The Red Crowe Journals Excerpt #1

An Excerpt from
Dreamsphere Chronicles:  Holocaust Volume I

The Red Crowe Journals
Entry #43

… As we sat in the dank, with the night coming full circle, our backs to the walls of the freshly disturbed soil, bugs of all sorts crawling about us, all I could think of was how much of a disappointment I was. Not two cycles upon the Mainland and I was to be breakfast for these viscous little creatures. I felt disgraced.

    I only glanced at the old man for a moment, not realizing I was even doing it, so incased I was in my sorrows. Maybe unconsciously I was hoping I would see him in even more despair than I, but what I saw was not despair at all. Instead I saw a calm sadness. He looked as though he was grieving, but not for himself.

    All of a sudden I felt guilty for being so selfish as to be fretting about my own fate when this Human, a race I’d come to believe from the stories told over tea in my homeland, were the most selfish, hate-mongering, power-hungry tyrants, shared the same fate as I, but was worrying, not for himself, for another. I wondered what fate might have been worse than being eaten by a tribe of tiny savages that could have befallen this unknown third party.

      He must have noticed me gazing in his direction in that quick moment for he lifted his head toward me and smiled. It was the first friendly gesture I’d seen since I arrived in this forsaken land.

    “Have no fear, little one,” he said with a powerful voice that belied his age and haggard appearance, yet it revealed a compassion that reminded me of my paploo. “We will survive this, I assure you.”

    The utter confidence in his tone brought me some comfort, though I wasn’t exactly sure why. Looking back now, nothing in what he said gave any indication that he had any idea how we would escape our fate, but nonetheless I still felt like my last days were still far to come.
“What is your name, so I may converse formally with thee?” he asked.

    I felt the urge to speak my true name to this stranger, but the code of my people was too ingrained in me and I fought that urge. “Red Crowe,” I answered.

    He seemed to mentally digest this for a second. “That is a bit of an elfish name for a gnome.”

    The fact that this ragged and unkempt old human knew my heritage stunned me. Only a handful of my people had ever left for the mainland in our entire history, and barely a fraction of them had stayed here for longer than five circles only to return home and never leave again. “You know of gnomes?” I choked.

    He smiled again adding a small chuckle before he answered. “Yes, I know of gnomes, Master Red Crowe. I’ve known hundreds throughout my life, and many I have called my friend.”

    This made me feel like he was toying with me, for this could not be. My race wasn’t known for being friendly with any of the other peoples of Dyabis, humans least of all. If there was a human my kin had been fond of it would be the stuff of legend to all gnomes. “You lie,” I blurted defiantly.

    This seemed to hurt him a bit, being called out like so. I could see the sadness in his eyes that mirrored the down turn of his grin. “It is true I have not had the pleasure of knowing any of the gnomes of this world, but where I come from I’ve conversed with an abundance.” Then as an afterthought he said, “A tremendously courageous people they all were.”

    “Where you come from?” I asked, the skepticism in my voice was plain, I’m sure.

    Again, he chuckled. “Yes, where I come from.”

    “And where was this place where gnomes run around like gobi frogs?”

      He ignored my sarcasm. “I’m from a world far from here, yet closer than you could possibly imagine.”

    “Pardon?”

    “Forgive me,” he said and stood up. I followed suit, fearful that some trickery was to follow. He approached, towering over me, and laid a hand gently upon my shoulder. “Let me introduce myself, Master Red Crowe. My name is Silious of Oteesee, Archwizard of Burkyla, the greatest city in all of Kalidak. I created the world in which you live…”