1: The Child

 

            A little girl, perhaps 14 years old, darted through the faint wisp of snow covering the barren ground. The faint sound of equal parts wind and human voices wafted through the cold air as it bit the exposed skin. She was scooped up by a young mother, given a look of frivolous scolding, complete with a half smile and muttering of words in a form of ancient Pre-Mongolian. She carried her child back to the Ger where they lived, a small house of timber and animal hide. A native man with a grey beard greeted his daughter as she rushed in to hug him. He hugged her back and muttered something, shooing her out to play so he could talk to her mother in private. She looked far more concerned than he did.

            "He cannot go to the trade village again, Etlaan." she sighed softly, trying not to wake the boy as he hid under his fur blanket and pretended to sleep.

            "He is a good hunter, he must learn to trade for his kills in the village." he encouraged proudly.

            "He cannot be allowed to roam alone. He is not like us." she encouraged.

            "He is my son. Child of the gods or child of my seed, Khoi is mine to raise and teach. The Prophesy demands it, and I care for him as my own." he insisted.

            "He is not of us. I love him as you do, but the others do not understand. He is not safe." she insisted.

            "He will learn to go beyond this village; he is not destined to be a nomad or a poor farmer, merely because he was given to them." he said slightly irritated, as if they had this conversation before. The blankets moved slightly as the boy's adopted father looked back. Odd for a boy to sleep in his boots and clothing.

 

            Khoi shuffled his feet in the dirt as he trailed behind his father.

            "Mother does not believe I am strong." he muttered. His father sighed.

            "You have the strength of a god, Khoi, your mother worries because you are different. The village accepts you well enough, but the world may not. You must learn to accept this." he said calmly.

            "They other boys do not accept me. They call me names." he said sadly, peering up with the most vivid blue eyes most have ever seen. His pale skin did not recoil at the cold wind as it howled. The boy was quite warm.

            "And you must live your life with strength to prove them wrong. Is that why you hurt that other boy?" he asked.

            "No, father. He disrespected Saran. He looked upon her with greed. It was not the first time. I only pushed him away. I did not mean to hurt him."

            "Then you did not act selfishly. Protecting your sister is honorable, I am proud of you. Only be cautious next time."

            "Proud? Mother says I should not fight." he said confused.

            "Your mother wishes you to stay hidden, learn to raise crops and live a simple life. You are not a farmer as I am, Khoi. You were a Gift from the gods, destined for greatness and given strength for more. I am proud because you showed restraint. You did not fight when they called you names, yet you fought when they preyed on your sister. I am also proud that you restrained your anger. You could have killed him easily, but you did not." he said with a smile.

            "His father went to the elders." he noted.

            "His father is afraid of you. Most fathers would have spoken with  their son's attacker directly. Even the men fear you Khoi."

            "Why?" he asked.

            "Because you are not like us. You are better than us, and they fear what your power can do if you chose to use it against them. You must learn to use your strength for the betterment of the world, and the downfall of those who prefer greed to progress. It is written, you are the one to unite the tribes, but you must still earn that right." he assured.

            "I do not look like the others. Am I not your son?" he asked. Etlaan looked hurt and concerned.

            "You are my son. You were a gift from the gods and you are different, but you are as much mine as your sister. Never forget this." he said proudly. As they headed back to the village with their trade, Khoi sniffed the air, growling slightly.

            "What is it?" his father asked, knowing his son's senses were strong.

            "Smoke." he said, feeling a tingle of alarm. Etlaan grabbed him up and climbed to his horse, immediately kicking it to move faster, no longer concerned about the supplies or the strain on the horse. He rode full speed over the hill and he could smell the smoke as well. The rich bitterness of the scent of burning hide from a few Ger burned to the ground, stung his nostrils. The fact that they were not either of his was little comfort as he rode straight at the village, noticing men on horses moving through his home. His father handed him a primitive knife.

            "Do not attack them, but defend yourself if you must." he ordered, halting the horse and tossing him to his feet to ride alone into battle himself. He drew his bow and began firing into the raiding party as Khoi stood panicked, nervously holding the knife in his shaky hands. He hid behind the wood-pile as he watched the foreigners raid his village and his own people falling to strange weapons. The strange riders wielded long blades made of something he had never seen in such quantities: metal. He gripped the bone handle and looked at the stone knife, wondering if it would be useful against such magical weapons. He watched, tears in his eyes as his neighbors were slaughtered, waiting for his father to return with his family safe and sound, but time seemed to go forever and only more dead nomads covered the ground. He couldn’t wait, it was not in his blood to watch and do nothing. He felt no fear for himself, only his family. Khoi rushed in, and no sooner did he reach the village fence, when he was struck with an arrow. He fell, staggering to his feet from the pain. He felt his strength drain from him, feeling only the fear of a child not yet 13 years old facing death and impossible enemies. He dropped to his knees, panting and trying to pull the arrow from his thigh, giving up as the pain spiked. He was done, defeated…until he saw the body lying a hundred feet from him. His neck-hair stood on end as the pain of the arrow dulled and became nothing.

            He recognized the clothing his mother wore, and a man standing above her with a sword, red with fresh blood. The pain in his leg boiled. His tears dried up and sizzled with rage as he stood up, pulling the arrow from his leg and crunching the wooden stem under his grip. He breathed a few powerful breaths as his blue eyes became lighter. He felt a strange sensation in his jaw, a painful crunching as if his bones were breaking. He sunk his feet into the cold ground and sprinted for the attacker. The man didn’t seem alarmed, readying his sword to hack down a pathetic child like swatting a fly. As Khoi approached, he reared back and swiped, expecting to slash him to the ground like foliage and instead his blade was batted away by the child's arm as Khoi tackled him to the ground. He let out an inhuman roar, like the sound of a screaming child and the sound of a bear blended with the depth of a thunder clap. Khoi pinned his sword hand to the ground and shoved the arrow through the attacker's eye, stabbing him wildly with the knife as the stranger wailed in terror. Khoi, covered in blood, planted the knife in his skull and picked up the sword, a weapon longer than he was tall. His arm was bleeding, an unnatural dark purple, and thicker than blood should be as he tightened his grip. He let out another primal roar, bearing a set of long canines and his eyes shined brighter than the fires around him. He scanned for his sister or father and found nothing. He spotted the most heavily decorated foreigner and rushed him with his new weapon. The blade met his opponent's blade, the foreigner a bit shocked at how much force it struck with. He kicked Khoi in the chest and he rolled, climbing back up, blade still in his grip, purple stain across his chest.

            The stranger swung harshly, deflecting the blad,e and with his second swing, bent Khoi's sword badly. Khoi blocked a few times, getting frustrated with the weapon and deciding it was only holding him back. He took a step back and made a powerful overhand swing, throwing the blade at his enemy and injuring his armored arm, giving him the window he needed to kill. Khoi leapt and tackled the armored stranger. The sword bounced off the ground as Khoi grabbed his helmet, ripping it off and grabbing his head to bash it off the rocks. The stranger desperately hit and clawed the boy as Khoi bashed his scalp over and over to the ground. He didn’t even notice the several stabs to the back the stranger landed, before his skull was split and he stopped moving. Khoi stood up, leaping and planting his return foot to the stranger's face, rendering his head into boney pulp. He grabbed the stranger's bow and knocked an arrow. He began wildly drawing and firing arrows in a very haphazard panic, mostly missing the foreigners until his last arrow failed to fire and his anger snapped the bow string. Frustrated, he grabbed the stranger's sword and located another foreigner, hacking his arm off with one swing and finishing him quickly with a few wild plunges to the back. He yanked the blade out and turned to kill whoever was nearest to him. There were none left. The last of the armored men fell many yards away and was cut down by a group of villagers wielding farm tools and stone daggers. Several of them had escaped.

            Everything was surreal, dreamlike. His mother was not getting up, and his father was nowhere to be seen, his sister still missing too. He felt a hand on his shoulder and nearly took his father's head off before realizing it was him, the blade halted inches from his father's neck. He sniffed away a tear, dropping the blade and noticing his father was hurt.

            "Father." he said, with a bit of a growl still gracing his voice. He looked defeated, holding his arm and unable to speak from his daze. He dropped, slumping over and leaving Khoi alone and confused.

 

 

 

            The village Elder sat with some of the remaining men around a fire.

            "He will not live without medicine." said the eldest.

            "We cannot afford anyone missing, if the strangers return." said a young man.

            "They have already taken the women and most of the children. We have nothing to remain for, and the wounded will not survive the journey."

            "I will go." Khoi said boldly, carrying his new weapon.

            "No, you are just a boy." said the young man.

            "Not anymore. They took my sister, killed my mother, and my father may not survive the night. They will all fall by my hand, and I will bring medicine on my return." he said angrily.

            "No, Khoi. You are the strongest we have left and without you we may not be able to defend another attack." said the elder.

            "He is just a boy." objected an older woman.

            "He is not one of us, he did more damage to the strangers than our best hunters and suffered not a scratch." he defended, Khoi carefully put his hand down to hide his wound, realizing even his blood was too different to recognize.

            "He cannot find the towns' alone." said the young man.

            "So you will take him. Guide him and he will protect you. We cannot leave the wounded to die and moving them may prove fatal. Take the boy to get medicine." the elder said as if ordering it, handing him what few copper coins they had.

 

 

 

 

            "Fools!" the young man grumbled, loud enough for Khoi's sensitive ears to hear.

            "The elder has spoken." Khoi reminded.

            "I care not for their wisdom in this time. Taking a boy as protection insults my honor as a hunter. You are not even old enough to take a wife, yet they give you a weapon you know nothing about, to defend me." he huffed.

            "I killed 3 men yesterday. How many fell to your hunting skills?" asked Khoi rudely. He didn’t answer, ashamed that he could not claim the only one he wounded.

            "Silence now becomes your answer?" asked Khoi.

            "I answer not to children." he sighed.

            "Then perhaps you need no protection." Khoi said, veering from the path.

            "The village is this way." he barked.

            "Then go, bring medicine for the wounded back and protect yourself with your fine-hunting wisdom. My father is dying, but my sister may be unharmed. The demons went south, and so will I." he boasted, changing course. He was not met with argument. The horses parted ways and Khoi was alone. He could smell the smoke on their garments, perhaps a few kilometers away, so he knew their direction. He rode light, hoping to find them by riding faster then they would with captives on foot. He made his way to the forbidden forest, stopping only once to rest. He didn’t bother with a fire, the cold was not his enemy and his stealth was more valuable than comfort. He stared at the moonlight gleaming off his strange new weapon and suddenly things became blurry.

 

 

 

            He sat up, opening his eyes and took a moment to re-gain his bearings as the warm glow of the barn's candles reminded him that is was only a dream, a memory of long ago. A slightly older Khoi, maybe 15, stretched and shuffled through the stable where he had passed out. It had been some time since news of his father's death found its way to him. Even with medicine, the infection was too much for an old farmer. The scent had gold cold ages ago, and the mysterious invaders had vanished without a trace. He discarded his old name, rejecting his old life and vowing to find his sister by any means possible, but his hope had flickered out like the candles that surrounded him, only a few remaining dimly lit. He gathered his things and decided that he couldn’t go back to sleep. The nightmares were still too clear. The glow of a small pub invited the boy as if sending him a personal letter. He tied his horse and lumbered inside, wearing ill-fitting clothes and dragging a sword scabbard behind him as he drew attention and climbed the stool to the counter where a man was serving drinks.

            "Are you lost boy?" he asked, half concerned.

            "No. I need information and a drink." he said coldly.

            "We don’t serve children, what information do you need?"

            "Have you seen any men in this establishment carrying these weapons?" he asked, placing his sword on the counter and getting a lot of attention.

            "None that I have seen. This is strange metal. Are you looking for your family?" he asked.

            "Only my sister. She would have been traveling as a slave with them." he added.

            "Go home, this is a dangerous place for a child." he said interrupted by Khoi slamming his fist.

            "Information, barkeep, not advice. If you have none to give then pour me a drink to help me sleep." he insisted. The barkeep poured him a small portion of ale and waited to see if he could pay anything. He chugged it and slid back the clay cup as if to ask for another, impatiently rattling it.

            "That is enough for one so small." he insisted.

            "I will tell you when it is enough." he growled darkly, his eyes shaded by the lack of rest and his blue eyes looking hollow and frigid with unease. The barkeep poured a second, giving him the full cup. He chugged it down and noticed a man approaching from behind. He gripped the handle, ready to strike if necessary.

            "A large weapon for a small lad. Where did you get it?" asked the shadow.

            "From a man who owed me a debt of blood. Leave me be if you do not know where I can find the men I seek who carry these." he said.

            "I know someone who might, and I can take you to them, the sword as payment. I will even throw in a bottle of the finest mead." he boasted. He grabbed his weapon and followed without hesitation. Khoi followed the stranger outside.

            "Not the most gregarious lad, are you?" asked the stranger. "And far too trusting." said the man, leading him to a gathering of other men who had camped just outside the town. He realized he was being robbed, sighing with mild annoyance.

            "Greggarious…I like that word. It sounds noble." he muttered lightly. As the men approached. "I believe I may take that word from you."

            "Go home, child. Return to your worried mother and leave the blade behind." he insisted. "We don’t want to hurt you."

            "My mother is dead. If you proceed in this manner, you may meet her soon." he said darkly. "Tell her that her son is not afraid, and she will be avenged soon." he said drawing his weapon with a very calm manner. He noticed his focus was keener, his anger suppressed slightly. The heightened senses that overwhelmed him in battle and made him an animal, were dulled just a touch. Perhaps the brewed elixir had a secondary benefit.

            "Do not fight us, boy. We are thieves and killers, and we don’t enjoy killing children, be we have before. Leave the blade, any coins you may have, and leave. Find a lonely old man with no children and learn a trade, you don’t want to end up like us." he encouraged.

            "I will not repeat myself to a corpse." Khoi said tightening his grip. "You promised information and mead…if you have neither, I will make my leave, but my possessions are mine regardless. Offer your own throat penance if you wish to threaten me." he added. The man sighed, embracing the simply fact that this stubborn kid was not backing down. He picked up an axe from the nearby tent and approached him. Khoi swung behind his back, removing the man's left hand and following the motion, sheathing part of the sword in his ribcage and leaving him to fall, removing the bloody blade as he calmly approached the fire. The men stood dumbfounded as he made a path and sat down by the fire, taking a nearby bottle and biting the cork from it. He sniffed it and took a swig. The rancid horse milk wine had a fierce bite, but it poured all the same.

            "Who are you?" asked the first in line, afraid to draw a weapon.

            "Just a gregarious boy." he said, pulling some meat off the animal that was roasting over the flames.

            "Where did you learn to fight like that?" he asked.

            "I don’t know." he replied, taking another swig of the foul substance.

            "You killed a good thief today, you can claim his silver if you wish to ride with us." said one of the thieves. "Perhaps that information you seek is where we are going. we know a lot of talkative people." he chuckled.

 

 

 

 

 

            Smoke rolled from the chimney of a crude wooden building of some size and heft. A door creaked open, a figure entering the warmly candle-lit room where a boy was resting his head on the edge of a wooden bath, a clay jug in his hand. He opened one eye, following the figure as she approached.

            "You are younger than I expected…just a boy." she said, hesitating for a moment.

            "I am aware…why are you in my room?" Greggarious asked calmly, trying to get the last drops out of the empty jug. "Did you bring more mead?"

            "I was sent by some of the men dowstairs and told you would welcome the company." she said nervously looking around at the numerous empty containers.

            "Did you being more mead?" he asked again.

            "No, I believe I was to be the gift." she smirked.

            "Then I have no interest in you. You may go, and if you return please do so with food or drink and announce your entrance to avoid receiving an arrow next time.

            "I don’t know that you could even fire a bow in your condition." she smiled, sitting down.

            "Not with accuracy, but accidents happen. Best to not surprise the sleeping bear regardless." he yawned, looking around for more food or drink and finding only bones and bottles. He held one of the chicken legs in front of his face, pausing and then hesitantly crunching the bone as a last resort before he had to get out of the bath and get more food. He made a face as if to say "good enough" and proceeded to crunch it up like a snack as the maiden watched in disbelief.

            "Where are you from? The South Elm Woods?" she asked.

            "I don’t know. Why do you ask" he said tossing the rest of the unappealing snack.

            "Your ears. You are not from here. Only the South Elm Elves have ears like that. I have never seen such teeth before on a person, or a child." she noted.

            "Perhaps I am more beast than man." he shrugged, climbing from the tub and strutting to the table to check the bottles there for content.

            "Did you drink these all by yourself?" she asked, a bit shaken from his indifferent boldness.

            "Yes." he yawned "It helps me sleep…and fight…and forget." he finished.

            "Ho can you even stand?" she asked.

            "Usually on two legs, but I have been known to stand on just one when moving forward." he said sarcastically.

            "You are strange. You have not looked at me once since I entered the room. Do you prefer men?" she asked.

            "I prefer mead." he sighed, flicking over the empty bottle and sitting down with a disappointed look. She approached him cautiously, noticing he had an unusual slump in his posture. His spine seemed to have more pronounced spikes than usual, his skin so pale it was almost transparent. He wasn’t like anything she had ever seen before, and it intrigued her as much as frightened her. The brothel was at a point between territories and she had seen many different kinds of men. Usually far taller and smelling worse.

            "So you travel with those men?" she asked.

            "For now. A group is better suited for searching than an individual." he said drying off and finding his clothes.

            "They respect you a lot, which is unusual for your age."

            "They fear me, nothing more. Any man in that den would gladly kill me and take my place if they didn’t think I would prevent it. There is no respect between men, only asserting ones dominance and earning obedience." he said checking his coin bag and fishing out a piece of silver. He tossed it to her. She caught it and looked confused.

            "I haven't done anything to get paid." she objected.

            "Not yet, but I'm sure you have other skills I can appreciate. You know people. You hear things. I need to know everything you know about this symbol." he said flashing his sword and the crest on the hilt.

            "I have seen this crest. It is the symbol worn by the men who pass through here looking for slaves. Are they your people?" she asked.

            "They have my people, therefore they are my prey." he said lacing his boots.

            "Then the rumors are true…you are one of the gods?" she asked, looking impressed.

            "I'm a nomad, a brother, and a killer. I am not one of them, and if these gods have my sister, I'll cut them down the same." he said confidently.

            "If they had her…she would be long gone by now. Slave women are quickly sold and the gods have deep purses. You would be better to forget her and avoid them. If they think you are one of their kind…they may kill you just for being alive." she noted.

            "Not before I take a few of them down. Where do I find these gods?" he asked.

            "Anywhere. Every kingdom is ruled by one. The 12 kingdoms belong to the gods and we merely live to serve them. If you are not one of them…you stand no chance. Only a god can kill a god." she said softly.

            "I'll let you know if that is true, but I'd rather die finding out that let her live as a slave." he said, leaving the room with a determination. He strolled out into the cold winter air, looking for a good place to buy supplies, spotting a strange glow behind a building. He followed it, standing rather surprised as a woman in white seemed to stare blankly at the horizon.

            "Are you following me?" he asked. "I have seen this light before."

            "No." she replied hauntingly. He realized she was the very thing giving off the glow, and he unclasped his sheath, in case of trouble.

            "Then why are you following me? What are you?" he asked bluntly.

            "That is not important. What matters is that you listen. You seek a road less traveled and a story less told. You have a destiny about you. It is a path of bloodshed."

            "I agree. Would you like to provide some more information that I don’t know?" he asked.

            "For now, only a destination." she said, handing him a small stone. It was polished and carved to resemble a circle, riddled with cracks and imperfections. One side was a deep red and the other a bright blue, forming a crescent, a rather expensive looking 2-toned gem.

            "Nice rock…what does it do?" he asked.

            "It keeps you moving in the right direction." she said, shuffling behind the old barn. He followed her and stopped, realizing she was simply gone. He looked at the stone and thought little of it, placing it in his pocket. He looked back where she was and there was a statue he didn’t notice before, covered in snow. He walked to the statue and noticed a pocket below the neck where a necklace once was, fitting the size and shape of the stone. He realized he may have imagined it, perhaps having too much to drink after all. He considered placing it back, but it was now loose and would simply stolen. Just as well by him than the next passer by. It did look valuable, giving off that same faint glow as the woman in white. Such a trinket must be important to someone.

 

 

            The stone laid on the table as the barkeep looked back up with a face of annoyance.

            "Do you jest, boy?" he asked as if insulted by the trade offer.

            "A gem of this quality would fetch a pretty price elsewhere, for a few supplies and some ale, you are almost robbing me." Gregarious insisted.

            "This is a rock…we have thousands of them in the streets. You are drunk." he said sliding it back. "Return home Greggarious." he begged kindly.

            "No, that is the problem I can remedy with supplies. This is not just a rock, look at the colors." he said turning it to catch the light and realizing it wouldn’t move. No matter how he turned it, the stone's blue crescent faced the same direction. He pondered his sanity, so did the shop owner.

            "It's a grey rock." he said tossing it to the doorway. Greg walked outside, seeing it clearly glimmering red and blue among the other boring stones.

            "Fine…half the supplies I asked for." he counter-offered, placing it back on the counter. The shopkeeper looked down at the generic grey rock and sighed, placing a small bottle on the counter.

            "One ale ration, keep the stone. Go get some sleep and come back in the morning when you are right." he said, closing up his business. Greg admired the stone, trying to turn it, but no matter how it was oriented, the same direction had the light blue shimmer.

            "Magic rock…okay. What do you do other than point?" he asked it, making his companions concerned as they approached.

            "We are ready to ride, sir. Where to?" asked the lead man.

            "City of the gods. I wanna see what color they bleed." he grinned.

 

 

 

 

            Greg rode silently, just him and his horse. He almost enjoyed the tranquility of solitude as he rationalized how he didn’t need those men anyway. The stone was rather amusing to his immature and inebriated attention-span. It didn’t take long for him to realize it was pointing to city just over the hill. He had never seen such a structure before, walls of stone and brick on a scale he could barely fathom, his only concern was how to get inside. As he rode closer, he skimmed up and down, taking in the view of the high gate and wondering if climbing was even an option. It didn’t take long to find a spot that looked worth trying. He dismounted, admiring the gaps in the bricks that would fit a small grip. Carefully digging his fingers into cracks and seams, he made his way up the wall, slowly. He paused for a moment, looking back down as he reached the halfway point and noticing how high up he was. He didn’t feel fear, or even the nervousness of the great heights, but a sense of wonder. He continued up the wall and as he placed his weight on the loose stone above him.

            He slipped. The sensation of falling was disorienting as his intoxicated sense of balance went haywire. With a deep thud, he landed on the rocky foot-path below, breaking his fall with his face and left arm. He woke a few moments later, unable to move. He stood up and immediately fell again, noticing his balance was completely wrecked. The pain was mild, and he didn’t seem to have broken anything, despite the fall that should have been lethal. He laid there for a moment, realizing he wouldn’t do anyone any good by getting killed, and he was in no way prepared. Time was his enemy, but so was being a child. Being captured and enslaved did nothing but satisfy his need to act. He needed fuel, weapons, gold and men who would die for glory and riches to back him up. The elves had all the gold, and he was no more likely to be killed by them than the guards inside the high walls. He laid there, his head spinning and his rage extinguished by the perspective that if a simply fall nearly rendered him paralyzed…a sword would do far worse. He needed to re-think his attack, leave while he still had a heartbeat, and return with enough hope to make the assault viable, he only feared that the time needed to amass such hope was more time than she had. Timing was everything. He was no match for an empire, but with a little help, maybe he was strong enough to take on a few trained men. He felt his pointed ears and pondered aloud.

            "Perhapse those like me would be more likely to help." he grinned.