumbled on, through the gate to the town below the Tower of the Rytar, over the hills leading to the flatlands.  Faern looked at the grasses and the tilled fields around him.  He had never been this far from his home before; At least, not that he could remember.  It was quite pleasant, the sun shining through the sporadic trees lining the tightly packed dirt road, a rodent here or there, scampering out of the way of the threatening wheels.  A few birds sang, shrill yet beautiful tunes that had no point other than to discuss with each other the happenings of the feathered-world.  Before he knew it, Faern had lain back against the hay in the wagon and dozed off.

When he awoke, a good time later, it was nearing sunset and the land looked much the same, except for the trees, which had become much more numerous.  A jaw-cracking yawn split Faern’s face, and he obligingly stretched his arms and legs as a follow-up.  The horses continued to pull the weight of the wagon, and in the distance, he could see the lights of a small town.  He estimated that it would take him and his ride at least half an hour to reach the town, as Faern guessed that they were spending the night there.

“Fine nigh’, don’t ya think?  Them lights sure are pertty this ‘ere time ‘o day.”

“Um, yes, I suppose they are,” Faern agreed with a start.  His mind had slipped off the fact that there was someone actually driving the wagon.  He looked at Parj, the farmer who had agreed to take him part of the way to Cryt.  There was something oddly familiar about the glow in his eye, and the way his eyebrows (what were left of them) soared up to his would-be hairline to emphasize what he was saying.  “Do I know you from some place, Parj?”  Faern inquired.

“Well, I don’ recall meetin’ you noplace, but I coul’ be mistaken.”  Parj replied.

“Hmm, weird…”

“Anyhows, we be stayin’ in Distay for the night.  I got a brother ‘o mine that owns a hotel in the middle of the town.  Twas a good deal for us.”

“Sounds good to me, sir.”

Faern and Parj sat in silence the rest of the way to Distay, thinking their own thoughts.  Upon arriving at the hotel, the Ghastly Ghoul, the horse-and-wagon were led away to the stables by Parj and Faern was left by himself in the courtyard, clutching his belongings closely to his sides.  He took a deep breath and stepped into the noisy common room.  He watched serving-women giggle as men slapped their thighs and otherwise while carrying 4 plates per hand, he watched the men at the bar, downing their mugs of ale in single gulps, he watched the musician on stage, playing a fiddle, as he danced and got the cheery crowd moving.  Over to his right-hand side, Faern saw a counter, behind which a woman sat on a stool and perused what seemed to be the registry of guests.  Faern boldly stepped forward towards the lady and spurted out, “Reservation for Parj?  Brother of the owner of this hotel…?  I’m with him, my name’s Faern.”

The woman gave a jolt and looked up at Faern in surprise.  Instantly, her blank look of shock took on an expression of warmth and happiness as she smiled politely at the young teen.  “Of course!  Been expectin’ you!  Almost got worried you wouldn’t be comin’ tonight!  Follow me please, and we’ll get you right up there and settled-in.  I’m Andrina, by the way.  It’s nice to meet you Faern!”  The jovial lady walked up to the door behind her and opened it, revealing a well-lit flight of stairs.  She turned her head and giggled at Faern as she set her foot on the first step.  At the top, she continued on about halfway down a short corridor.  There were about seven doors on each side, beautiful oak with some decent-looking carvings over most of the door.  Andrina came up to the third door on the left, removed a brass key from her pocket and unlocked the door.  She pushed open the door and held it open for Faern.

“Bathroom’s to your right, past the bed.  There’s a small fireplace, should you be wantin’ to heat the room.  If there’s anything you need, please don’t hesitate to come find me, dear.”  With that, she smiled at Faern and left the room, closing the door behind her.

Faern left his bags at the side of the bed and removed his shoes, placing them beside his baggage.  He found a candle beside his bed and sat down before it.  He focused on the wick, made it the only thing that he was aware of, then he focused on the element of fire, willing it to leap from his mind to the candlewick.  He started to perspire with the effort.  The air between his face and the candle sparked, startling Faern, who lost his concentration.  He sighed and stepped out into the hall with the candle and brought the tip to the flame of one of the torches.  Faern re-entered his room and lit the other candles and torches throughout.

A slight breeze coursed the room, startling him.  He decided he wanted to go out, so he dropped his belongings in a corner, splashed his face with water from the basin and left his room.  A man stood by the front, obviously Andrina’s husband and Parj’s brother by the nod he gave Faern, as if to log his comings and goings as he stepped outside.

Taking a deep breathe of fresh air, he surveyed the area around his lodgings.  To his left led into the main square, from whence wafted many aromas that made his stomach growl.  His feet led him automatically towards the food.  Entering the square, he saw a small fountain in the centre surrounded by people listening to a bard crying his story as walked around the rim of people.  Faern could feel the excitement exuding from the crowd as the bard approached his climax.  On the far side of the group, a small tavern let out the enticing smell of food that brought Faern there in the first place.

Stepping inside, he sat at a small table near the fire across from the door.  He was promptly attended to by a rushed-looking young woman.  She was mildly attractive with shoulder-length brown hair, and had obviously enjoyed several choice meals in her day by the obvious strain of her clothing across her stomach and bust.

“Specials are a beef broth with bread, or fish from [PLACE NAME].  What’ll it be, young man?”

Faern considered quickly, “beef broth, and do you have any cider?”

“Aye, be back in a bit.”

She left his table and crossed towards the kitchen, with several appreciable looks from some of the men, both young and old.  While he waited, Faern took in his surroundings.  Cramped in the room were about a dozen tables of various sizes.  There were people at almost every table, the solitary ones glaring at the groups of happy-goers.  He caught the eye of one of them and quickly turned away from the sneer on the stranger’s face.

One of the groups, the loudest, was comprised entirely of young men roughly his age.  The five of them were obviously drunk and were starting to get a bit rougher with each other.  One of them was pointing at Faern, but by the time the one ho was obviously their leader turned to look, the serving girl returned with his broth and cider.

“Pardon me for buttin’ in on yer personal affars, young sir, but I’d be so wise as to tell you to steer clear of those boys.  Theys definitely lookin’ for a fight.”

Faern smiled weakly at her, knowing already that there would be trouble for him in the near future.  “Thanks for the tip.  Who are they?”

“The one who calls hisself their leader is the Duke of Lemaris’ son, Leuca Petraides.  Twelfth in line for the throne he is.”  She bobbed her head at him and wished him good luck by the look in her eyes.

Faern’s appetite departed him surprisingly quickly, so he shoved a couple more mouthfuls down to have at least some sustenance, drained his remaining cider and stood up; So did Leuca and his group.  Faern hesitated for a moment, scattered some coins on his table and headed for the door, avoiding any eye contact with the young men.

They did not seem to be following him, but as he closed the door of the tavern behind him, his furtive glance behind him revealed them heading towards the bartender.  He breathed a sigh of relief as he stepped out from the arched doorway and breathed in the twilight air.  He watched the sun setting behind the forested mountain by his inn and suddenly felt the day’s journey.  His body was like lead as he dragged himself back to his room, barely noticing the innkeeper nod at him again.

He slept deeply until the morning when he wa awoken by some commotion in the street outside the inn.  Deciding to get a start on the day and gather supplies for his travels to Cryt, Faern dressed himself groggily as he woke up.  Washing his face to rid himself of the last remnants of sleep, he grabbed his money belt and tucked it safely inside his jacket.  He wolfed down a quick breakfast of eggs and ham with buttered bread, leaving payment with the innkeeper for the nights stay.

“By the way, where can one purchase a steed fit for travelling?”

The innkeeper muttered something inaudible to himself and pointed out the door to the right, towards the forest.  “Couple places down, turn right onto a small lane, leads you to a farm.  They have fair prices.”

Faern pressed a coin into the man’s palm as he thanked him and left.  The day proved a fine one, with a clear sky and a cool breeze sure to relieve some of the oncoming heat of the day.  Faern followed to innkeepers directions and was led true, all the way to a farm.

“Can I help you, son?” asked a man draggin a bale of hay towards one of the barns.

“Um, yes.  Who do I talk to about purchasing a travel-worthy steed?”

“Why that’d be me.  I’m Grael, and this is my farm.  Follow me; I’ll show you my selection.”