The Beginning

by Jenna Elizabeth Johnson

  Once the group had descended further into the bog, the mist began thickening just as it always did and after an hour more of quiet travel, they finally reached the Belloughs. Denaeh poked her haggard head out of her cave at the sound of company, wrinkling her nose as if to detect a foul smell on the wind. When she saw that it was Jahrra and her friends, she welcomed them all heartily, transforming into her younger self. Even Milihn, Denaeh’s strange raven-like bird who was usually shy around Scede and Gieaun, joined the small party.

  “He’s here to set the mood,” the Mystic teased as he cawed loudly from her shoulder.

  This was the first time Gieaun and Scede had ever seen the korehv up close, and they were dumbstruck by his size and color.

  “Don’t worry, he won’t attack you,” Denaeh said with a smile as she watched a timid Gieaun and Scede approach. “Usually, he takes to the deep woods when you two come along.”

  Jahrra, Gieaun and Scede climbed down from their horses and tied them to a nearby tree, letting them drowse in the somber atmosphere of the swamp. The Mystic stoked a tired fire beside her sleeping garden and once everyone was comfortably sitting on a great, fallen tree, she spread her arms wide for effect and began the tale she had promised them. The children all huddled close together, waiting to hear about some horrifying beast that ate people alive.

  “For it is said,” Denaeh began, pausing and looking at each of them with a frightful gaze, the fire’s smoke providing great effect, “for it is said that long ago, the world was peaceful. All creatures, great and small, lived in harmony together, and even the spirits of the earth and sky had no reason to be angry. But one day Ciarrohn, the god of the dead and evil, under the gaze of his parents’ eyes, began changing the beauty of this world.

  “He used dark magic to warp and transform what beasts of the earth he could capture, and soon he had an army of loyal and horrible servants, dark creatures that roamed the world searching out the good only to destroy it.

  “The ancestors of the creatures that Ciarrohn created still roam the earth to this very day. The boarlaque, for instance, is one such creature thought to be a result of his many creations.”

  Jahrra shivered as she imagined the fearsome boarlaque, a great, bear-like beast that lived in the mountains and terrorized villages, looking for victims.

  “Living beings weren’t the only things influenced by the god of the dead,” the Mystic went on. “All of the evil spirits hidden away during the daylight hours are his minions as well. They avoid the light and brightness of day, and once every year, they come out at night and walk among us. You see, Sobledthe is not just a festival to celebrate the ending and beginning of a new year and the joy of a good harvest. It is also a time to remember the dark spirits and creatures of the earth, and on Sobledthe Eve, they wait in the shadows to capture an unsuspecting soul.”

  Denaeh whispered this last sentence harshly, her young face looking very demonic and shrewd. Jahrra, Gieaun and Scede were entranced, and all three of them were afraid to breathe, in case one of these evil spirits was waiting to pounce on them the moment they did.

  The Mystic stood suddenly from her dramatic pose, causing everyone to jump. After a several seconds she continued on in a more normal voice, “And so, many remember the Harvest Day not only as a celebration of Ethoes herself, but also as a time to be wary of the creatures of darkness. For on the very day of this sacred festival, long, long ago, Ciarrohn and his underlings gained absolute power and corrupted many of the beings living in this world.

  “He sent his horrible grouldahs, a terrifying wolf-like, skeletal creature with a mane like a horse running down its back, to the far corners of the world to kill those who didn’t acknowledge him as the supreme god. Fortunately, many of those who opposed Ciarrohn survived this hunt, but they lived on in fear and darkness.

  “Many years passed, and Ciarrohn became lazy, assuming that all in the land obeyed him. But it was the dragon Traagien that finally overthrew him. He destroyed the god’s mortal form and hurled him down upon the western coast of Ethoes, his body becoming the Elornn and Thorbet Mountain ranges. This is why the Crimson King does not dare come to this part of Ethoes. It is a cursed place in the eyes of Ciarrohn.”

  Denaeh paused and looked at the attentive children. She smiled in spite of herself, and continued on, “But, the following peace would not last, unfortunately. A young boy had been born in the east, and he would grow to become a tyrant and a ruthless ruler, his father having already been tainted by Ciarrohn’s power. You see, the god had his sights set on this young boy, this child who would one day wreak havoc against the world once again.”

  Denaeh’s voice quavered a little as she spoke, but Jahrra and her friends were too captivated to notice.

  “No one knows why Ciarrohn chose him,” she continued, releasing a deep breath. “Like I said before, many suspected this young man to be the evil god’s own son, but it could never be proven. Time passed and the hateful boy grew into a cruel man. With the help of his father and those still loyal to Ciarrohn, he overthrew the elfin king of the east and began to gain power.

  “He captured what dragons he could find, the creatures that helped defeat his master, and began breeding them, creating his own warrior race. The terror and fear began to spread once more. This is the day the whole world changed.”

  Denaeh paused again, but this time she was not smiling. She was frowning and Jahrra noticed a glimmer of sorrow in her eyes. She watched silently as the Mystic’s features became almost glazed; as if she had been swept back to some other time, leaving the shell of her body behind.

  Jahrra suddenly wondered how far back Denaeh’s own history reached. She couldn’t be sure how old her eccentric friend was, but she had some idea about the lifespan of Mystics. Denaeh had told her a little about her kind once, hinting that once a woman became a Mystic, she also became immortal. Jahrra just wondered how long ago Denaeh became one of the mage-kind.

  The ancient woman, currently in her youthful guise, drew in a sharp breath and let it out on a long sigh. She blinked her eyes several times and seemed to come out of her trance.

  “Now, where was I?” she said, smiling faintly and looking as if she was fighting back tears.

  Jahrra felt awkward and glanced at Gieaun and Scede to assess their reactions. Gieaun was staring at her hands, folded and resting awkwardly in her lap. Scede just shrugged and looked back at Denaeh, but his eyes didn’t meet the Mystic’s.

  Jahrra looked timidly up from where she rested her chin on her knees. “Um, you were at the part in the story where the Crimson King first came into power.”

  “That’s right, forgive me. It was so long ago and I sometimes forget the story.”

  The three children nodded, and Denaeh continued on with her tale. Forget the story? Jahrra thought to herself. Denaeh never forgets anything, no matter how long ago it happened. Jahrra shook these thoughts out of her mind and listened to the Mystic continue on with her tale.

  “The new tyrant king, who had come to be known as Cierryon, began spreading his evil throughout the land. But just like Ciarrohn before him, Cierryon became languid and arrogant and soon his opponents were plotting against him. The Korli dragons, along with the races of men, elves, and dwarves, were rallying together to defeat the dreadful oppressor they called the Crimson King. They knew that Traagien, long ago, had defeated a powerful god. If one dragon could destroy a god, then what kind of damage could several dragons do against a mere mortal?

  “Their attempts were all in vain however, for the first war against the king failed, and many lives were lost against his battle-bred Morli dragons. Like a dormant volcano, the Crimson King erupted, the wrath and anger that had been held at bay for so many years poured out into the world, raining hatred and anguish down upon the people of Ethoes.

  “It was a time of terror, darker and more fearful than anyone could ever remember. For years, the Tyrant’s minions roamed free upon the land, seeking out the weak, the poor and the down-trodden, su
cking away any joy or happiness that graced their meager lives. Several years passed before anyone, mortal or immortal, dared to challenge the king again. It was the king of the Tanaan race of humans who finally decided to act. The good king of the west gathered his soldiers, all of his best fighting men and seven of his eight sons, and traveled to confront the evil king in the east. He left behind his kingdom, his queen and his ten year old boy, the youngest of the eight. The small prince begged to go, but the wise king knew the battle field was no place for a child.

  “The Tanaan king and his men fought bravely, but one cannot simply defeat an enemy who is immortal. Cierryon had earned the power and favor of the dormant deity Ciarrohn, and he’d become as invincible as a god himself. The Tanaan king and his allies perished in the land of Ghorium, and when word of this awful defeat reached the people of the west, the land fell deeper into despair. The queen took this news the hardest and died shortly after of a broken heart. Her son, the last Tanaan prince, was left alone with his suffering people; alone except for a wise Korli dragon who had been the lost king’s own mentor and one of his majesty’s most loyal vassals. The dragon, devastated by the king’s death, looked after the boy, caring for him and teaching him about the ways of the world.

  “Eleven years passed, and the boy grew into a young man. He remembered what the Crimson King had done and how his mother had died, the entire time plotting vengeance for the people of the west. The young prince learned everything he could about the world, biding his time for the day he would be able to enact his revenge. He waited until his mentor was absent from the province and then, and only then, did the young prince gather his followers to once again march upon the east.”

  Denaeh paused to catch her breath and to cast a glance under her eyelashes at the three children sitting below her. She grinned inwardly, almost allowing the smile to reach her lips. Jahrra, Gieaun and Scede were completely caught up in this tale. She had nothing to worry about; they were drawn like moths to the flame.

  She drew a lungful of air and continued on, “The guardian dragon of the Tanaan prince returned to find his ward missing, and it wasn’t long before he realized where the young man had gone. He gathered his fellow dragons and whoever else was willing and tracked the prince and his army across the vast land of Ethoes. Despite their unyielding pursuit, the dragons were too late. The Crimson King had called upon the dark magic of the evil god to transform the entire race of Tanaan into dragons themselves.

  “And so, the Tanaan prince and his people were now dragons, creatures bound for the slave yards of the Tyrant King. Fortunately, they escaped this last act of torment: the Korli dragons were able to release these new dragons from their captor, but they could not be released from the king’s curse. The Tanaan fled the land of Ghorium, borne on their new reptilian wings, making their escape into the great expanse of Ethoes.

  “The Crimson King’s fury was immeasurable, and he sent his armies out into the world to track the dragons down. Cierryon’s soldiers and the Morli dragons were able to find a mere handful of the Tanaan and bring them back, but the one he wanted the most eluded their hunt. The Tanaan prince had evaded him; he’d escaped the terrible grasp of the monster that had once been the mortal Cierryon, the man who had killed his father. Over time the King’s fury abated, but he never forgot the Prince of the Dragons, and he vowed to never cease hunting him.

  “But the story does not end here,” Denaeh paused before continuing. She watched the three eager faces before her become pinched with excitement before adding, “Oh no, the story does not end. For the Tyrant’s poison has seeped into the land, strangling the life out of it. The Noreaster Arm of this world, once a place of serenity and beauty, is now a cold, festering desert. The crystal blue sea that once rested within the mountains has become polluted with sulfur; the magnificent forests, cut down and burned. The entire basin that was once a breathtaking landscape of cold weather wildflowers and enchanted creatures has become a barren tundra littered with rocks and sparse grasses.

  “The faraway Noreaster Arm, and especially the great province of Ghorium, is now a wasteland, a destroyed face of Ethoes that, at one time, thrived with life. That is all gone now. The crystal sea is now the Sulfur Sea, a great, festering, sickly green lake where nothing lives. The Sulfur Swamp that surrounds it was once a great marsh, teaming with life. But now the swamp is nothing more than a putrid bog, poisoned by the noxious chemicals that seep into it.

  “The Noryen River, once wide and clear, now drains the tainted waters into the northern sea. No longer is it a ribbon of blue cutting across the great flatlands, but a channel of yellow-green sludge, a reminder of the Tyrant’s spreading influence across the land.

  “The Frozen Mountains are the only part of the landscape that remain untouched, and that is only because the cold makes them an inconvenience for the Crimson King to destroy. When they become a hindrance to him, then they too will be gone.”

  Denaeh stopped speaking and closed her eyes, letting her chin drop towards her chest. She looked as if she were trying very hard to visualize the awful place she’d just described.

  Jahrra also took the moment of silence to imagine the Noreaster Arm. Denaeh had described such a horrible place, a place of destruction and neglect. Jahrra could never imagine Oescienne being turned into such a place, but then again, the Noreaster Arm had once been beautiful like Oescienne, and the thought of such a thing happening here made her stomach turn and her heart ache.

  Jahrra was jolted out of her reverie when the Mystic began her tale once again.

  “Gradually, the peoples and creatures of the east began moving westward, westward and southward away from the diseased earth. Some had been supporters of the king, but found they could no longer live in such a place. Many, on the other hand, were not among his supporters. They hated and feared what the Tyrant had done to their land. Many settled just outside of the boundaries of Ghorium, others moved much further away. Those who knew of things that they would surely be killed for, those that were a threat to Cierryon’s power, were the ones who fled the furthest, some even as far away as the unknown lands across the great western ocean and beyond the southern mountains of Terre Moeserre.

  “Many years passed while the people suffered in silence, grateful that the Tyrant remained in the east, quietly recovering from the curse he placed upon the Tanaan, but depressed and disheartened that his influence still governed the whole world.

  “Then, gradually and quietly, like a murmuring breeze heard only among the trees, there arose a prophecy. The remaining Oracles of Ethoes had come forward with a foretelling of a new human child to be born in this world now empty of humans, a child that would somehow overthrow the ever-powerful Crimson King. At the time no one knew for sure if the prophecy spoke of truth or false promises, and no one knew when to expect such a strange and impossible savior. But the words had been spoken and those words burned with the glimmer of hope.

  “The people no longer lived like wilted oaks, struggling against an endless drought. They could smell the long awaited rain just beyond the horizon, and so began the patient wait for its arrival. The people of Ethoes had no idea when this child was to arrive, but they were willing to wait for her as long as it would take.”

  Denaeh paused and gazed at the children, her eyes like amber torches.

  “Her?” Jahrra blurted out, unable to help herself.

  Gieaun flinched next to her and Scede gave her an odd look.

  “Yes, Jahrra.” Denaeh spoke quietly with a faint smile. “The Oracles named a female child as the one to bring about the downfall of Cierryon.”

  “Wow!” Jahrra exclaimed, ignoring her flummoxed friends. “Girls are never the ones who do the saving, it’s always boys, kings, princes, knights, warriors. It’s never a queen or a princess or a maiden that saves the day!”

  Jahrra could hardly contain herself. She’d heard the story of the Crimson King and the Tanaan dragons once before from Hroombra, but he’d never mentioned any prophecy, and h
e had definitely not mentioned a girl being the hero.

  “When will she be born?” Gieaun blurted out.

  Jahrra turned and looked at her as if she’d appeared out of thin air. She had been so wrapped up in Denaeh’s words that she’d forgotten her two friends were sitting right next to her.

  The Mystic gave a knowing smile. “Ah, well, the Oracles didn’t give away that information.”

  “But, they must know. Don’t Oracles know everything about the future and the past?” Scede insisted.

  “Yes, they do know, but they rarely give away the exact time something is to happen, especially when it comes to this prophecy.”

  “Well, why not?” Jahrra asked. “Why not say when the human will be born?”

  Denaeh looked down at her, a hint of some emotion hidden behind those strange golden eyes of hers. But exactly what emotion, Jahrra could not tell.

  “Because,” she answered at the end of a deep breath, “because then the Crimson King would know when to expect the one who would mean his downfall.”

  “And then he could find her and destroy her,” Scede finished, his voice so quiet they almost didn’t hear it.

  But Denaeh did, and returned with the same degree of quietude, “Exactly so Scede, exactly so.”

  They sat in silence for a long time, only the sound of the crackling fire and an occasional grumble from Milihn to intrude upon their private thoughts. Of all the possible tales she’d hoped to hear from Denaeh today, Jahrra hadn’t expected this. A human girl who’ll defeat the Crimson King? How is that possible? Humans are extinct. Then again, she had seen some impossible things herself.

  Jahrra took a slow breath and broke their hushed surroundings. “How will we know when she has been born?”

  Denaeh turned to look at her, her smooth face unsmiling. “I do not know.”

  Jahrra nodded. How could anyone know? Even if she were to be born tomorrow, how would anyone know if she was even human? Jahrra shook her head as if to clear imaginary cobwebs from it. It was too much to think about right now.