“Knowledge is hidden in chambers located in these mountains,” the man continues, and I try to concentrate. “It’s no easy journey to get to each of them. But once you do, you will know everything you need to know to take on Wynn.”
I don’t say anything. I don’t want to take on Wynn right now. If I could walk again, I’d be happy.
The man nods. “Today, let me start by telling you a story.” He motions for me to sit, but I stay lying in the dirt.
My name is Cylus. When I was young, this world was different than it is today, the day that I make this memory. There were many groups vying for power, and the whole world was in a constant state of turmoil. I lived in a town near these mountain borders. Our town was small, and so we avoided most of the conflict.
We lived an agrarian lifestyle and survived from day to day. My father never owned land, and so he worked as an agricultural hand for many of my growing years, until drought forced him to find new work. He began as a carrier, taking goods to nearby settlements to trade.
The new work allowed my father to provide for my mother and I better than he had before, but wealth did not translate to happiness. It was soon rumored that my father had a mistress in every city, and relations between my parents became tense. I dreaded the days my father was home, when the mother I loved would tremble and submit to beatings from my father.
When I turned 11, I was old enough to accompany my father. To a young boy, such as I was, the journeys were fantastic. Each new place we visited was so different than the small town I had known all my life. Many lands were frequented by war, but the people rebuilt their lives after each sweep of destruction.
My father felt no obligation to hide his adulterous behavior from me, though he often sent me on various delivery errands while he seduced women across the countryside. It was not a safe time for a young boy to be driving a cart alone, but my father didn’t care.
One day, father sent me away on a particularly long errand. I had a cart full of goods, mostly vegetables, and I was to take them to a settlement about four miles away. It was already late in the afternoon, and so my father expected me to figure out shelter for the night and return the following day.
I had never been on the trail before, but it was supposed to be a direct route, and the pony was fresh. The trail came near these mountains, which were said to be completely uninhabited.
As I approached the midpoint of my journey, I was attacked by a leopard. The animal overturned my cart and killed my pony. In my attempt to defend my property, I was mortally wounded.
I watched the leopard eat my pony as I sat bleeding out the last moments of my life. I cried then, for the hard life I had lived and for the way I was going to die. I wondered if my mother would ever know what had happened to me.
In that moment of despair, a man emerged from the bushes and the leopard ran away. The man had graying hair and a kind look. He bent down and rubbed dirt between his hands.
“Stranger,” he said, “what are you doing here?”
“I was to deliver this produce to the next village,” I stammered.
The man did not hurry but walked slowly to me. His hands touched my shoulders, and the pain subsided. In a matter of moments, I was miraculously healed.
“You’re not of age to be traveling this road alone,” the man said.
“How did you heal me?”
The man’s smile faded. “You must never tell anyone what you saw today, do you understand?”
“My produce is lost. What will I tell my father?”
“You will tell your father the truth about the leopard, but not about you.”
“He will beat me,” I said, “and I will die anyway for not fighting and dying along with the pony.”
At my words the man looked concerned, and I knew he regretted his decision to save my life.
“Do you want to return to your father?”
I shook my head. “I have no choice. My family is poor, and I have no skills for an apprenticeship.”
“You have a choice now,” he said. “You must never tell anyone what happened here. I will free you from your father.”
The man found and killed a rabbit. Again, he rubbed his hands in the dirt, and he made the rabbit’s body look like my own, but mutilated, as it had been. He put the body near the cart, and gave me a name and supplies.
“You must go and avoid all contact with your father,” the man said. “He will think you died here, and he will not bother you again. There are apprenticeships in the cities, even for young boys like you. Go, and never mention the hemazury you saw here today.”
I had no choice but to do what the man asked. I traveled alone for days until I arrived in the cities. I found work with the man’s friend, and I learned how to provide for myself.
The work was hard, but I was happy. I learned several trades, as I could never stick with any one thing too long, and the next several years passed quickly.
Cylus stops and laughs. “I’m getting carried away,” he says. “You’re in the middle of a war and have limited time for an old man’s stories. You’re here, which means that you have blue blood. It also means that something has happened to Togan. Perhaps he has been killed, and I have died. That means that many of the secrets about hemazury have been killed as well.”
I shift in the dirt. I have no idea what the old man is talking about.
“I will help you with most of hemazury’s secrets. There are three more of these caverns throughout the mountains. Do you know about the pine trees that stand in a perfect circle? They’re up the trail in this canyon. That is where you will go next.
“But,” he says, shaking his finger, “the secret that Wynn would do anything to know has died with Togan. I’m sorry, but I will not reveal that secret to you.”
Okay. So there is some secret that he isn’t going to tell me. Is there anything that he is going to tell me? He’s told me that there is magic in this world, but that hardly seems helpful. How am I going to make it to these pine trees if I can’t walk?
“Do you have any injuries?” Cylus asks. “I’m sure that you have something minor? I’ll teach you some hemazury, but be wary and use it carefully at first.”
Something minor? I’m sure I have some minor injury, but I can’t find it with all the major injuries that I have.
“The dirt has power in it,” he says. “Take a little of it, rub it between your hands, and feel it. You will need to concentrate, to feel the dirt, become the dirt, and then you will tell it what to do.”
Feel the dirt?
Cylus disappears.
Feel the dirt. That’s what he had to tell me.
There is no one else here, and there’s no getting out. I might as well do what he said—it can’t make things worse than they are.
In the story, the man healed a boy who was mortally wounded. That isn’t me yet. Is there any way I could do something like that? My hands are covered in dirt. I rub my hands. The dirt gets into the cut from Sharue and smarts like crazy.
It feels like dirt. Nothing happens.
What does he mean, to feel the dirt? It doesn’t make any sense.
I get a new handful of dirt. I rub my hands together, and again the dirt smarts around my cut.
I close my eyes and concentrate. Feel the dirt? What am I feeling?
There it is. It’s slight, but when I think about the dirt, I feel like I did when I first entered this world. I focus on the feeling; I imagine what the dirt might feel like between my sweaty palms.
The feeling grows stronger, and the room around me fades until I’m no longer aware of it. All that exists is the dirt in my hands.
And I feel like I’m the dirt.
The dirt doesn’t have many thoughts. I don’t see light or hear, but I feel. I feel concerned. Something is wrong. My hand is cut.
And then I understand. I can see the broken arteries, the veins and detached cells. I can feel the blue scabs on the opening of my hand.
I want to fix it.
I focus on the wound, and the dirt helps me know what to do. I push the scab and feel it slowly detach from my skin. Blood seeps out of the newly-opened wound, but I don’t feel worried about the new blood. Instead, the dirt guides me, and the skin regrows until the blood flow has stopped. I shift my focus, and I feel movement under my skin as veins and arteries reattach. I don’t see the healing that is happening with my closed eyes, but somehow, I see everything. I understand what is happening. I feel my body changing with each new thought that I pursue.
Commanding the dirt to heal the wound takes all of my concentration. Minutes pass, although I don’t know how many. When there is nothing more to do, I stop focusing on the dirt, and I regain consciousness of the room around me again. I’m still alone; the dim candles are still burning. I’m still sitting on the ground. But my hand is healed. The skin is smooth and new.
Cylus reappears.
“You can stay here for as long as you like,” he says. “The exit will take you home when you’re ready.” The rock stump reappears next to me, the same hand print visible on its face. “I will see you in the grove of the pine tree circle.”
He disappears again.
I sigh and stare at the rock. I’m hungry, and I do want to leave.
But, I also don’t want to go back and face everyone again. Not crippled.
I wonder if I could fix my knee. If I can heal my knee, then perhaps things can start to work out. Maybe what Cylus said is real. Maybe my connection to this world is this hemazury stuff.
I get more dirt in my hands. I rub them together, and this time it doesn’t smart because the cut is gone. I put my hands on my knee, and I feel concern and know things are wrong. I explore my knee, and I see that it’s really torn up. I don’t know what to do, though.
Frustrated, I touch my other knee. By exploring my good knee, I start to understand what is wrong with my hurt knee. I understand what needs to happen to fix it. It takes a lot of concentration, and I have to switch back and forth often, but I start to make changes, letting the feelings from the dirt guide me as much as my own thoughts.
This is crazy. This is real.
I’m a princess. I can help these people.
This is what I want to do. My whole life, all I’ve wanted is to play soccer, to live up to Mom’s hopes for me. I’ve traveled the world with her to watch soccer games; I’ve spent my life on the field developing my skills. The soccer field has been my home, it’s where I’ve belonged.
But, now, I feel a purpose and a desire that isn’t soccer. I want to learn hemazury. That doesn’t mean I love Mom any less. It doesn’t mean I don’t want to hold my phone in my pocket and remember her all the time.
No, I’m not leaving her. Everything she taught me about soccer will help me on this journey.
It’s time for me to branch out on my own, to spread my wings away from the soccer field. I’m going to learn how to be this Blue Princess.
And I’m ready.
To be continued ...
Acknowledgements
Writing is an amazing journey that would be impossible without the influence of so many people over the course of generations. Although it’s impossible to know when my journey started, I want to express gratitude for a few notable people along the way. My 3rd great-grandmother Mary Ann was known for her love of reading; her son, my 2nd great-grandfather Edmund, was taught to love books very early in his life, and that love was passed down for generations. On the other side of my family, my great-grandfather James moved his family next to the university so my grandfather could get a college education. After that, all of my mom’s family went to college. I love these great ancestors, and I’m grateful for their sacrifices that made it possible so I could grow up in a home where education and reading were placed front and center.
When I decided to write a novel, my dear wife thought I was crazy (and she was right). Still, she was supportive anyway, even through countless terrible drafts and long brainstorming rants. She has been my sharpest critic, and my greatest accomplishment has been writing something she wants to read. I’m also appreciative of my children’s enthusiasm. The time they spend writing and telling their own stories keeps me going on mine.
And then there are all the other people who have encouraged, edited, and helped along the way. Though there are too many to name everyone who has helped, I want to thank my superstar beta readers and the amazing editing team at CookieLynn Publishing Services. Additionally, many twists, turns, and inspiration for this story came from the classes and great people at the Storymakers Writer’s Conference.
Finally, thank you for reading! It’s amazing to me that you would be willing to read my work. Thank you! Thank you!
About the Author
I grew up reading all the time. Yeah, I’m the guy my 5th grade teacher nicknamed “Mr. Read-a-thon.” Now that I’m a father to six energetic children, I do a lot of reading out loud to my kids, while the others, who are supposed to be in bed, sneak into the hallway to listen. I love reading, and I love writing.
When I’m not buried in a book, you will find me with my family, either hiking in the mountains, working in the garden, or destroying the kitchen doing a crazy science experiment.
Don’t forget to visit my website, https://rgenecurtis.com. Thanks for reading!
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