Chapter 1, part 1

Chapter 1

              Through the Book 

 

 

         Home. That unremarkable phrase can mean many things. It can be a place of refuge, where we feel the safest, the place we always return to center ourselves. Or it can feel like a trap. I’m sorry to say that, when I was a child, my home town of Fairnesse felt all too much like a trap to me, a place I couldn’t get away from no matter how hard I tried.

I felt like a stranger there, and I imagine my discontent pushed away anyone who might have looked beyond my odd flights of fancy and love of books. Fairnesse was a tiny Scottish town; much too small for my boundless imagination. I doubt you would even find it on a map.

But that was back in 1876. I honestly don’t know what year it is on Earth now. For all I know, Fairnesse may have long ago faded into history. It is only now that I can fully appreciate all that I lost when I made the decision to never return to Earth.

Then again, I suppose I always knew that Earth wasn’t my real home. As they say, home is where the heart is. And my heart lay out among the myriad stars twinkling like diamonds. I never knew where that unignoreable voice was calling me, though it called to me every night as I peered through my telescope. I never knew what I was searching for among those countless stars. All I knew was the nameless hunger that gnawed at my gut, day by day. A hunger for something more, excitement, adventure. Two things I would never find in sleepy Fairnesse.

Then came the night I’ll never forget, when I was spirited away from the surroundings I grew up in and cast adrift on a strange planet. Syldraga; my home.

But perhaps home isn’t just a place; though I have come to love the mystical sights of Syldraga even more than the rolling hills of Scotland. It’s so beautiful here.

Why, at this very moment I am writing this volume from a tree house coaxed out of the living wood in the Elvin city of Ruenwind. The view from here is spectacular; the waving canopy of the trees, the dawn purple shadow of the mountains surrounding this peaceful valley. I can even see the jagged bottom of the Sky Realm, an island floating high above the surface, made of crystal and cloud bound together by magic, once a prison for the Dragon Riders.

As I sit here, an Elf passes by below me, laughing with one of the Merfolk of Thaenelaqua, that magnificent underwater city, once thought lost to time. It reminds me of how complex and rich life here is. It’s just that richness that made it impossible for me to leave. I have never once regretted the day I decided to stay on Syldraga for the rest of my life, a life that could span centuries thanks to my half-Elf heritage.   

No, home is not just a place. Home is also about the people you are with. We connect with, engage, and inspire others, and in doing so enrich our own lives. Though I left my family on Earth behind, the kind people who raised me and encouraged me, I gained a new family here on Syldraga. N’gaia, Skylar, Tristan, Ahmen, Kira, Jac, and many others have become my true family here on Syldraga, and have made my life a journey full of wonder and richness.

I never had the opportunity to know my real parents. But I know what they sacrificed for me, and their memory lives on in the tales of their heroism that are always on my lips, the sword I carry at my hip, and most of all in me. So although this fact does sadden me from time to time, I don’t feel deprived in the least. I feel I have been truly blessed to know what it is to love… and to have that love returned. I sometimes find myself looking at those closest to me with wonder and incredulity, trying to figure out just how I came to deserve them, why they chose me to give their love to. And I have to wonder if the same questions flit through their minds as they look at me. I still have no answers, so I just thank the Maker that he sent them to me, and bask in the bliss of their presence in my life. But all this contemplation has led me to discover a truth about what we define as “home.” When you find your heart’s home in the people you love, anyplace they are becomes home.     

        - Hlao MacKellan

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

(Fifteen years earlier.) The royal city of Wyrenguard was under attack. Flashes of magic lit up the night sky like vicious summer lightning, lighting up the imposing mountain in an eerie, twilit aura. Hollow booms echoed around the city as the bolts of magic hit the walls. Arrows hissed through the air on their deadly course, most finding their mark. The dismal screams of the injured and dying rose up into the night sky. A driving rain fell, adding to the bleakness of the night.

A bird flying over that sorry scene would have seen only black shadows scurrying over the mountainside, and scattered on the surrounding plain. It was impossible to discern friend from foe in that chaotic darkness.

 Flying onward to the far northern side of the slope, he would have seen nothing amiss. All was quiet here, and the harsh battle seemed very far away.

But there, something was moving in the darkness. Looking closer, our imaginary bird would have noticed three figures on horseback slip furtively out of a concealed tunnel at the base of the mighty mountain city.

Tressor, his wife Celandria, and the wizard Silvestern were riding for their lives. Or rather, for the life wrapped in a bundle in Celandria’s arms; a baby girl, only a few months old, with a shock of curly black hair across her forehead. She was fast asleep, blissfully unaware of the danger haunting the night.

They were accosted just outside the gate by three enemy soldiers, scouts lurking around to try and espy a better angle of attack for the rest of their comrades. But Tressor and Silvestern efficiently cut them down. They couldn’t suffer any of their foes to raise the alarm. The success of this flight depended on secrecy.

When their way was once again clear, Tressor, Celandria and Silvestern pushed their horses to a full gallop. Their faces were tight with barely mastered fear. Not for themselves, but for the baby. Their trepidation seemed to spur the horses on to greater speed, as if their mounts could sense the desperation of their riders to put the beleaguered city behind them.

Celandria kept casting fearful glances over her shoulder, dark hair whipping across her face with the wind, knowing that it was only a matter of time before they were pursued. The dead soldiers they had left behind would surely be discovered at any moment, and their comrades would quickly put it together that someone had left the city.

She turned back to the path ahead, a tear streaking down her graceful cheek along with the raindrops. Her daughter’s safety was the only thing that mattered now. Whatever might happen to her or Tressor wouldn’t matter so long as she was safe. If what the Traveler had told them was true, she might be more important than anyone else on Magica. And so, she had to be sent away. Very far away.

They continued to ride hard through most of the night; the only sound the horses’ hooves thrumming against the ground. By the time they reached their destination, all three were soaked to the skin and exhausted from the long ride.

A scarred cliff face loomed in front of them. As they got closer, a cleft appeared partway up the cliff. It seemed like only a small crack from down below. But the few who knew about this place also knew that the entrance was wider than it appeared; a trick by the clever masons who had crafted it, to discourage casual passersby from paying too much attention to the crags.

The carved arch around the entrance marked it as manmade, though only those who knew what to look for could see its rune-carved outline.

Coming to a stop at the base of a narrow track leading up the cliff, they swiftly dismounted. It would be impossible to ride their horses up the trail without risking a broken leg. Celandria and Silvestern sent their mounts galloping off into the rain swept dawn with a smack on the rump. Only Tressor’s mount, a dappled silver stallion with a white mane and tail, remained.

“Stay here and warn us when we’ve been found,” Tressor murmured, leaning his forehead against his mount’s and stroking the horses forelock. He knew as well as his wife that pursuit was inevitable.

“I wish you would let me go up there and fight with you,” the gray stallion whickered disconsolately, nuzzling his rider’s cheek. Anyone watching the exchange could see the deep affection between horse and rider.

“As your Whitguide, it is my duty to always be by your side.”

“Believe me; nothing would comfort me more than to have you at my side. But we need you down here. Please do this last thing for me Inbrell.”

Though he was loathe to leave Tressor’s side, Inbrell felt honor-bound to perform this last duty; most likely the last duty he would ever perform for his friend.

“For you, my partner, anything,” Inbrell neighed back proudly, pawing the ground with a hoof.

“Tressor come on, we haven’t much time!” Celandria cried out anxiously to her husband. She and Silvestern were already halfway up to the opening. But Tressor stayed a moment longer, looking deep into his most trusted friend’s brown eyes, each saying a silent farewell. They knew that they wouldn’t see each other again in this life.

Another call from his waiting wife drew Tressor’s attention back to the urgent task at hand. 

Giving Inbrell a final pat on the neck in gratitude for his understanding, Tressor sprang away to join the others, unsheathing his sword as he went.

In short order they had reached the arched entrance of the cave and made their way inside. Inside was a wide cavern, plain except for the strange runes carved into the walls long ago by some unknown hand, and a stone pedestal in the center. The pedestal held a single book, with a green cover embossed with gold. A heavy chain bound the book to the pedestal, as if to keep someone who stumbled upon it by happenstance from opening it.

 But Tressor, Celandria and Silvestern were not here by happenstance this night. They had only one purpose here.

Raising his hands, Silvestern began to chant in a steady rhythm, his words setting the very air humming with power. After a few minutes of this, the chain unwound itself from around the book, the links dropping to the cave floor with a soft clink.

Opening the pages of the book, the wizard closed his eyes in deep concentration, as if he and book were the only two objects in the world.

Tressor and Celandria stood together, his arm around her waist, her head resting against his shoulder. They couldn’t do anything to speed up the process.

In the tense silence that followed, the bundle in Celandria’s arms stirred and the baby started to cry softly. Celandria rocked the child back and forth in her arms, shushing her tenderly. But the tears were now streaming down her cheeks, falling onto her baby’s smooth forehead, so uncreased by worry or fear. The little one had no idea what was at stake here tonight, how much danger they were in.

If they failed, the last hope for Magica’s freedom would be gone. But Celandria wasn’t thinking about the bigger picture at this moment. All she could think was that this was the last time she would ever see her baby girl.

She held her daughter closer to her breast, treasuring this final moment with her. She wondered what kind of woman she would grow up to be one day. For a moment Celandria couldn’t bear the thought of going through with this. She didn’t want to miss the rest of her daughter’s life, never to see her grow up. An image of her, grown into a proud and beautiful woman entered Celandria’s mind.

But then the silence was shattered by a terrible scream from outside. It was Inbrell.

“They’re here,” Tressor whispered unnecessarily. Suddenly his eyes grew wide, and he stumbled towards the entrance as if drawn down to the horse by invisible strings.

He sensed his brave companion rear up on his hind legs and charge the approaching foes, nostrils flared and eyes alight with the anticipation of battle. Inbrell fought for all his worth, his lashing hooves smashing in the skull of one soldier, crushing the wrist of another. But then Inbrell and Tressor gasped in shared pain as a blade found its way between the stallion’s ribs.  

“No!” he howled, collapsing to his knees in grief and shock as his friend crashed to the ground. His face was completely white, his expression the tragic mask of someone whose soul had been ripped out. His partner, his Whitguide, was dead. Tears blurred his vision as he felt the final beat of the stallion’s mighty heart.

Tressor just sat before the cave entrance, eyes closed, for he didn’t care anymore if the enemies’ blades found him. In fact he would welcome it at that moment.

Celandria couldn’t allow him the time to grieve; Silvestern was ready.

“The portal is open. Quickly, we must send her through before it’s too late,” the wizard said urgently, replacing the book on the pedestal. The open page now displayed a moving image of a wind-swept sea.

There was a note of weariness in the wizard’s voice, as if opening the portal had drained much of his remaining energy. Or perhaps his weariness was due to the impending close of their mission and their lives.

Rushing over to Tressor, Celandria gently drew him to his feet.

“Come now love. It’s almost over. Just concentrate on our daughter for now. You wouldn’t want to send her away without saying goodbye?” she whispered imploringly in his ear.

Hearing his wife’s words, Tressor stood up with an air of purpose, but his eyes were dead, all spark gone. He could barely summon up enough will to put off his own death for a few moments longer. Thinking about his family, especially his beloved daughter, was the only thing keeping him on his feet. She was something worth living for, at least for a little while longer.

Together they brought their daughter over to Silvestern and the book. The open page showed a single image, a landscape of purple heather, rolling hills, and lakes, constantly changing and moving.

“May the light protect you, child, and send you back to us one day. All our hopes rest with you,” Silvestern said, resting one hand lightly on the baby’s forehead, an almost fatherly warmth in his eyes. Then he reached up and drew a silver necklace from around his neck, casting a simple enchantment that etched the baby’s name along one of the dragon’s wings before slipping it over the baby’s head.

It was a dragon-shaped pendant, rearing rampant with wings outstretched to either side, a small clear gemstone where the dragon’s heart would be. Inside the gem was a tiny bead of rainbow light, throwing out rays that refracted off the gem’s faceted surface.

“May the magic of this pendant protect you from harm wherever you go, little one. It is the greatest magic I can give you.”

The baby clutched at the pendant with her tiny fingers, unaware of the protection that the powerful magic within the gem would give her.

Next, Tressor bent his head over his daughter, his eyes still hollow. But when she smiled at him, reaching out her pudgy little hands, a tender smile stole across his face, finally bringing a spark back to his eyes. He bent down and kissed her lightly on the forehead.

“Be strong, little one. You’ll have to be, if you are to weather the storm that is to come. I’ll always say a prayer for you, every day in spirit.”

Finally, Tressor and Silvestern stepped back a few paces to allow Celandria a moment to say her goodbyes. The reluctance to let her daughter go crashed down on her again. Fresh tears streamed down her fair face as she took her daughter’s hand.

“I so wish that I could watch you grow up, my love. I just know you’re going to be beautiful one day. But you have to go now, to be safe. I will always love you, my little night rose.”

Celandria curled her baby against her chest, resting her lips against her forehead. A cacophony of screeches and hisses reached them, alarmingly close, reminding all three how little time they had left to complete their mission. The enemy soldiers were closing in fast. Silvestern gently took the now sleeping baby from Celandria’s arms.

“I’m sorry, but it’s time for her to go,” he murmured kindly, a look of grave sympathy etched on his lined face. He knew how hard this must be for his friends. It tore the normally stoic wizard apart as he remembered saying goodbye to his own son back in Wyrenguard.

Celandria kept her arms out, trying to be in contact with her daughter as long as possible. But eventually she let her arms fall limply back to her sides, her eyes brimming with sorrow.

Being careful not to touch the page himself, the wizard lowered the baby through the page, as if she was sinking through thick water. Finally, he drew his hands back slightly, and Celandria and Tressor’s daughter vanished with a last ripple on the surface of the page.

Celandria let out a strangled sob, burying her head against her husband’s shoulder. Tressor stroked her hair comfortingly; tear dew beading in his eyes.

Silvestern’s reaction was different; as soon as the little girl was through, he let out a heartfelt sigh of relief. Their job here was done. The girl was safe, and as she grew so would the promise of hope she carried inside her to the unknown world they had sent her to. The future of Magica was safe, for now.

He closed the book, effectively closing the portal he had opened. He had no way of knowing where on the sister planet she had been sent, but wherever it was had to be safer than here.

It was at that moment that the enemy soldiers arrived, a mixed band of orcs and trolgors. All three whirled around, hands on their weapons, each with an expression of grim resignation on their faces. They had known that pursuit was only a matter of time. When they had ridden out of the city, they had known that they wouldn’t be coming back. But none of that mattered anymore, now that their daughter was safe where no one could ever reach her. At least they had completed their mission before they were caught.

“Give it to us, and you may yet live,” one of the soldiers hissed; its voice sounded like the rasp of pebbles and sand scraping together.

“You’ll never find her now. She’s gone shadowspawn. You’re too late,” Celandria mocked triumphantly, her grief forgotten with this one shred of hope. “Give us the book,” the raspy voice repeated, more insistently this time, his tone an open threat. The whole group of soldiers took a step foreword, drawing their weapons, emphasizing their leader’s words. There were roughly a dozen of them; the three friends were vastly outnumbered. There would be no one getting out of this cave tonight. 

“You want it? Come and get it,” Silvestern challenged, holding the book high above his head. He knew only one spell that could destroy the book, and it would take up most of his magical energy and leaving him too weak to defend himself. But if it meant keeping the book out of enemy hands, he’d do anything.

These books were almost as precious as the girl, and just as potentially dangerous in enemy hands. Unless he destroyed the book, the enemy would be able to go after the girl. All their sacrifice would have been for nothing.

Blue flames started to lick up his arm, leaving no burn marks on his robe. Realizing that they were about to lose their prize, they soldiers surged foreword with angry screeches and hoots, but were met by Celandria and Tressor, both drawing slender swords. The two fought like demons, every move in perfect harmony as if they could read each other’s minds, and their ferocity pushed the soldiers back several paces. Three soldiers went down in the face of the pair’s whirling swords.

There were too many of them to hold back for long, though. Celandria and Tressor were soon surrounded, fighting back to back.

Tressor carved a line across the throat of one orc that got too close. Quickly reversing his grip, he ran his sword through the heart of another.

A third, thinking it had the advantage while Tressor worked to pull his blade free, closed in from the side, axe raised for the kill. But Tressor was ready for just such a tactic. He rolled to the side at the last moment. The axe-wielding orc stumbled past, unable to stop its momentum as it came right in line with the clever Celandria’s next attack, one that swept its head from its shoulders. But then the sword was knocked from Celandria’s grasp. The brave woman went down with a cry, blood blossoming on her front, but not before stabbing one more soldier in the gut with her dagger. Tressor saw his wife fall, and he fought on with renewed fury, vowing to take out as many foes as he could to avenge her death.

When one of the soldiers tried to break past him to get at Silvestern, Tressor whirled around and slew the soldier with a single stroke that severed its spine. But his back was now exposed, and one of the other soldiers cut him down. He died clutching his wife’s hand and a look of peace on his weary face.

But their valiant efforts had given Silvestern the time he needed to complete his spell. By now, the fire had moved up to Silvestern’s hand and surrounded the book.

There was a blinding flash of light and a whoosh of scorching air. All that was left of the mysterious book was a shower of tiny pieces of paper that fluttered around the soldiers like snowflakes as they closed in on the lone wizard.

 

Author's Note

Look out for part two soon!

Reviews

[DaughterNature]

The first section is interesting (although I hope that the ideas of Elves and Merpeople that you plan to present are fresh and new!), but I have to ask: why is the speaker/writer telling the reader this? Who is the speaker/writer's intended audience?

Woo! Your first paragraph has such wonderfully strong verbs; all except for the first sentence, that is. Make sure that you remember my favorite rule about writing: "was" and "is" usually feel like weak verbs, so try to replace them with stronger verbs if possible. I'm not sure if the hypothetical bird is the best way to describe the battle scene, but I understand what you're trying to do. I'm also hoping that "Magica" is a working-name for the city or country or world.

I LOVE the idea of passing the baby through a page in a book to another world! I wish that were possible! I think the fight scene is ok, but convincing fight scenes are difficult to write if we haven't had any experience with swordplay.