The Woodland Tombs of Eliantar

by Gary Gaugler, Jr

Chapter 1

  His rugged muscles tensed up as he crouched low behind the boulder. With his left arm, he gripped the wooden bow, the sinews in his arm, tight with anticipation. His right arm bulged with muscle as he pulled the string back slowly, very slowly. His eyes never flinched from their target.

  He was average height for a man but had an exceptional build from his time living off the land. He had lost his hair at a young age but it worked in his favor. His smooth head only added to his rugged exterior. In fact, at first glance one may have taken him for a menacing individual, if not for his eyes. His eyes were the bluest blue, and they were kind. One glance into the hunter’s eyes was like looking into the calm, crystal waters of a lake.

  Ara Tataman was beautiful, and yet he maintained his solitude always. It was never the case that Ara had to be alone in the world. Every village he went to, several eligible young men expressed their interest in him. There was even the occasional woman from time to time who would make a pass at receiving attention. No, it was by Ara’s choice that he was alone. To him, it was self-preservation to not be hurt and experience loss as he had in the past. To others however, this was a complete waste of good looks.

  Such was his attitude, that love and dependence on another person was not only a danger, but also a distraction. He worked hard, harder than most people he came across and he was proud of that. Ara was most proud of himself when he was exhausted from a job well-done. Luckily for him, money was no priority since a job well-done for a hunter usually didn’t grant great fortune. A true hunter of Eliantar learned to take what the land offered and use the little money they had for necessities that the gods didn’t provide themselves. Most nights he slept under the stars in a clearing or if the weather was bad, would find a big tree to rest under. Occasionally a kind villager would offer him a place to stay, but he rarely accepted. He did not care about having money or supplies to build a permanent residence as he felt more fulfilled roaming the countryside. Some of the animals he caught kept his stomach full. The little clothing that he owned was sewn from dried hides that he had skinned. Though, this was obvious just by looking at him.

  Today he wore a sleeveless, form-fitting red vest that he had tanned himself. All the young men had ogled him as he’d passed through their small town that morning with his bow and arrows on his back, watching his powerful chest challenge the confines of its crimson prison. His pants and boots were also hand-made, albeit in brown and were just as tight. The fit of his clothing was less for fashion and more for function. While in the woods of Tacia, the forest realm, Ara could leap through the snarls of trees without getting snagged much easier without looser clothes.

  Ara found that the little bit of money he did make from selling meat and pelts, he donated back to the towns that purchased them in the first place. A recent wide-spread epidemic had ravaged Eliantar in the last ten years. The cure for the virus had been discovered but the smaller towns and villages that he’d passed through were too poor to bounce back quickly from their losses. He felt it was of more importance to show generosity and self-sacrifice, than have money. He never told the townspeople the reason why he took an interest in helping to counteract the virus’s destruction. That was personal.

  Despite the fact that he kept to himself, he did try to put other Elites and creatures ahead of himself. And though this time pained him as much as it had every other time he hunted in the past ten years, he narrowed his gaze and released the arrow from his bowstring.

  The dilla fell, dead, and Ara made his way over to it, tossing his bow over his shoulder. The weapon was light, made of the durable silver-neqmi tree found in Tacia. Ara had carved it out himself years ago. The arrows he fired were of the same wood and tipped with molten silver. Silver was a commodity in Eliantar, but Ara had yet to find another way to make his arrows puncture without it. He continued to rub the bow that crossed his chest as he strode to the carcass. Though he abhorred weaponry and violence, his silver bow was the one thing he cherished above all others.

  He bent over the dilla and whispered in his deep, gentle voice, “May your death not be in vain. May the gods take your eternal soul and reward you for your nobility. May you know that at the price of your death, so many others shall live on because of your gifts.”

  Ara was kind. Dillas were not highly regarded or noble. Nor were they recognized as being anything other than slow-moving and stupid. They were native to the desert realm of Errandomn and killed what little vegetation it had. They were fat and low to the ground, weighing a solid 200 pounds which was remarkable considering they were only three feet long. Their meat was worthless as it was tough and gritty. The only value in a dilla was the armored skin that it had. Though not exorbitant, Ara could earn a few coins off the hide and a pelt shop could fashion some cheap body armor.

  Taking care not to look in the beady eyes of the creature that rested above its trunk-like nose Ara set in to the deed. When he was done, he clawed at the orange sand around him, digging a shallow, yet respectable, grave. Setting the remains inside, he filled the hole back in and offered a moment of silence in honor of the dilla who had lost his life. Excessive to some, but an important sign nonetheless to Ara Tataman as the sands whirled around him.

  Sand.  That one word easily summed up the geography of the realm of Errandomn.  It was endless amounts of sand.  Ara guessed that it was beautiful to Elites who were seeing it for the first time.  It was a bold orange, shiny and soft.  But to Ara, it reminded him of death.  The two suns seemed to show more spite to this realm than to most of the others.  They heated the sand to the point of scalding.  Even with shoes or boots on, the locals could sense the wrath of this place.  When there was a breeze it was a burning wind that seared the land.  It was debatable that the night was worse than the scorching days.  When the suns had set, a frigid gale pierced the desert.  It seemed as though death came in either extreme, so unlike the green fields of Eliantar Proper.

  Ara made it a point to stay on the outskirts of the outlying realms that he visited.  He did not want to intrude on the various tribes' land.  He also knew that the deeper he invaded, the more difficult it was to get out.  Though he had never been very deep into Errandomn, he'd heard stories that there was more to this world than orange sand, even though that was all he could see now.  Enormous, gaping sinkholes were rumored to litter the ground further out and magnificent, jagged mountains touched the sky with their tan fingers.  The sand gave way to hard, cracked ground where no water ever touched.  Ara shuddered.

  Perhaps, he thought, the real thing that terrified him about this part of the world was the inhospitable nature of the indigenous species, more so than the environment.  Tamalus looked a lot like Elites until you took a second look.  They were at least a foot taller and far broader than the average human.  They lacked any hair, any speed, and any emotion. They lumbered through their desert world, slowly and silently.  Their skin was a deep gray, oily and sinister.  Dressed simply in brown sacks and carrying long spears, most Elites dared not approach them.  They may have looked like civilized man, but they were far from human.  They preferred a life of isolation and the Elites knew that if you were smart you would respect that desire.

  Still, he knew he couldn't judge any creature that preferred a life of isolation.  After all, it was a life that he himself had chosen.  Perhaps that was why this desert realm spooked him, he thought to himself.  In a way it actually echoed the man that he had become.  How he had changed in the last ten years.  He had always taken great pleasure in the simple beauties of the world, until his mother died.

  That had been the saddest day of Ara's life and it had changed him forever.  He had recently turned 20 and was running through the cobblestone streets of his small town.  It was a beautiful, quaint, river settlement near the ocean.  Dainty homes lined the roads and there were tiny shops on every corner.  No one that lived there was rich, but everyone seemed happy.  Children played in the streets
with the cheap handmade toys they'd bought from the store.  Each alley had a different, wonderful smell.  One smelled of freshly baked bread.  The next smelled of fish that had been newly cooked.  Another would smell of sweets and cakes.  It was the only town he'd ever known and the only one he'd ever cared to know.  The people would sing and dance and the clock tower in the center of town had a chime that sounded like the call of a million song birds.  It may not have been the wealthiest or most polished city in Eliantar, but it was charming nonetheless.  He had been so excited that he found a new home of his own to live in within the village and he ran to tell his mother.  When he had burst through the door, he found her in bed, the color of a ghost.

  The Elites called it the Iniquitous Virus and it had struck once again.  The virus had ravaged the land for some time and like all of its previous victims; it attacked with little warning and killed in a matter of months.  Like so many other small towns, the potion-cure for the virus was too expensive for the members of Ara’s fishing village.  His mother, gods bless her, was too proud to ever admit that she wasn’t well. She likely ignored the symptoms of listlessness and the aching body pains. She never liked to worry Ara.

  And so on that dreadful day, a beautiful woman with a beautiful soul was lost and suddenly Ara became disenchanted with the world of beauty he'd once known.  He felt his own soul slip away from him on that, the loneliest of days.

  He decided that moment that he couldn't stay, as he had planned, in the small town.  It would only remind him of his mother.  He selected only the basic necessities and traveled abroad from town to town.  He never told a soul that he was leaving.  He thought of all of all his friends and neighbors. He couldn’t face them now.  They had once filled him with joy, but now he only thought of them as shadows of a former life; a life that was not his.

  His once-glowing personality darkened even more over the next few months as he realized he possessed no skills to earn money for food.  Raised as a fisherman, he found that he was utterly useless once he moved inland.  The Elites, for the most part, were far from sympathetic.  Since he had nothing to offer, he was quickly cast out of the towns that he passed through.  Even villages that were financially stable rejected his presence.  No one was generous to someone they viewed as a lazy beggar.  On the verge of starving, and not being welcome in towns where money was king, Ara began his training on the art of survival.  He began spending most of his time in the forest realm of Tacia to the far west.  Here, he had shelter from the elements under the enormous trees and as long as he stayed in the outer edges of the forest, he didn't become something else's prey. Here he bonded with the indigenous tribe of Tacia, the Arbestees, a shy bird-like humanoid species, who were experts at surviving the forests.

  He hid in the trees and watched children come and go, picking plants and berries.  From his observance he discovered what was safe to eat.  It didn't take long, however, before he desired more.  He knew he lacked the skill to work as a woodsman. And so he began to quietly follow adults that would come, deeper into the woods to see how they hunted game.  Some were quite skilled, but most were clumsy.  Though meat was highly sought after, those that lived in smaller towns couldn't afford the luxury prices of butchers.  Therefore, most of the hunters he watched were just farmers who were hoping to catch something on their own.  The rich and proud families did not hunt, or at least did not speak of it, but Ara was not too proud.  His real luck came when he could view a real hunter, often an employee of a town's butcher shop.  But, he had an extra leg up on even these experts.  His months living in the woods had taught Ara more than some of these so-called hunters.

  Seeing the strengths and weaknesses of the different bows that the hunters used, Ara knew the best tree to craft his frame from and the most flexible leaves to make his strings from.  In no time at all, Ara was eating better than he ever had.  He was selling meats and pelts of a higher quality to towns then their own hunters did.  And though he was now welcomed with open arms and begged to stay, he continued to travel on and never stayed in one place for long.  He couldn't bear the thought of ever experiencing loss again.  To never care for another Elite meant to never hurt again the way he once had.  After seeing how he had been treated when he was down on his luck, he was motivated even more so to never associate with others more than necessary.  Elites were self-serving and he would learn to be no different.  And so, ten years passed with Ara existing as a vagabond.  He was neither happy nor unhappy.  He was existing and giving back where he could, which to him, was more than most could say for themselves.

  As he approached the small desert village, he looked in the distance and could just make out the green, rolling hills of Eliantar Proper.  They looked inviting, much more so than the thatched huts he was walking past.  Pulling a blanket aside from one of them, he walked through the entryway of the pelt shop.  He ignored the insects that filled the squalid air as he approached the gap-toothed man at the counter, tossing the plated pelt in front of him.

  The man didn't respond, or even make eye contact but placed some coins on the counter next to the hide.  It was a small amount of money, less than Ara had hoped, but not enough to have a discussion over.  He grabbed the small coins and turned back towards the exit.

  “Off on the next adventure?” came a knowing voice to his right as he pulled the carpet aside.  “I would think that even for you, this kind of life would grow tiresome.  Aren't you tired of running, Ara?”

  The hair on the back of his neck stood on end.  He had not been called by his given name in years.  He avoided introducing himself whenever possible.  Ara glared through the shadows and haze but could not make out more than the outline of the man who had spoken.

  “Who are you?” Ara hissed.  How is it that you know my name?”

  The man stepped out into the light.  His advanced age put Ara at ease, if only slightly so.  He was a tall man but very thin and his age made him look terribly feeble.  His mussy hair was completely white as snow and his eyes were the same color.  He wore long-flowing, regal, golden robes to cover his sad little body.  He chuckled and raised his arms to show he was harmless.

  “Where are my manners?  My name is Forr Suosor.  I mean you no harm.  I'm merely passing through town and stopped in here for a bit of shopping.  I'm afraid I don't get out to Errandomn very often.”

  The man's voice had a hint of mischief and Ara doubted that he was merely here to purchase some second-rate pelts.  The golden fabric that he wore made it obvious that dilla skin was not in his wardrobe.

  “You still haven't told me how you knew my name.”

  “I have the gift of foresight,” Forr scoffed in reply as though Ara should have known.

  “But, you're blind,” Ara laughed in return.

  “Foresight is the ability to see in one's mind the world around oneself as well as the future,” Forr said ignoring Ara's rudeness. “Many, upon first meeting me, assume that I am blind.  However, this is far from true.  My eyes lost their pallor when my power emerged as a child.  For instance, I can plainly see right now that you're looking at me with a degree of superiority because you think that I am so frail that I may collapse.  Once again, you are mistaken.  I have never felt better.  I may have lived a long 80 years, but it is the things that I have seen that have ravaged my physical form and taken the light from my eyes.”

  “Well it was a pleasure meeting you,” Ara struggled to be polite as he turned and stepped outside.  Older Elites had a tendency to strike up conversation with strangers and Ara never understood why and it made him uncomfortable.  Even more so was the fact that this stranger knew he'd run into him.  Was he psychic as well?  Ara walked faster feeling that, if the man was psychic, putting a bit of distance between them would prevent him from having his thoughts read.

  “No need to run from me, dear man.  I am not reading your mind or stealing your thoughts.  My powers do not allow me into other people’s heads.  I'm merely trying t
o make you an offer.  Grim is coming you know,” Forr said, after catching up to a very surprised Ara.  “It'd be a shame for you to have to weather such a harsh month out in the wilderness with nowhere to call home.”

  Grim was the 3rd month of the year and a dangerous time for Elites.  Unlike Seed, which was mild for planting or Reap which was warm for harvesting, Grim destroyed life. All of the crops and foods procured through the rest of the year had to be collected and the people had to plan on sealing themselves in their homes for the 25 days.  To not do so was foolish.  Temperatures dropped far below freezing and snow was relentless and merciless.  Even those who had properly planned could be subject to death if their home wasn't properly prepared for the disastrous time. All were thankful that Grim took up such a small time of the year.

  “Grim has little effect in Errandomn, old man,” Ara snapped.  ”It does not get much colder here than it is now and I resent you imposing on me.”

  Forr responded, oblivious to Ara's rudeness, “It would still be best if you found a more permanent home to pass that time.  I, myself, am on my way home to weather the storm.  You know I live in the capital, in Ivory Towers itself.  I am Royal Advisor to the Queen, er...or should I say to the throne.”

  “How nice for you but why are you following me?”

  Forr sighed, “I'm afraid I was here on some rather unfortunate business.  As I was on my way back to Ivory Towers and my carriage was going through this...rustic town, I felt the sudden desire to stop and visit the local pelt shop.  My gift works that way, you see.  I don't always know why I'm compelled to do certain things, but there's always a reason.  No sooner had I started to browse and you came through.  I could sense you being quite important as you put that hide on the counter and that was when it dawned on me.  We're in need of a hunter!  I was hoping that I could make you a job offering right now and you would accompany me to Ivory Towers.  I know it's sudden, but I'm never wrong about these kinds of things.  My carriage is just outside of this small village.”

  Ara was annoyed.  Obviously this man was speaking the truth about living in the castle.  He was presumptuous and bordering on arrogance.

  “Your foresight is so sensitive that you felt the need to stop your carriage and step into a poor, dangerous town just because your Queen needs a new hunter?  That is an impressive gift.”

  For a moment Forr looked as though he may cry.  He let out a slight gasp and began nervously playing with his hands.  He swayed from side to side and seemed to be at a loss for words.

  “Ara,” he whispered.  “You must know that Queen Jenneka is deceased.”

  “I'm afraid I didn't,” he replied without emotion.  “I stay off the city paths and away from larger towns.  The life and styles of the royal family do not carry much meaning for me and my lifestyle.”

  “Well, regardless of that, she has indeed passed.  It's that terrible news that brought me to Errandomn to visit the Ambassador.  A coronation is being held tomorrow for Queen Jenneka's son, the Prince.  He may be young and inexperienced at ruling a kingdom, but he is next in line.  Either way, I repeat my offer that you please accompany me back.”

  “Perhaps you didn't hear me,” Ara said slowly, careful not to be too terribly rude.  It was obvious that Forr had been close with the Queen and even though Ara was not interested in the offer, he wasn't so cruel as to intentionally hurt others' feelings.  “I stay away from larger towns.  I prefer solitude.  In 30 years, I've never even been to visit one of the larger cities in Eliantar.  This has not been by coincidence.  I've been a drifter and will always be a drifter.  I don't think a move to Castle Village would be in my best interest.”

  “What exactly do you have against Castle Village or any other large town for that matter?  You know, Ara, most Elites would kill at the chance to live within Castle Village.”

  “I suppose I'm not like most Elites.”

  They stood there staring at each other for a moment in silence.  The sand burned their feet, even through their shoes.  A breeze had picked up and was whipping wisps of sand through the air around them.  Ara, finally having had enough, turned to walk away.

  “You can't resent those that have made out better in this world than you have, Ara.  Bitterness will not make you a better person.”

  “Neither will wealth!” Ara barked.  ”My mother died for no better reason other than that she didn't have money!  I resent your offer and I resent that people jump at the chance to leave their humble backgrounds for fame and fortune.”

  Forr sighed and shook his head, staring at the sand beneath him.  Ara felt bad for a moment.  All he wanted was to be left alone and he had conveyed that, at the cost of the old man's feelings.

  “Well that's fine then, Ara.” he grumbled as he turned away.  ”I had foreseen you coming with me, which is why I was being so persistent.  But, I suppose I could've been mistaken.  I'm sorry if I wasted your time.  Good luck to you in your travels.”

  “Shouldn’t you have seen that I would say no? And shouldn’t you have seen that your Queen was going to die?”

  He had asked this as delicately as he could. The point, he thought, was to prove that Forr legitimately could’ve been mistaken about Ara traveling with him. But, in spite of how nicely he had said it, the look on Forr’s face made him regret it.

  “I…may not see things as clearly now as I did in my youth.

  Ara watched the man’s gold robes whip around him as he crossed through the town.  For as old as he was, he certainly could move quickly when he wanted to.  Then he looked beyond Forr and saw the carriage that awaited him.  Even from this distance he could see the intricate white frame with golden accents.  The wheels glittered their silver and gold in the hot sun.  The door to the carriage was a peaceful blue, the color of a clean, cool lake.  

  Ara looked from the carriage to the desert village that surrounded him.  It may as well have been a mirage.  The desert looked dry and dead.  The carriage looked like an escape into a cool paradise.  It was true he had always rejected a more comfortable life, but one had never slapped him in the face like this before. Would it be so wrong to attempt to live a different life?

  Flanked on either side of the door was a member of the Royal Guard, the Queen's army.  They were handsome and imposing, both menacing and enticing at the same time.  Their silver chest armor matched the wealth of the carriage they escorted.  Their bare arms were like tree trunks, flexed and ready.  Ara found himself slowly approaching the transport.  The guards leered at him and whispered crude things to each other.  Though Ara couldn't hear what they were saying, their eyes gave them away.

  Ara ignored them and called out, “Forr, wait!”  Forr turned from the door slowly and looked the young man in the eyes.  ”I'll give it a try.  If you'll still have me, I'll give city life a try.”