Chronicles of the Overworld Book 1 — Nihal of the Land of the Wind

by Licia Troisi

  “The Forest looks perfectly healthy to me,” said Nihal.

  Phos’s eyes became sad and his ears flopped over like a beaten dog’s. “The Tyrant destroys the woods in the lands he conquers in order to produce weapons. And his lackeys, those wretched Fammin, hate us. They’ve captured many of our kind and forced them to become their jesters. It’s a sad end, you know? We’re free as the air. All we want is a green place to live.”

  “I know what you mean. I want to be free, too, and fly from one adventure to the next. …” Nihal pulled herself up. “You know what? I’m a warrior—that is, I’m going to become one—and I’ll fight the Tyrant! I’ll fight for all the wood sprites. I’ll join some army and free you from slavery so you can go back to life in the woods!”

  Phos gave her a world-weary look. “That would be nice, but the world as we know it is disappearing. All we can do is hole up here and do our best to defend ourselves.”

  The ancient Forest was reflected in Phos’s eyes as he sat cross-legged on Nihal’s knee and gazed off into the distance. Nihal felt strangely connected to the threatened race. For a moment it seemed as if her inner voices were crying out to the wood sprite’s wounded heart.

  “Maybe you’re right. But evil cannot always reign. In the future, there will certainly be a place for your people.”

  Phos smiled. A moment later he was bright and happy again, as if he’d never uttered those somber words. “So come on, already! Tell us why you’re here. You mentioned a trial.”

  “Soana said I have to commune with nature. She needs to know if it accepts me.”

  “What do you mean by commune with nature?”

  “You know, feel it inside me, feel it flowing through my heart. At least, that’s what I think she means.”

  “Is that all? That’s natural for wood sprites.”

  “How do you do it?”

  “It’s not something you do. You just feel it.”

  Discouraged, Nihal threw herself down on the grass. “How will I ever manage? Soana says I have to concentrate, but I can’t. There are so many little noises all around. I can’t help it—I’m so scared!”

  Phos burst out laughing. “Scared?”

  “Oh, great. I have a problem and you laugh!”

  Phos got a hold of himself. “Oh, all right. I like you, and you shared your breakfast with us, so I’ll do what I can to help you. We’ll ask the plants and trees to help you. All you have to do is—what was it you said? Oh, yes. Concentrate.”

  Nihal couldn’t thank him enough.

  Phos called the wood sprites to his side. When the assembly was finished, Phos gave Nihal a thumbs-up signal.

  Silence settled over the clearing.

  Nihal crossed to the rock and sat down, ready to concentrate. She had decided that this time, nothing and nobody would distract her.

  It was harder than she expected. Even with the help of the wood sprites, it seemed to Nihal as if she could hear nothing but the simple sounds of the woods: the wind blowing through the trees, the flutter of wings, the trickling water of the spring. Then, slowly, she became aware that the sounds contained a hidden music. At first, she thought it was just an impression, a flight of fancy brought on by the exertion of sitting still on the rock. Then the music grew more insistent and it was as if the sounds of nature were following their own melody. The wind blowing through the trees played the part of the upright bass and the drum. The evening dew sounded like a harp as it fell drop by drop into the spring. The twittering of the birds was a voice in song. Even the grass took part. Nihal could hear it grow. Its whisper served as the countermelody to the rest.

  That was when Nihal felt the sensation of the rock strong beneath her, and then of the earth itself. She felt their rhythmic pulsing like invisible arteries that flowed through her to the beat of a heart throbbing in every branch.

  Nature was speaking cryptic words that Nihal didn’t know, but all the same she understood their hidden meaning. They were saying that all is one and one is all. That everything begins and ends in the beauty of nature. That all the world’s beings are part of the great body of creation.

  Nihal felt an immense light flow through her and a warmth embrace her. She felt as if this breathtaking beauty were too much for her heart to withstand and worried she might founder, but then it was as if she were enclosed in motherly arms, which comforted her and taught her that in the midst of all that splendor, each being kept its own identity even as it contributed to the inseparable whole. That’s when she began to travel on the wings of the wind, astride the clouds.

  She saw lands of endless forests where everything was a blinding green. Then she felt like she was a blade of grass, a sun-kissed flower unfurling its delicate petals. After that, she was a tree, and she felt her branches penetrate the sky as they craned their leaves into the murmuring winds. She was fruit and fowl, fish and beast, and then, at last, naked earth, from which all seeds receive life and from which all beings come.

  In a flash, she felt as if she had understood the meaning of life.

  She felt a thousand years old and wise.

  She felt as if she’d been born, lived, and died millions of times.

  She felt that life would never end.

  When Nihal opened her eyes she made a sudden return to earth.

  It was darkest night. Sitting motionless on that rock, she’d traveled into the heart of nature. An entire day had passed. She leaned back against the rock, exhausted. Only then did she notice that the wood sprites were sitting in a circle at her feet. Each one let off a faint colored light. In the middle of them all, Phos lay on his stomach, his chin in his hands, and smiled up at her.

  “How was it?”

  “Amazing.” Nihal’s eyes and heart were still full of wonder.

  Phos saw to dinner.

  “You sit tight. We’ll find something for you to sink your teeth into,” he said, before disappearing into the foliage with a little herd of sprites. He came back at the head of a group of four of them carrying a cloth by its corners. Inside the cloth was a big bunch of the finest autumn fruits.

  After Nihal had devoured the bounty, Phos handed her a bowl containing a clear, thick liquid. “Try this.”

  Nihal sniffed it, perplexed.

  “Try it. Believe me, it’s delicious and it serves as an aid to recovery after a great effort.”

  Nihal took a sip. It really was delicious.

  “It’s ambrosia. It’s the resin of the Father of the Forest, the tallest tree here. Not bad, right?”

  Nihal drank her fill as Phos and the other wood sprites chattered away. When she finally curled up on the grass with the idea that she’d look at the stars, she fell asleep immediately.

  No dreams disturbed her sleep that night.

  The next morning she woke feeling completely rested. Phos was beside her, alone.

  “Will you be going away today?”

  Nihal rubbed her eyes. “I think so. Soana is supposed to come for me.”

  “We’re friends now, right?”

  “Of course we are!”

  “Then I have something for you. It’s a token of our friendship.”

  The wood sprite handed her a gem. It was white, but within it glittered thousands of tiny specks of every possible hue. Nihal turned it over and over in her hands as she studied it admiringly.

  “It’s a Tear,” Phos explained. “You find these rocks at the foot of the Father of the Forest. They’re formed from dried sap. They are a sort of natural catalyst. They enhance the power of magic spells and make them last longer. I thought this would be a good gift for you, something that will be useful when you become a sorceress. Plus, it’s a sort of emblem. There are trees like the Father of the Forest in all woods, so these Tears are a symbol of our people. Wherever you go, wood sprites will recognize you as a friend.”

  “Thank you, Phos. It’s really beautiful.”

  Nihal was moved. She would have liked to give something to Phos in return, but she couldn’t think of anythi
ng so meaningful. Then she saw her sword, which was still leaning up against the rock. “I don’t have anything so precious to give you,” she said to the wood sprite. “But my sword is the thing I care about most. I’ll have my father melt it and make you a sword that’s just your size.”

  Phos flapped his wings enthusiastically. “You’ll see: I’ll learn fencing, and then I’ll be the Overworld’s champion wood-sprite sword-fighter!

  They laughed together. Then Phos pricked up his ears.

  “Here comes Soana. It’s best that she not see me. She wouldn’t be happy to know I’d helped you.”

  He gave Nihal one last smile, then vanished in a flash.

  Soana appeared shortly thereafter, Sennar at her side. She was even more beautiful than usual. She had dressed for the occasion in a splendid purple tunic with runes and magic symbols embroidered on it in gold and black. “How did it go?” she asked.

  Nihal savored her triumph. “Very well. I communed with nature. It was a fantastic experience.”

  Soana smiled enigmatically and gestured to Sennar. “We’ll see.”

  The young sorcerer took six rocks out of his bag, laid them out on the ground in a precise pattern, and gathered his mental forces. All of a sudden, six luminous trails appeared to join the rocks together in pairs, thereby forming a star. Then Sennar put his hand over the center of the star and the fire flared up.

  Only then did Soana step forward. She closed her eyes and opened her arms wide, her palms held toward the sky. “For the air and the water, for the sea and the sun, for the days and the nights, for the fire and the earth, I invoke you, supreme spirit, so that the soul of my follower will be tempered by the tongues of your flame.”

  The fire burned brighter.

  Soana opened her eyes and looked intensely at the aspiring student.

  “Put your hand in the fire, Nihal.”

  Nihal thought she’d misunderstood. “Pardon?”

  “I told you to put your hand in the fire,” Soana repeated.

  Nihal’s heart missed a beat. “What do you mean, my hand in the …”

  “Nihal. Do as I say.”

  Soana’s gaze told her she would tolerate no objections. But Nihal’s legs were trembling and her arm refused to move. She found herself closing her eyes and praying desperately that nature had truly accepted her. All is one and one is all. The fire won’t burn me because it’s part of me and I am part of it, she repeated to herself as she stretched out her arm. When she felt the flame grow near, she almost lost her nerve. Her mouth was dry and her heart was beating wildly. All is one and one is all. All is one and one is all. It’s now or never! Nihal drew in her breath, held back her tears, and stuck her hand in the fire.

  No pain. Not even the heat she’d felt moments before.

  When she dared open her eyes again, she was amazed. Tongues of flame had wrapped themselves around her hand like a glove.

  Then Soana clapped her hands once; the fire dissolved and everything went back to normal.

  Nihal looked at her hand in wonder. It was cool and pink.

  “A miracle,” she whispered, as if speaking to herself.

  “No, it was a magic fire. If you’d lied to me, there’d be charcoal where your hand is.”

  Soana put an arm around Nihal’s shoulders. “You did a wonderful job, my student.”

  Nihal felt like she’d scored a great victory.

  The training period began.

  For Nihal it was a tiring but fascinating time. She gradually learned to appreciate magic. Every new spell made her feel more a part of the life force pulsing through everything, of the force she’d felt in the clearing.

  That wasn’t to say she wasn’t bored by meditation. She found the countless preparatory exercises that were required for learning any new spell tedious. But at the same time, she found something invigorating about the endeavor. A calm she’d never felt before descended upon her spirit.

  It didn’t take long, however, for her to understand that magic was not her destiny. Nihal was a quick learner, but she lacked the mastery of magical forces typical of the great sorcerers, the mastery Sennar so clearly possessed.

  Their relationship had improved since the night he came to help her in the Forest. Initially, Nihal had kept up with her haughty act and angry glances, but not for long. Slowly, almost without realizing it, she ended up considering him her best friend.

  They spent all their time together, and Nihal even stopped hanging out with her old gang in Salazar. The boy with red hair was the friend she’d always wanted.

  They were both Soana’s students, but what really united them was the fact that they both felt different from other people. He was a sorcerer, and under the Tyrant, sorcerers were seen in the worst light. She was a warrior, and it was common knowledge that the destiny of women was to close themselves inside their houses to have children and make their husbands happy. Nihal and Sennar felt like rebels. They did what they wanted and fantasized about the heroic deeds they would perform in the future. Nihal was now certain she would join the troops fighting against the Tyrant.

  Soana and Sennar told her frequently about the Tyrant. They told her about how he was using force to usurp the thrones of the kingdoms of the Overworld and establish governments that ruled by terror. They said the lands he conquered were full of misery and decay, that the Tyrant hated all races and wanted to gather them under his dark dominion.

  Lately, strangers had been coming to Livon’s workshop with greater and greater frequency. They helped themselves to weapons without paying, in the name of the Tyrant and King Darnel. Livon seemed to fear them and when they came, he made Nihal hide. She was forced to watch helplessly while they ransacked the workshop and mistreated her father. On those occasions, her whole body seethed with rage, and her hand raced to her sword.

  It was a new sword.

  True to her promise, she’d asked Livon to make a little sword. Phos accepted it with great enthusiasm.

  She’d given the Tear to her father.

  “Pop, can you make me a sword with this mounted on it?”

  Livon agreed. During Nihal’s absence, he’d spent some time thinking about their relationship. It was clear that Nihal was beginning to grow up. It didn’t seem right to clip her wings just because he wanted her by his side. Until then, he’d always followed his instinct, but he vividly remembered his own youthful desire for freedom and the clashes he’d had with his own father because of it. He understood now that he had to let Nihal make her own choices and watch her flight from a distance, always ready to support her when there were problems, ready to catch her if she fell.

  He wanted to show Nihal that he was ready to let her grow. He couldn’t think of a better way to do so than making her a sword.

  Livon took his time. He wanted to create an extraordinary sword, one that would never abandon Nihal and that would always make her think of him.

  It just so happened that one of his suppliers, a cunning dwarf with a keen business sense, sold him a big block of black crystal for a reasonable price. Black crystal was the hardest material in the entire Overworld. It could be found only in the Land of Rocks, and the Tyrant’s Fortress itself was made of it. Livon had never worked with it, but he knew the technique, and he liked the idea of a black sword. All that was left to do was come up with the right design.

  The armorer thought about Nihal—her character and the things she liked—and decided to make a sword with an image of a dragon, which struck him as the best animal by far to represent his daughter’s spirit. Besides, Nihal admired knights, and the Dragon Knights were the most powerful of all the knights in the Overworld.

  The sword began to take shape in his mind. He worked for a long time, mostly at night so that he could surprise Nihal. He spent hours, chisel in hand, sweating over the chunk of black stone. He took advantage of every moment Nihal was out, to the point that he started neglecting his work and his clients began to complain.

  “You’ve become such a slouch!” Nihal teas
ed. But then she grew serious. “Do you need help, Pop?”

  Livon shook his head and replied that a certain project required all his attention. He couldn’t tell her that it was for her and he couldn’t think of a better excuse.

  All armorers, all artisans, all artists look forward to a creative moment like the one he was experiencing as he saw the sword come to life.

  The crystal sword would be his masterpiece.

  Then, one morning, Livon called Nihal. He wore the strained expression of someone who had been up all night. His coverall was filthy.

  “Are you OK?” Nihal asked, worried.

  “I’ve never felt better. This is one of the best moments in my life,” said Livon as he handed her a leather-wrapped package.

  Its contents took Nihal’s breath away. The long black sword sparkled in the clear light of morning. It was as shiny and translucent as glass. Its flat blade, as sharp as a razor, narrowed toward the hilt, around which a dragon wrapped itself. The dragon’s white head—the Tear—rose up out of the black stone. The animal’s jaws were opened wide, as were its great wings, which stretched out toward the sides of the blade. Livon had paid such attention to detail that the creature’s very veins were visible; the wings were so thin as to be transparent.

  It was a breathtaking weapon. Nihal didn’t dare touch it. Livon had created many beautiful objects, but this was a true work of art.

  “You asked for a sword. Here it is. This isn’t a toy. It’s your sword. As I made it, I thought of you. It’s a weapon that can defend and attack. A real weapon for a real warrior.” Livon smiled and Nihal looked at him with shining eyes. “Go on, the least you can do is pick it up!”

  When Nihal finally lifted it, she was amazed by the way it fit her hand. It was so light and manageable.

  Livon laughed. “Come on, it’s not made of glass! That’s black crystal, the hardest material known. Watch this!”

  He took the sword from Nihal’s hands and set it on his workbench. Then he brought a hammer down on the dragon’s wings.

  Nihal flinched, but then she saw that the blow had left no trace.