Prologue

Two hundred and seventy-three years earlier…

He arrived in a world apart, more a bubble of space and time unto itself. The space shifted from dark to light in a rotating pattern as if days were passing in mere seconds. The ground, if it could be called that, was rounded with the horizon vanishing into obscurity at the edges of his vision. That horizon seemed both close enough to touch and as far away as another planet. There was no clear definition to anything, only light and dark, stark contrast with but a smattering of shadow. This was a pocket dimension, a space crafted from magic and suspended between realities. The perfect prison. The basic laws of physics that applied in most worlds did not apply here. The man, for lack of a better word, stood at the center of the space. Center remained relative. Wherever anyone stood here would be the center for them. That space resided in the mind. The ‘sky’ remained a reverse of the ‘ground’ with shadows and light shifting in the opposite direction. It was hard to call them shadows or light since they were almost exclusively black or white. He turned his two and a half heads to study this pocket space carefully. This place was difficult to locate and just as difficult to comprehend. He worked hard to locate and then to come here. Those that crafted this bubble of reality did so with extreme care given to details. They wanted it to be confusing. They did not want it found and they did not want anyone to be able to function within it. There was no air to speak of, only an empty void of space. It left him somewhat disoriented, no small feat. He was a God after all. He needed to find what he came after. Too much energy and effort were expended to reach this point, too much risk taken to leave emptyhanded. They were likely already aware of his actions. How could they not be? They would come to stop him. His plans would unfold nicely if all went as intended. The power radiating from this tiny dimension, this pocket of reality, was immense. He knew why. That is what brought him here in the first place. He scanned every shift and plane between the white and the black waiting for the variance. The half face only had one eye and peeked from the side of a thick, gray-scaled neck where it sat embedded. It rested in the neck of the taller, more bestial head. All five of his eyes studied the space carefully. He raised his three arms and his two tentacles. His forked tail waved side to side. All his limbs extended in different directions. One arm, the thinnest arm, jutted from his gut. Its clawed fingers grasped at the shadows eagerly. He could sense the power, the raw magical strength that felt unlike anything he knew before. It was exhilarating. He expected the prisoners to be strong. They were artifacts after all, remnants of a bygone age and infused with the life force of the Ancients reinforced by the chaotic magic of an entire living planet. This power endured even if the Ancients were gone. The Originators were not deceased, he knew that, but they had withdrawn from the world long ago. EL belonged to him and his kind. It had been theirs for an age now. It was their playground and battleground. EL was a place of the Gods and Goddesses. The Originators warned against this path. There were sacred scriptures and magical warnings he had to bypass to get here. Many powerful shields blocked his entry. His peers warned him, too. He did not care. They were cowards, weak, small-minded cowards. Power of this magnitude was meant to be used, meant to be controlled. Why else would it exist? With this boost he would become supreme. He would alter EL into his dream world. His aberrations would rule and run free, unchecked by the paltry forces that pretended to claim dominance now. Balance was a farce anyway. The light and the darkness shifted past him again and again casting him in full brilliance then shadow then brilliance once more. His own shadow danced about his feet as if alive.

“I call out to you both! I command you to reveal yourselves! You have been gone too long to exile. I invite you back. Noth and Leithia, reveal yourselves to me!” His voice sounded from all three mouths in unison like stone grinding on stone. The larger head spoke in a baritone growl, the smaller head in a hissing feminine voice and the neck mouth squeaked in shrill screeches accented by clicks.

The shifting pattern of day and night sped up whirling past him in double time. They heard him. They were awake! He extended his arms and tentacles to maintain his balance, such as it was. He felt the surge of energies, so different yet simultaneously so similar. They were far stronger than he imagined. Marvelous! This is how they shaped a world so vibrant as EL. This is the power that almost tore that same world asunder. They represented the powers of creation and control. One tentacle lashed out in the blink of an eye. It snatched Leithia from the light. The swirling white stone thrummed with immense energies and an inner glow. It pulsed with life. His monstrous claw-hand did the same in the darkness and plucked Noth into existence. The shimmering black stone likewise thrummed and pulsed and glowed. These were Gems of Power, artifacts of incredible strength with minds of their own. They were not just any gems of power, but the two prime gems. The fluttering day and night stopped. The sky was pure light and the ground pure darkness. He could hear their voices whispering to him. They were excited to engage, gleefully giggling children in his mind. They could read his thoughts and were even more excited to return. They wanted free of this exiled prison. The spirits within the stones practically leapt into his grasp. He threw back his heads and laughed in triumph. Their power would be his.

* * * * * * * * * *

“Arrange the specimens by their labels. Be careful not to waste any more of them. I do not take kindly to those that lose my children.” His dark eyes bored into his two assistants with a blatant threat. The men dipped their heads shamefully. “And I want more blood prepared for the rituals. Bring me more blood of innocents or fey, whichever you come across first. Send the hunters, Vego. I need the strong blood.” He directed one of his assistants to those tasks and addressed his other assistant next. “That latest debacle has yet to be sorted. It was not fully assimilated yet. I want chains secure at all times, Weth. You will ensure all my test subjects remain controlled. Is that understood?” Weth nodded timidly. “How does something that large simply race out through the front gates? Imbeciles, incompetent imbeciles! Cages must be locked and fortified. Use the whips. That’s what they’re for. Until they realize they are part of the whole, my children require care. They require a gentle yet strong hand just as any other child would.”

The gaunt man stated his thoughts in a calm but firm tone. It sounded as if he were scolding a small child. His voice was deep, commanding, with a promise of punishment. The only emotion he displayed was cold suspicion. An impeccable education resonated from him though it seemed warped by some morose sense of glee. He knew the beast did not simply slip past his men. It killed several during the exit. That detail did not matter to him. He was a man accustomed to getting his way. He wore intricately detailed robes of gray with a heavy hood. Symbols and sigils covered the fabric from head to toe. The hood was not drawn. The pair of younger men in similar, much less decorative religious robes of gray nodded attentively before responding to their instructions. He brushed his sharp nose and grimaced. The disturbance to his skin caused a fresh scab to tear and blood to trickle down his cheek. A large crusty scar marred his nose, three jagged marks from where something raked him with claws dominated his sunken face. Marks from another experiment that resisted him a week earlier. He seemed accustomed to such injuries and paid it little mind. These were the costs of greatness.

“And, have this room cleaned, thoroughly. That smell is… harrowing.” He waved an emaciated hand at the bodies scattered across the floor as if they were nothing more than scraps left over from an evening meal. It looked as if some massacre had taken place in the expansive chamber.

One of the biggest and most noticeable failures of the human body was its reaction to scents. It was a weakness to be easily exploited. How many smoke bombs and acid mixtures had he created over the years for just such a purpose? The man cast that thought away, immensely irritated. He did not appreciate a failed ritual at all, and especially one being witnessed by the liaison of his benefactors. Today was not the day for this to happen. He wasted a significant number of supplies with this miserable failure. The huge chamber constructed of solid stone seemed oppressive and claustrophobic despite its impressive size or vaulted ceiling. The foul smell and piles of dead bodies, both beast and humanoid, did not help any. A circle of etched candles lit the runes and other strange markings that were carved into a blood-stained floor. The only light came from a few scattered torches and alchemical lamps casting the chamber in eerie shades of orange and green battling for control. No windows punctured these thick walls and only a double door, reinforced with metal bars and heavy locks allowed entrance or exit. Several heavy chains ending in manacles of various sizes and shapes lay strewn about the chamber. They each attached to metal plates bolted to the floor or stone pillars at specific points around the ritualistic circle of runes. Most of the bodies were fastened by these chains, most but not all. His experiments required control elements as well as variables. Sacrifices often constituted these elements. Vrauth believed a willing sacrifice could increase the chances of successful splicing. It did not matter if willing meant magically or chemically coerced. They were nearly as good as the blood of innocents, not quite as pure but strong, nonetheless. The lion’s portion of the smell came from the corpse of a large creature shackled at the center of the circle. Evidently, chimera did not keep well after death. The massive, hairy beast had three heads: lion, dragon and goat. It also possessed sizeable wings, though those had been clipped for containment, and further experimentation. Its appearance alone made speculations about its origins resting in the realm of Thruum’s might. Some would say this was a sacred beast not to be tampered with. Vrauth disagreed. He often pushed the limits of the faith. Regardless, this beast proved quite disappointing. After the last amalgamation, he had higher hopes. He had been on a roll of successes. Perhaps bear was the key element? They seemed to work well. While not as volatile as reptiles, they were still deadly and powerful with an air of intelligence. Yes, they worked well for creating battle brutes – juggernauts. He made a mental note to add that to his research and save that name. It seemed delightfully appropriate for his latest breakthrough. Large creations were a new venture for the man. In the past he curbed his apatite towards small to man-sized beasts and swarms of tiny things. He enjoyed the delicate details.

His head cocked to the side as if listening to someone speak yet no one did. He smiled and nodded. He heard the voice whisper to him periodically. It crept through the deepest corners of his thoughts. He assumed it to be the call of Thruum. He heard it many years ago when the original faithful came to the call. “Come to me… surrender to me…” He heard the call, and he responded by doing just that. Now the voice was second nature, a hissed whisper from the darkest recesses of his mind like a second consciousness. Whether it was real or a figment of his twisted imagination who could say? Many believed that genius and insanity were two parts of the same coin. Master Vrauth was that coin.

Vrauth wore the robes of a religious man yet carried the mind of a scientist and the skills of a trained mage. His salt and pepper hair sat slicked back and his boots still displayed the stains of previous experimentation, blood stains he wore as badges of honor. The man was a living skeleton, thin with deeply sunken eyes. A shrill screech sounded from another chamber, followed closely by a loud scream. The noises triggered more screams and cries for help. Those cries echoed about the halls outside from somewhere deeper within. The man barely noticed. A passing thought reminded him that he wanted to develop the delphine root mixture, improve upon it and increase its potency. That would quiet them. Many years of experimental procedures and magical splicing led to this breakthrough. He had finally unlocked the key to new life. His secret ingredient thus far had been small trinkets claimed from the raid on a traveling group of priests dedicated to the luck Goddess. Tiny white, tear-shaped stones containing a spark of magic. This process proved effective before and would again. He was certain of that. The white stones gave him an edge. He brushed his hands together slowly as if warming them. It was a habit he had when he was thinking. Another dressed in similar robes, more decorative than the assistants but less so than the head creator, stood quietly nearby, watching with pen and journal in hand. The woman remained quietly observing.

He cleared his throat before addressing her. “The experiments seem to be going well, if a little unruly… Praise Thruum.” The religious addition seemed delayed, forced. “I’ve made much progress in the last year with my creations, current disaster excluded. I’ve created life… true life that can continue without degrading and possibly reproduce.” He raised one eyebrow as he addressed the woman standing next to him. Vrauth eyed her carefully.

“The sect leaders are anxious to hear your results. I’ll focus my reports on the previous ritual and your breakthrough, but I cannot exclude mention of its escape. On a different note, you exhaust the resources too quickly, Master Vrauth.” The slender, pale woman noted as she scribbled her notes down in a journal. She, too, wore the gray robes of the order. She noticed the man staring at her out of the corner of her eye and she adjusted her spectacles while turning to face him. She was pretty but pure business. Even her dark hair remained pulled tightly into a bun. “Just an observation. Nothing more. I don’t pretend to know your needs. I am no creator.”

“No. You are not. I use what is needed. As my work proceeds, more resources are inevitably necessary. Bigger results require bigger risks. I’ve been meaning to discuss this in more detail, my dear Shania. For years we kept our restocking process scattered so as not to draw attention and provide a variety of materials, but those efforts are no longer satisfactory to my needs. They move far too slowly. I require more specimens and cannot wait for the long process of shipping them all the way from the desert lands. If the movement is to advance and grow as intended to achieve our shared goals, bold actions must be taken. We will tap into the resources around us. They are plentiful. It is foolhardy to ignore them.” The tall, gaunt man, barely more than a skeleton, stared down at the woman through intensely dark, sunken eyes. That gaze proved most unsettling. His presence held that stillness, like the eye of a great storm.

The woman paused as if considering his words. She scribbled something else in her journal. She already knew he had been tapping into these local resources for years. And though she thought it a bit reckless, he had yet to overstep or cause serious issues for them. She mentioned her suspicions in her report multiple times. Because there were no major issues, her superiors ignored his actions. His results outweighed his threat. “Have these varieties led you towards favored specimens? If I do recommend a bigger harvest it would help to know what species or location to strive for. Our slaving trade has grown strong enough to support a more selective process even if you threaten to deplete it entirely. We have other creators that draw from the same stock, you know? Master Kleck has become most self-sufficient.” Mention of the rival creator caused a dark shadow to wash over the skeletal man’s face. Realizing she might have pushed the issue too far; she adjusted her spectacles and forced a smile. The expression looked uncomfortable for her, almost painful. “Aside from those of rare special blood, what are the best conduits? Have you any new requests, Master Vrauth? Perhaps it’s best to keep them small. You’ve had great success with such results in the past. They will be wary of your larger creations after this last incident. I’m guessing no more chimera…” More shrieks, roars and screams for help filtered in from the hallways beyond the ritual chamber. The woman instinctively glanced in that direction.

“Silence the specimens!” The skeletal man shouted. He grew irritated by his visitor. Those that questioned his genius angered him. As he grew older, he found less and less patience with the small-minded. Age was yet one more nuisance of his feeble humanity.

Several of his cultists scrambled to make his orders happen. They each produced barbed whips and left the experimentation chamber on a mission. Shortly after their departure more shrieks and screams sounded but then the noise died down completely. He turned back to survey the woman curiously as if evaluating a prospect. He held a tight-lipped smile. His dark gaze made her increasingly uncomfortable. She could not pry her eyes away from his gory, bleeding face wound. He may have been the head of the development procedures in the sect, but she still found him repulsive and unstable, little more than a mad scientist given free rein to play his sick games of creation. Shania was a devout believer. She had come to doubt his dedication and his faith. She wondered if her doubt quantified mention in her newest report. She also wondered if they would care either way.

When Vrauth spoke next it seemed he had a new idea. “Bring me the cattle.”

“The cattle?” she questioned.

“Yes, the dregs of the humanoid races. Cull the backwater villages and hamlets of this region. They are not likely to be missed. This land overflows with them. I can assure you the nobles that guide this nation care little for such rabble. I will concentrate my efforts on foot soldiers for the sect. I’ve recently had inspiration. How do winged warriors of death sound? I was delivered a shipment of vultures.” He turned away then paused, spinning back to stare at her through those cold, dark eyes. “Also, any unusual specimens, the vermin. The small critters that make your skin crawl. I’d like to toy with an idea I have.” He rubbed his hands together and decided it was time to ask again on different avenues of pursuit, more personal topics. “What of my… other ideas? Have they made any decisions?”

Sister Shania shifted nervously. The flinch did not go unnoticed. She had hoped to escape this place without touching on the disturbing topic this time around. The last time she visited, when he gave her a tour of the lower wing, or the crypt as he called it, the disposal room and his other foul endeavors she did not sleep properly for weeks.

“I presented my notes on that to the High Council of Leaders. They were less receptive. They prefer living servants I’m afraid. Undeath is not a realm Thruum holds sway over. That lies in Veth-Kar’s domain of influence. You know the scriptures and follow the virtues. Surely you understand, Master Vrauth? We have prophecies to fulfill.”

The skeletal man’s grin faded. His dark eyes grew hard. His face twitched with anger and one of the scratches began to bleed anew. The scarlet droplets traced the deep lines in his face. He stood stiff, rising to his full height. He was a tall and imposing man. “Very well. That will remain my personal exploration. Assure them that my experiments will produce results soon… given the proper resources that is. Deliver your reports quickly, messenger. My patience grows thin.” He stalked away to direct his assistants in cleaning the chamber properly. Vrauth retrieved a handkerchief from his robes and dabbed at the bleeding sores on his face. He did not want any remnants of blood or tissue ruining his next experiment. The magic was delicate.

Chapter 1

Farrah

Her name meant happiness, joy, gladness, or gleefulness for that is what she was, bottled up and placed into a human form like a living ray of sunshine. Her parents, Akheem and Rhijha blessed that name upon her at birth once they gazed into those beautiful golden eyes and that smiling little face. They did not know what to expect, what might show itself that fateful morn, or if she would even survive. Worry ate at them. The mages they encountered seemed doubtful after hearing the story of their accident. Akheem cared little for mages and their hoity ways. His beliefs contradicted his choice to move his family to this new country in the first place. The mages of Villinsk thought themselves above everyone else and they were the favored sons and daughters of this country. Villinsk’s people viewed the mages as saviors. Akheem felt that prayer was the only true form of magic humanity should embrace. The divine magic of the Gods was pure and regulated by higher beings. Farrah’s father had a strange relationship with religion, too, but he favored it strongly over mages. Akheem did not worship openly, and he never declared his faith for any one God or Goddess. Rhijha avoided magic altogether. Farrah’s mother rarely spoke of religion, either. She even seemed a bit fearful of it and of their homeland in the eastern deserts. That remained a topic they avoided. Their daughter never pressed the sore issue. It was her father that spoke out against the use of magic for personal gain. Mages twisted energies not meant to be controlled, bending them to their will in dangerous displays. Villinsk’s mages and their magical pursuits were the envy of other nations and so they found ultimate favor within her borders. Magic was not the goal of all life. At least that was the belief of Akheem. After a full day of labor, her mother, Rhijha, nearly died giving birth. Her father could hardly contain himself, pacing the small room anxiously for hour upon hour. He prayed to every God or Goddess he could think of to watch over his wife and unborn child. The doula, Madam Ghren, assured them everything would be fine, but they did not, could not believe her. The old woman with her dark mocha skin and stark white hair tied back into a mound of braids smelled of strange spices and a hint of dirt. She was a mystic figure in the community where they settled, a wise woman dressed in her flowing robes and strange talismans. Madam Ghren was the village healer, midwife and herbalist. She was also a seer of sorts. Spiritual folk were not so uncommon in the country of Villinsk, but those with gifts like Madam Ghren were.

Villinsk, also known as The Magic Kingdom or Land of Enchantments, was a very spiritual, free-thinking country. Ruled by her young King with his expansive ideas after his father’s untimely death, bards often sang the praises of the culturally advanced civilization. Many practiced the refined arts across the land. Music, dance and writing were celebrated skills as were those trained in healing fields and spiritualism. Villinsk held the largest library temple in the lands and the most prominent magic city on the continent. Magic played a large part in Villinsk’s culture as well. More mages learned their craft here than any other country on all Pangias, probably all of EL. It was said that because of the strong magic cultivated in this land it rarely underwent the effects of the shifting seasons. Other experts attributed the mild climes to location and geography, the locals liked the flair of the magical rumors.

The couple moved here from the far, far east. Having discovered that the accident with their caravan ride some two months past was the result of a young mage in training practicing tricks while passing through an unknown chaos zone left them doubtful. The young man was trying to make a blanket-sized raincloud, or snowstorm or some such ignorant uselessness. He put them all at risk for something so trivial. Why did mages have to play at such volatile things? When his magic hit the chaos zone it mutated and erupted into a huge explosion that shattered his wagon and tossed several others to their sides. A freak accident, no one knew there was a chaos zone on that road. Such rare locations were the bane of magic users and particularly feared by mages. Turns out, that zone was little more than a window-sized panel of chaotic energy, so small as to go virtually unnoticed for generations. Fate, synchronicity, or plain dumb luck took control when the man happened to invoke his spell just at the right second as he passed through that window of chaos. The resulting tragedy left everyone reeling with shock. They were unable to locate the panel of chaos afterwards. The sages suggested that the explosion might have ruptured it and caused the chaos zone to collapse or move. That mattered little since the explosion had already happened and wagons were tossed about or torn asunder. One of those wagons was Akheem and Rhijha’s wagon. They were in the process of moving to a new town in a new land as newlyweds of but a year. The young couple was not prepared for the explosion, the screams or the sudden jarring motion as they were tossed from the wagon into a nearby ditch. They were fortunate, they lived, some did not. Four wagons in the caravan overturned in the accident. That damn idiot mage did not survive, and he took three other souls with him. Akheem raced to check on his very pregnant wife. Rhijha was banged around but seemed healthy. They both prayed on the spot to Aethine, Goddess of Luck, that their baby would be unharmed. On the morn of her birth, they were beyond worried. When the beautiful, healthy and smiling baby girl was born with her light golden complexion and glittery golden eyes they thanked Aethine for the blessing and named her Farrah, Farrah Faizan. Madam Ghren would go on to spread the word of the blessed child, the lucky one, the one kissed by Aethine herself. They did not regret the fact that they never became pregnant again. Farrah was enough to fill their hearts with joy. Their daughter grew to become a beautiful young girl and in turn a beautiful young woman both inside and out. And by all accounts, Farrah was definitely blessed by the Goddess of Luck. She was widely known as one touched by the Goddess, the golden child of Kleph. With her smooth golden skin, bright, winning smile, sparkling golden eyes and her long, wild mane of wavy golden locks that often fell to cover one eye, the statuesque beauty was never short admirers. The sight of her became more striking when her parents were with her. Both Akheem and Rhijha were of average comeliness with darker skin, dark hair and dark eyes. They held a typical look for those born in their region of the desert lands. Farrah’s appearance alone seemed a miracle. More than that, though, she was one of the luckiest people alive. After she miraculously survived without a scratch when her crib was torn from her home by a tornado, she drew attention. Then again, she walked away unscathed from a pestilence that claimed half the children in the village and left the other half ill for weeks. And the time she was cornered in the forest by a rogue stone lizard that destroyed several cattle but did not maim her in the least left the villagers in awe. People in her small village took detours to have the beauty kiss various items, pregnant bellies, newborns or wish blessings of good luck on harvests and weddings. Known by the nickname “Little Aethine” she garnered a reputation as the lady of good tidings in the village. Her family was neither wealthy nor poor. They held a small plot of farmland and ran a minor general store in Kleph. Well-liked and respected, their lucky charm of a daughter only added to their good name. The Faizans were often sought out to settle disputes or for their solid advice. They acted as council during legal trials and Akheem aided in various religious ceremonies or celebrations. The man held a knack for such events even if he denied a specific faith. Farrah had a good, wholesome life in a small village of good wholesome, people.

Madam Ghren took a special interest in Farrah, often acting as her surrogate grandmother. The old woman was both an herbalist and a soothsayer, reading her tea leaves to predict futures for the community and passersby. She often taught the young beauty her secrets with herbs and the reading of the leaves. The girl took to herbalism easily, but the readings were not her specialty. She tried but that aspect eluded her. Farrah loved the woman with her boundless wisdom and secretive ways. It was one day while the young woman was busy helping Madam Ghren gather herbs in the forest just outside of the village that darkness descended over Kleph. Farrah requested a certain type of tea, which Ghren had to search the woods to find. The girl enjoyed the ventures into the forest. While on their hunt, Farrah noticed the smoke rising above the treetops. Far more than even that generated by the yearly bonfire celebration in honor of harvest season, the billowing smoke sent a shiver down her spine. It was a very bad omen. Farrah felt her gut twist into a knot. She immediately knew something was wrong. She warned Madam Ghren and raced to see what was amiss. The spritely young woman dashed through the trees with the speed of a wild deer. What she arrived to find left her stunned and speechless. Every building in Kleph was ablaze. Animals scattered, breaking fences to be free in their panic. The only thing missing was the people. Not a single voice, a single scream, greeted her upon arrival. Farrah raced to open a gate latch setting dozens of animals free. As a mare ran past her it drew the girl’s eyes to something even more disturbing. She spotted a body, that of Olven the blacksmith. The large, musclebound man was split in two as if cleaved by a massive claw. Other scratches and bites marred his body. The attack was like nothing she had seen before. Olven also acted as the muscle of the village when raiders or other thugs presented themselves. Hailing from the Frozen Wastes at the southern tip of Pangias, Olven could put the fear of the Gods into any man. One look at the giant of a man sent most scrambling the other direction. The few that did challenge him quickly learned that those muscles were not just for show. He was an ex-soldier from the king’s army, trained in the art of combat. He fought scores of invading orcs during the War of the Gems. The large man lay in the ash of the fires with his massive hammer still clutched in one hand. Whatever killed him did so in a single blow. The other scratches and bites appeared as after thoughts, things nibbling at the corpse. Whatever slew him must have been big. The wound did not look like any natural animal.

Farrah raced for her own home, attached to the backside of the general store. She paused at a distance and slowly stalked closer. Fear of what she might find all but immobilized her. The building nearly collapsed with fire when she stood before it. Tears streaked down her face, and her golden eyes reflected the glow of the flames. She found no sign of Akheem or Rhijha. Her parents were gone just like everyone else, vanished. Her head spun with dizziness. She fell to the ground in a daze, sobbing uncontrollably. The strong smell of burning wood filled her nose.

In the back of her mind, she heard a soft voice whisper to her. It reminded her so much of her mother though it was not her voice. “Be strong…”

How much time passed, she did not know, but Farrah returned to her senses when Madam Ghren laid her weathered hands on her shoulders and squeezed. Her home was no longer burning. It merely smoldered in a heap of blackened wood and charred bricks like the scattered bones of some great beast. Most of Kleph looked the same.

“Rise, my child. The evil that brought this to us has vanished.” Ghren whispered. She helped Farrah to her feet and embraced her. “We were truly blessed by Aethine this day to have avoided such tragedy.” Farrah was lost to emotion and barely recognized what was happening. This did not feel very lucky. When she gazed into Ghren’s eyes the old woman gasped. “By the Gods! What? How?” The white-haired woman stared at her speechless.

Farrah stared back through her golden eyes, only those eyes shone with the brilliance of the fire she had been gazing into. Dusk was upon them and the girl’s eyes all but glowed in the dim light. Farrah noticed that the fading of the sun did nothing to diminish her vision. Everything appeared as clear as day. Madam Ghren knew this was a piece of her blessing, a sign from above, but did not know what this meant. Once again, whatever happened to Kleph, Farrah had been spared and so this strange glow was a mark from Aethine or was it a warning? Madam Ghren chose to see it as a sign of good luck to come despite the astounding loss of this day.

Together, they buried Olven and gathered what animals they could. No other villagers surfaced, and no other bodies presented themselves. Whether that was a good or bad thing, who could say for sure? This was not an unheard-of occurrence. Villages had gone silent before. They stood on the fringes of the wildlands at the western borders of Villinsk. Such locales could be dangerous. But this seemed extreme. No signs of attack or sickness could be found. Everyone was simply gone, everything burned. Who had set those fires? Farrah finally accepted that she would get no answers. They tethered and led the animals with the one remaining cart Farrah salvaged. It was a miracle the cart survived. She spotted it by chance, stashed behind a small cluster of bushes at the edge of the settlement. The women made their way to the nearest village. A place called Hinny Hill. They told the tragic story of Kleph. No one had any information for them, and no other survivors of their village arrived. Hinny Hill fortified its own borders and doubled its guard that week. They sent scouts and confirmed the terrible news. What became of the villagers of Kleph including Farrah’s parents remained an unsolved mystery. The site was labelled cursed and most made a point to avoid the ruin of the burned village. None of the other villagers ever resurfaced. There were whispered rumors of strange beasts prowling the woods at night but those remained unconfirmed. No bodies of such beasts were ever recovered. It took many months to escape the shadow of Kleph’s mysterious destruction. Over time, both Ghren and Farrah carved a new life for themselves together in Hinny Hill. They became family.

* * * * * * * * * *

Three years passed in the blink of an eye. Madam Ghren was old, older than most lived to see. The woman had come to find a following of sorts in Hinny Hill. People respected and feared the strange seer almost as much as they came to love her adopted granddaughter, Farrah. Today was a day for sadness, though. The old woman lay in the care of the best healer in the village, the one trained by her own hand, Farrah Faizan. Dusk settled over Hinny Hill as Farrah sat next to the bed tending to her grandmother. She stared down with heavy concern for the woman that took her in and raised her after the disappearance of her parents.

Ghren looked up with worry at the girl. “The sun is setting, Farrah. Be sure to light the lantern.”

Farrah smiled and brushed a damp cloth across the woman’s furrowed brow. “Even now you worry about me. Relax and let me tend to you, Grandmother.” The sounds of conversation outside their home carried on the breeze. Someone was coming.

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“The lantern, quickly!” Ghren tried to rise from the bed with a grunt, but Farrah forced her back down to her pillow gently. The girl held strength beyond her meek appearance.

Farrah leaned to the table nearby and lit her lantern, casting the room in its warm light, chasing away the shadows and causing the glow of her eyes to fade. “There, there, we have the light. Do not fret, Grandmother.”

Just then the front door swung open and in strode a pair of rugged individuals followed by a willowy young woman trying to stop them. They barged in without a concern for knocking and little more concern upon finding the girl tending to her bedridden elder. If anything, they seemed offended to find them here in such a state.

“Who are you? What is the meaning of this?” Farrah jumped to her feet with a hand raised to stop their advance. She spotted the willowy woman trailing them and cast her a glare of annoyance. “May, why are these people here? You know this is not a good time.”

May chewed her bottom lip with her eyes pleading and wide. “I tried to tell them… they wouldn’t listen. I couldn’t stop them…” She seemed a bundle of nerves. Her shaking hands twisted together, and her eyes began to grow glassy.

The two rugged men exchanged glances and gazed upon the old woman in her bed. The taller of the two spoke first. “Wait, this dying old crone is the seer? You must be shitting me!”

The second, shorter, much thicker man, grumbled back. “We should have known better than to expect to find her in time. Whatever curse plagues this job has bled over to the world around us. First Dannis, then Gray, and now the old seer!” He looked to the taller man and shrugged. The shorter man with the tightly cropped hair turned as if prepared to leave.

The taller man slammed his hand down on the table causing the clutter of vials and bowls to jump. “This is bullshit!” He glared at Ghren and pushed past Farrah despite her and May’s objections. The man ran a hand through his tangled, greasy hair, slicking it back from his pointed face. He then wiped that hand on his soiled shirt. His leather armor looked dirty and worn from days on the road. He smelled as clean as he looked. “Can you still make a prediction witch, or has your time in this realm passed?”

The second man sighed heavily and dropped into a chair by the door. His weight threatened to break the delicate furniture. He ran both hands over his shaved head wiping away the sweat and sighed heavily again. “You said she was the best seer in these parts, woman. Look at her. She’ll be lucky if she sees another sunrise let alone anyone’s future!” He turned to address his companion. “What next, Seed? We don’t have time to run to another village chasing farm witches that might or might not have some gift of sight.”

Before the man could answer, Farrah had heard enough. “GET OUT OF OUR HOME!” She shoved the pointy-faced man named Seed away from Ghren’s bed. “Can’t you see this is a delicate time? Have you no decency? This woman is ill!”

The man stumbled back as she shoved him and fell atop his companion. Evidently the young woman was much stronger than she looked. Both men tumbled from the chair to sprawl on the floor as one of the chair legs snapped. May screamed and jumped from their path. The bony woman stood with both hands wrapped over her mouth, her shoulders raised high, and a look of fear took her eyes. She was afraid of what these ruffians might do to Farrah for that.

The two men clamored to a stance eventually shoving away from one another. The taller man, Seed, stepped towards the beautiful young woman with his hand raised as if he meant to backhand her. “I didn’t come here to beat some farm wench, but I can make exceptions! I wanted a seer dammit!” He lunged towards Farrah, but the girl did not back down. Her waves of golden hair draped across one eye with the other golden eye glaring back. She stood with her shoulders squared at him and her fists balled at her sides as if daring him to try something. Hers was a look of pure defiance. At barely eighteen summers she was a woman now and would not be treated like a child, especially not by this crass mercenary. “Get the hell out of my way, wench, and let me speak with the witch before she dies. Time grows short and I’ll not waste it on games. I need that old hag to cough out some guidance.”

The other man with the shaved head stood and crossed his arms over his barrel chest. He was muscular and fat, probably more fat than muscle, but he looked strong. He resembled a human tree stump. “Don’t be stupid, girl.”

“Farrah, no! They are mercenaries on the trail of some bounty. They are adventurers, swords for hire, dangerous men.” May called out while her skinny knees trembled and banged together. “They made me show them where Madam Ghren lived. They heard mention of her at the tavern. I didn’t want to disturb you. I’m sorry. Please forgive me.”

“I don’t give a damn who they are or what they want! They can’t just barge into my home like this!” Farrah locked glares with them. She raised her chin daring the man to strike her.

“Enough!” Ghren coughed from her bed as she grunted and crawled to a sitting position. The effort was real. “If I read for you, will you leave us in peace?”

“Grandmother no! You are too weak, you can’t…” Farrah moved to calm the aged woman, dropping to one knee at her side. Her voice pleaded.

“Deal!” The greasy-haired man named Seed barked. “You read for us, and we let you die in peace old woman.” He chuckled and shot Farrah a smug grin. “Listen to the crone, girl. Elders know best.” He followed up the quip with a wink.

“Perhaps you could come back in the morning?” May squeaked apologetically as she sidled up behind them. The skinny woman kept wringing her hands together. “That would give her a chance to rest. Surely the fortune will be better if she is rested.”

Seed looked back with annoyance at her. “Pug, get rid of that one. Her whiny voice annoys me.”

The thick man laughed and spat out the door then turned back to May. “Look at her. We don’t have that much time. This old crone might not see morning.” He grabbed May by her shoulders and walked her out the front door. May sputtered in a nervous fit as she was shuffled out. “We appreciate your help. Now begone woman!” He slammed the door shut in her face.

May yelped and slunk to the window to peer in with her wide-eyed panic. Farrah spotted her there and waved her away. She had done enough for one night. “I’ll get you some herbal tea, Grandmother, and some red tea?” Madam Ghren nodded sagely.

“Tea? We don’t have time to sit around while you women sip your damn tea. This ain’t a social visit.” The greasy-haired, pointy-faced man spat. His partner, Pug, crossed his thick arms over his belly again and nodded his agreement. “We need insight, direction, answers. There’s a hefty bounty on some local thugs and we’ve tracked them to this area. They are suspected snatchers. They think they nabbed some farmer and his family. We lost the trail. They could be anywhere out here in this damn wilderness side country. There’s no time to let it go cold.”

Ghren nodded her understanding and coughed. “One tea is to help me speak, the other is to read your future… you buffoon.” The old woman clutched her throat from the strain and Farrah laughed as she went to collect the teas. She loved the way Ghren was not a woman to be pushed around, not even now.

The men mumbled and grumbled but remained quiet. Farrah collected both teas brewing them separately with hot water as quickly as she could. She caught the greasy-haired man admiring her as she worked now that he had proper time to take in her beauty. Farrah was a strikingly attractive woman. That leering glare repulsed her. She could smell him from across the room. The other man bordered on a dolt, obviously just brawn. That meant this Seed person was the brains of their team… sad realization.

Farrah delivered the herbal tea first and Ghren sucked it down as best she could. It soothed her throat. She coughed and cleared it as she rubbed her weary eyes. The old woman looked so tired. It angered Farrah so much that these men were pushing her grandmother when she wasn’t well. Then came the red tea. This cup bubbled and gave off a subtle mist that clung to the rim. The smell was not pleasant at all.

Madam Ghren lifted the red tea to the pointy-faced man. “Drink.” Seed eyed it suspiciously then looked both women over with a similar glare. “I said DRINK!” The old woman growled. She fought back a cough.

He did as instructed and choked heavily afterwards. The man’s eyes watered. “That piss is awful! Is it supposed to taste like someone shat in your mouth?” He glared at Farrah accusingly. The girl shrugged and smiled as she brushed the waves of golden hair from her eye. “What now?” He wiped his tongue as if trying to remove the foul taste.

“Your friend must drink, too.” Ghren replied evenly. Her gaze did not waver.

He handed the cup to Pug. The man pinched his nose and swallowed a gulp of the red tea. He coughed and choked as tears filled his eyes. It burned going down. “Really fucking awful!” He choked out in a strangled voice.

Farrah’s eyes struggled to maintain a steady gaze. She wanted to laugh. Drinking this brew was not part of the ritual for reading their tea leaves. This tea was not meant to be consumed. It had to taste absolutely atrocious given its ingredients. Both men were sure to have stomach issues later. Ghren was simply punishing them for their lack of manners. She did so love this woman.

After both men recovered from the red tea, Ghren motioned for Farrah to help her. The golden girl took the cup from the man and handed it back to her grandmother. Ghren gazed into the misty brew as she shook the teacup in circles, she then turned the cup upside down on a white cloth on the table. The tea spilled out and evaporated instantly in a puff of red mist. What remained on the cloth were the leaves arranged in strange patterns. The old woman studied the pattern carefully, suppressing another cough as she did so. She gasped and recoiled. Her dark eyes darted to Farrah and held the girl in her gaze in silence before she returned to the reading. This process of poking at the wet leaves and studying the table continued for several minutes between coughs.

“Are you going to say anything, old woman?” The greasy-haired man scoffed after he lost his patience. He twisted a ring on his finger nervously. The artfully crafted silver band had a red jasper stone prominently displayed. The other man seemed engrossed in the ritual. Pug watched silently.

“Shhhh!” Farrah hissed at Seed. He glared at her but did as told. In truth, this was taking longer than normal. Ghren was probably just making them wait out of spite.

After a few more minutes of study, Ghren lifted her gaze to meet the mercenary. She motioned him to lean closer and Seed did. She took one of his hands in her own and studied his palm closely then sighed. “Your future looks bleak. You should turn away from this path, immediately. It will not bode well for you or your companion.” Her gazed drifted to Farrah and she forced it back to the greasy man.

“What the hell does that mean? I wanted you to guide us, help us find the trail again. I didn’t come here for warnings of doom, old woman.”

“You came to a seer to see your future. I’m telling you what I see. The leaves show me great disaster in your future if your course does not change. The trail you seek leads westward, through The Forest of Shade. It is a dangerous path that will not go well for you, either of you.” She coughed. Her gaze switched to the thick man then shifted back to Farrah and lingered there.

“Stop looking at her. I want to know about the culprits. Tell me what I need to know. Who are they? How can I find them? What are they up to? Do they have the family? Tell me something useful, old woman! I’ve lost the trail. Time is of the essence! This could be worth a pretty coin.” He grew more annoyed and angrier as he spoke until he slammed a hand down on the table again. His silver ring made the blow sound even louder. Several vials tumbled to their sides.

“If you break something, you’ll pay for it,” Farrah snapped.

“I may just pay you in trade for the fun of it, girl.” Seed flicked his tongue at her and grabbed his crotch.

Ghren cleared her throat loudly and continued. “The ones you seek belong to a religious cult. This cult is something very dangerous. You follow the least of them, but that trail will carry you towards the greatest of them. They are a slaving cult dedicated to something much darker. I see blood, much blood.” She flinched as an image of huge red reptilian eyes floating in darkness formed in her mind. “The trail is easily recovered at the forest’s edge, but that path holds only woe for you. I warn you again, change your course now or suffer the consequences.” The old woman’s dark eyes did not blink or waver. She forced down another cough.

The man rocked in his chair and groaned while slicking back his greasy hair. “This path holds a reward of several dozen gold coins is what it holds, woman. The King’s rainkins are what matters most. I’ll take the direction and ignore your whiny warning cries. You’re probably just looking to claim the reward for yourself now, aren’t you? Or maybe you’re seeing your own end in there.” He waged a finger at the pile of wet leaves dismissively.

“That’s enough. You got your reading. Now get out!” Farrah moved to open the front door to their small home. She gestured at them both to leave.

The men stood with the pointed-faced man slamming a handful of silver coins, Villinsk telpins, onto the tabletop. “Buy yourself something pretty, Goldie Locks. I don’t think your grandmother will have much use for coins.” He puckered his lips and blew Farrah a kiss before exiting. The shaved-head man followed him out without a word. Pug seemed rattled by the old woman’s warning. They strode away into the night in conversation. “It’s time for some ale and maybe a local wench,” Seed chuckled loud enough for Farrah to hear him.

Farrah slammed the door shut behind them. She was about to fly into a rant about them when Ghren broke out into heavy rasping coughs. Her body shook with the force of them and her eyes watered to the point of tears streaming down her sunken cheeks. The girl rushed to her side helping the woman crawl back into the bed and get comfortable under the blankets.

“Relax. You must rest. You’ll feel better come morning. I knew you shouldn’t have done that reading for those brutes. Readings tax you.” Farrah tried to soothe the cough with more tea, but the fit continued for long moments. The old woman was getting worse by the minute.

“No… Farrah… we both know I will not be better… come morning.” The old woman wheezed between coughs. Her eyes watered more and grew bloodshot. “I must speak with you before I go.”

Farrah tried to calm her. “Don’t say such nonsense, Grandmother. You have been ill before. You are tougher than that. You’re one of the toughest people I’ve ever known. You’ll pull through. You aren’t going anywhere. There will be plenty of time for talk later when you feel better.”

Ghren grabbed Farrah’s hand as she went to wipe her brow with the cloth again. “No, you must… listen.” She coughed out her words. “I know my fate but… more importantly, I saw yours.” The woman took a moment to catch her breath again. “In the leaves… their reading. It spoke of you. I saw…” The old woman broke down into a coughing fit. Farrah tried to get her to relax and stop speaking. She reached for her tea to soothe her. “I can’t… there is not time. You must follow the path of those mercenaries. It is your destiny child…”

Farrah pulled back in shock. “Those men were awful brutes. I would sooner die than join them.” She laughed nervously. “Besides, they are mercenaries and you just told them that path leads to their doom. I don’t understand. How can that be my destiny?”

“They are stupid pigs, utter fools, and they will ignore my warning.” She coughed. “Yes, they will meet their doom, but their path leads you to something else. Something that calls to you, my dear girl. Something from your past… and your future…” Ghren broke down into heavy coughing and choking. Her face grew red from lack of breath. Her eyes watered steadily, and she shook from the effort.

Farrah took her by the shoulders and laid her back on her pillow. “You must rest. I will prepare a tonic, something to calm you so you can sleep. We can use steam vapors with mint. It will help you breathe.”

While Ghren coughed Farrah moved to gather herbs from the shelves and mix a tonic for sleep with hot water heated over the fire. She could not help but replay the woman’s warnings to those men and then to hear her words about following them. Was she losing her faculties? Maybe the fever had taken hold. This mixture would help. How could she possibly want her to follow those crude barbarians? And she could never leave her grandmother alone in such a state. Who would care for her? That was pure madness. Farrah finished her herbal mixture and moved to grab more hot water and a fresh mug. That’s when it hit her. The silence struck her like a physical blow to the gut. There was no coughing, no wheezing, just silence. She ran to the bedside and gazed down on Madam Ghren. The woman’s dark eyes sat open, her face at peace, framed by the long white braids. She was no longer breathing. Farrah fell upon her, listening at her chest for breath or heartbeat. She found neither. She tried to open her gown, press her chest, blow breath back into her lungs. Her position on the bed did not help any. Every effort failed. She began to sob uncontrollably as she clutched the old woman to her in a tight hug. She could feel the limp body and was acutely aware of the lack of a heartbeat.

“No! No, no, no! It can’t be. Please no. You will be fine… you must be fine…” She sobbed in the glow of the lantern. She lay there cradling her adoptive grandmother for a long time until finally she could bring herself to release the woman. The spark of life was gone. “I’ll miss you so much, Grandmother. I’ll miss you so very much.” Another thought struck her. “Now, I am truly alone.” As she fell to sit in a chair, she gazed upon the table at the tea leaf stain on the cloth. Her grandmother’s final reading. She studied the symbols with but a hint of the same understanding. She saw the marks of warning. There was danger in those dark reddish leaves. Perhaps she did know what she was saying after all.

* * * * * * * * * *

The hours that followed passed in a blur of confusion and regret. Farrah realized she had never given much thought to what she might do the day her grandmother passed. She stared at her hands, the trained hands of a healer, the hands of the blessed one, the lucky one, “Little Aethine”. How had she failed her grandmother? Why wasn’t she good enough to save her? What did it mean if the toughest woman she had ever known could just die like this? Farrah passed out crying at the bedside of her grandmother. The late night shifted to early morning quickly. May stopped by to check on them at dawn then panicked at what she discovered. The woman raced away only to return minutes later. May arrived with townsfolk who volunteered to help with the funeral and burial arrangements. It seemed the whole of Hinny Hill arrived to assist. The women were loved in the community and May felt responsible for Madam Ghren’s sudden passing after delivering the thuggish mercenaries the night before. The willowy woman handled most of the arrangements while Farrah went through the motions in her foggy stupor. As Farrah’s closet friend, the young woman felt it was the least she could do.

“I’ve arranged for Father Mik to say a few words and the plot is being dug as we speak. They are placing her by that big white stone she loved. I sent the boys to pick flowers and people are gathering at the graveyard now. All will be ready soon, Farrah. By the time the sun hangs overhead, we’ll give Madam Ghren the best farewell anyone in the hill has ever seen.” May did her utmost to sound positive though she was the epitome of nerves and worry. The skinny woman continued to wring her hands together. Farrah nodded and followed directions but had little input in the affair. “I could send the constable for those mercenaries. They haven’t left town just yet. Did they do something…?” May looked to her with flowing tears, biting her trembling lip.

“No…” Farrah’s head dropped to her chest and her voice was but a whisper. She glanced at the silver the men left from the night before. They paid for the services. They were not at fault. “Thank you, May.” She hugged the thin woman. “It was not the mercenaries. And no one blames you for any of this, either. Know that. It was the sickness and age. She knew she was leaving us.” May sobbed into her shoulder but Farrah was too numb to care. She only patted her friend’s back out of instinct.

A scant couple of hours passed and Ghren was buried before Farrah even knew what had happened. A mound of fresh dirt by the large white stone at the edge of the graveyard topped with flowers remained as the symbol that her life as she knew it was ended… again. When Farrah returned home, she stared at that stain on the cloth, the red tea leaves of that final reading. She could not bring herself to clear it away. The silver coins sat there in a pile as well. The house felt so empty. Tears slid down her cheeks and she laid in the bed hugging the pillow so she could smell her grandmother one last time. She did not feel lucky in the slightest despite what others thought. She drifted off into a fitful slumber. In her dreams Ghren visited her telling her to seek out the path. The woman looked as vibrant and healthy as ever. It seemed so real. She also saw herself as a caterpillar wrapped in a cocoon. When she burst forth, she was a brilliant golden butterfly. Farrah woke to Ghren’s voice in her ear whispering “Seek your destiny child.”

She leapt from bed and began gathering a pack filled with supplies for healing, a few snacks and other things she might need on the road. She stuffed the silver coins in there for good measure. That was no dream. Her grandmother spoke to her from the other side. If anyone could come back, cross the veil to speak her mind, it was her grandmother. Ghren reminded her of that reading, of her path. She was certain of this. She grabbed her grandmother’s favorite staff, used more as a walking stick and to scare away animals in the woods. The staff held dozens of symbols and images carved into it by numerous sources. It was a beautiful work of art carved of the rare magnon wood; the strongest wood known. Her grandmother often took a carving in exchange for services when the client could not pay proper coin. Its intricate design felt comforting in her hand, like her grandmother was here to walk with her in support. Off she went, headed for the edge of The Forest of Shade with little more than a direction to follow. Her unlit lantern swung at her hip. She could hear her grandmother nagging her to keep the item close at hand.

* * * * * * * * * *

Farrah found a path at the edge of the forest. She knew this area well. It was a wagon trail that led from the village, connecting it to other villages and towns on the outskirts of the forest. Farrah and Ghren had come here many times to collect various herbs. Somehow the old trail looked darker, more ominous than she remembered. She spotted the two sets of fresh footprints in the mud, larger booted feet. Most likely they belonged to the mercenaries. They came here after all, ignoring the warnings just as Ghren predicted. Farrah hesitated. Did she really want to catch up to those men? Neither of them was particularly pleasant. In fact, Seed was most unpleasant. They were also headed to their doom. That thought seemed morbid. Maybe this was a bad idea? Could she just walk away from Hinny Hill like this, without any plan at all? What would the people think? What about May and the other villagers? Farrah tried to rationalize the final reading. She replayed her grandmother’s words repeatedly. Rethinking that, she took to the trail at a casual pace. She only needed to follow their path, according to the prediction. After she uncovered this mysterious destiny, she could return home and figure out what to do with her life. Farrah could not help but to wonder what this might hold for her. Why would her grandmother send her on such a dangerous course, into the wilds following unscrupulous men on the hunt for only the Gods knew what kind of trouble. She vaguely recalled something about a cult and snatchers stealing people. She did know it was trouble enough for a handsome bounty of gold rainkins. That made it sound worse.

As she walked the trail, she considered what she might do if she did encounter trouble. There were animals, creatures, bandits, and all manner of dangers to be found in the world. This forest was considered a mysterious and sometimes dangerous locale. They were on the outskirts of the country at the edge of the wildlands. Shafts of sunlight pierced the thick canopy of trees overhead dotting the trail in a patchwork of spotlights. For the most part it was cast in shadow as the name implied. The forest remained beautifully dark. There was something mysterious and foreboding yet magical about this wood. The leaves grew thick overhead and tangled together with vines and moss. Clumps of fungi, called crystal mushrooms grew about the bases of the largest trees. These transparent plants held a faint bioluminescence and glowed in the darkness with various colors. There were a number of small bushes and tall patches of grass growing where the sunlight managed to penetrate the canopy. Wildflowers often sprouted in these spots adding splashes of color and joy. Everything was so lush and green. This was a mystical place. Her grandmother always named it so. Farrah could feel it, too. She clutched her walking staff tightly, swinging it about as practice in case she needed to use it to defend herself. She had seen warriors pass through the village, even warriors trained with the staff. They spun, twirled, and lashed out this way and that way like a ceremonial dance. They made it look so easy.

“Take that! And take this!” She shouted as she spun. Farrah tried to twirl the staff through her fingers. She accidentally slung the stick off into the bushes and had to hurry to retrieve it.

Her skill was… less refined. Farrah began to laugh. It started as a giggle that grew into a deep belly laugh, turning her entire face red and bringing tears to her eyes. The laugh was born of nerves and anxiety. The intense laugh shifted to sobs then to a mixture of both. Her bottled emotions poured out unchecked. Part of it was her recent loss. She missed her grandmother terribly. Part of it was she had absolutely no idea what to do next. She fell to her knees to catch her breath. Imagining herself fighting anyone or anything seemed absolutely ridiculous. This was completely crazy. She was a lone girl, a healer, wandering the woods in search of crude mercenaries chasing dangerous culprits of some sort. Her only defense rested in her hands, a pretty walking staff her grandmother used to fend off coyotes and snakes. How could this be her destiny and if it was how could this possibly end well? She leaned on her staff as she laughed when the sound of a snapping twig caught her ear. Fear raced up her spine and froze her in silence. Suddenly the dark forest seemed terrifying. She peeked behind her in the direction the sound came from but saw nothing but more forest and underbrush. The plants were so thick and lush. An uneasiness twisted in her guts. That feeling gave her chills. Every sound became amplified in her ears, every shadow caused her to jump. She crawled back to her feet slowly scanning the area. This did not seem right. She could not shake the feeling that something watched her. Farrah clutched the staff to her chest and mustered all her courage. Drawing in a deep breath through her sharp nose, the girl tried to calm herself, steady her nerves. She brushed the waves of golden hair from her eyes and exhaled sharply. This was silly. She could not let her fear get the better of her.

“Hello? Is someone there?”

She heard her own voice, but it sounded weak and trembling, not at all what she hoped to project. If there was someone watching her, she did not want to appear defenseless. That could only invite disaster. She hoped they did not witness her slinging the staff away. Her mind jumped to the silver coins. She could bribe them if it came to that. Another snapping twig sounded to the left of her. Farrah jumped, facing that direction this time. She tried again with more gusto.

“Hello? Show yourself, please. I don’t want to hurt you.” That sounded laughable in her own ears. You better watch out for the healer girl with her grandmother’s walking stick.

Another twig snapped behind her causing her to spin about and face the opposite direction. Now she was terrified. The sounds were coming from all around her, branches snapping, leaves rustling. She thought she heard a clicking sound mixed into the rustle. Her mind raced. She could almost feel something breathing down her neck no matter which way she faced. Anxiety filled her. Her stomach ached. This was terrible. What could it be? What was out there in the trees? Her imagination ran wild. Farrah decided she did not want to know. With a burst of speed, the girl raced down the trail deeper into the forest. She was fast at least, as fast as a deer sprinting. She had always been fast, faster than the boys. She ran hard, spooked by her own imagination more than anything tangible. After a few minutes of running, she paused to lean against a thick oak tree and catch her breath. Farrah panted heavily and began to giggle again. She knew she was being silly. These were the woods. This was nature. Of course, there were sounds. There were always sounds. Everything here was alive. Something rounded the corner on the trail behind her. Her heart leapt into her throat. Its black eyes locked onto her. It was a man-sized spider-like insect with segmented black hands at the ends of its eight hairy legs. The multitude of black eyes stared unblinking at her as a face full of fangs and moving parts wriggled around hungrily. Farrah could hardly believe her eyes. With its shaggy gray, bulbous body, and shiny black legs it looked like something straight out of a nightmare. It paused when it spotted her leaning against the tree long enough to release a high-pitched chittering sound. It was that same clicking she heard before only much louder. A second later several more of the spider-like monstrosities scuttled into view behind it. Each was bigger than she was. They stood higher than her waist on those eight legs. Farrah screamed. She very nearly swooned with fright. Her head felt woozy, and her knees went weak. She saw at least four of the creatures before she streaked in a panic-ridden dash down the trail away from them. The chittering sound grew louder as many of the things added their voices to the hunting cry. They sounded excited. The woman became hypersensitive to the patter of their many legs tipped with segmented hands slapping against the leaves and underbrush as they chased her. She screamed again and again as she fled. Luckily, she was faster than them, but for how long? Adrenalin born of fear propelled her.

Farrah tore through the forest at a breakneck pace. She dared not slow her stride or pause for any reason. What were those things? She could only assume they wanted to kill and eat her so she ran until her heart felt as if it might explode in her chest and her lungs burned like wildfire. She was the fly and she refused to get caught in their web. A stitch in her side stabbed like a knife and tears born of panic blurred her vision. Farrah rounded another bend in the trail and adjusted to grip her side where the stabbing grew excruciating. Just as she leaned down to hold the stabbing spot a large battleax swung an inch above her head. If she had not ducked at just that moment the weapon would have decapitated her. Farrah screamed again and skidded to a stop, sliding to one knee. She spotted a large, greasy-haired man with a pointy face holding the big ax and staring at her in confusion. From behind another tree stepped a thick man with a shaved head. He held a large club with a similar look of confusion. The man appeared as if he had been relieving himself. His free hand tugged at the strings holding his trousers closed. It was Seed and Pug, the mercenaries from last night.

“Hey, ain’t that the pretty girl from the witch’s house?” the thicker man balked. Pug even paused to scratch his shaved head. He was not so quick.

“It is, but why?” The tall man with the pointed face looked to her with a mixture of anger and excitement. “What are you doing out here, girl? I almost took your head off. You can’t be running up on someone like that and screaming. Were you looking for us? Did you decide to take me up on my offer?” Seed’s pointed face split into a suggestive grin. He flicked his tongue at her and dropped a hand to his crotch.

Farrah regained her footing still clutching at the stitch in her side. She had to take a couple of deep breaths before she could speak over her panting. “We have to run!” She finally spit out the words. “They’re coming! They’re right behind me!” She pointed back down the trail with a panicked look. Her long waves of golden hair plastered her sweaty face and neck.

The two mercenaries exchanged looks and began to chuckle. Seed moved closer to her and caressed her shoulder running his fingers down the small of her back. “Calm down pretty lady. We are trained warriors. Adventuring is our life. You are safe now. Whoever is chasing you is going to wish they hadn’t. Then once we deal with them, you can thank me proper like.” He puckered his lips and slid his hand down to grab her butt.

Pug chuckled. “Yeah!” He grinned at his buddy then gripped his big club in both hands, planting it between his legs with a thrust of his hips. “I’m ready to bash some heads. We’ve gone too many days with no fun.”

Just as he finished those words a hairy gray and black blur dove into sight tackling him. The creature’s eight legs ending in strange chitinous hands grabbed him as they both spun and rolled across the dirt trail in a cloud of dust. A look of pure terror seized both men when the spider-thing sank its fangs into the thick man’s neck and blood gushed forth. Pug cried out in pain and shock.

“What in the nine hells is that thing?” Seed shouted as he stepped up to chop into the attacker with his axe. The battle axe bit into the bulbous body of the creature wrapped about his flailing, screaming friend. The blade sank deep with a sickening crunch. The axe cut cleanly through the tough exoskeleton to send a gush of yellowish goo leaking out. The spider creature hissed and chittered. One of its hand-tipped legs reached out to push Seed backwards. It wasn’t weak. He very nearly fell.

“By the Gods, get it off me! Get it off!” The thick man cried out as he tried to wrest himself free of its iron grip. The round, hairy body bounced atop him. It had seven more hands to resist his two.

Farrah watched the scene in disgusted horror. Seed chopped it again as it sank its fangs into Pug’s shoulder this time. Yellow goo and red blood spurted everywhere while both men shouted. The hissing and chittering grew louder. That’s when she realized it was coming from the other direction. Five more of the spider creatures skittered towards them, anxious to taste human blood.

“Behind you!” She shouted as she backed away with her staff raised for defense. Farrah had no idea what to do. They were being overrun.

Hearing the warning, the tall man spun and drove his axe in a downward swing to chop cleanly into the head of the next spider thing. Its hand-tipped legs flailed about. It hissed loudly as it sank to the ground under the heavy blow, unmoving. Seed was sprayed by the yellowish goo that was its blood. Pug pried himself free of the grip of the dying first monster. He crawled to his feet and reclaimed his large club. The puncture wounds on his neck and shoulder were swollen and turning blue at the edges as blood seeped out to run down his chest and back alongside a clear goo. The thick man seemed to be moving slower.

Farrah watched the furious battle in a daze. It was too horrific to be real, yet it was happening scant feet from her. She could not tear away her gaze. Another spider thing leapt atop each of the men, sinking fangs into the tall man’s arm and the thick man’s leg this time. The large spiders crawled across the mercenaries in erratic patterns scrambling to get a good hold on them. The men each shouted in pain before swatting the creatures with their weapons. The big club came down to bash the spider’s head and knock it away from his wounded leg. As if she finally realized she was not just an invisible onlooker, Farrah came to her senses and attempted to back away with another scream accidentally escaping past her lips. She bit down to end it and wished she could call back the sound. One of the hairy creatures locked its black eyes on her. They had all but forgotten about their original target. It sprang like a grasshopper bouncing over Seed and his struggle to land directly before her on its eight hands. Two of those hands reached out to grab at her ankles so that she could not run. Its fangs and chelicerae clicked and whirled before her in a dizzying display. Farrah screamed again but louder. There was no holding that one back. As she moved away, she tripped over a root and stumbled backwards. The stumble moved her feet at just the right moment for both sets of black exoskeleton hands to miss their mark. Purely out of fear she brought her staff down on the creature attacking her. The swing was awkward, off its mark and weak. Farrah was no warrior. The wooden pole glanced off the fang causing it to slide directly into one of the massive eyes at the center of its head. A crunch sounded as the black eye popped open in a burst of goo. The spider thing hissed and pulled back rubbing its face with its clicking fingers. She screamed again. Farrah used the accidental win to turn and run like the wind. Her mind raced with pure panic. The shouts and grunts of the mercenaries rang in her ears. She didn’t want to die.

Seed sank his battle axe into the bulbous body of his latest attacker lodging the weapon there. The creature’s eight legs lashed out to grab him and prevent him from tearing the weapon free. Pug had one of the spiders on his back again, biting his neck. He had trouble swinging his big club at this awkward angle. Another spider leapt atop the taller man and the pair had Seed now. They wrestled him to the ground chomping on him as he shouted for help. The man continued to fight when fear would have claimed most. The other thicker man grew lethargic. The poison injected into Pug’s body began to take hold of him. His vision was doubled, and he had trouble discerning where the thing’s legs were as they flailed about grappling him from all angles. Those chitinous fingers maintained a vice-like grip.

Farrah ran for her life as the shouts of the mercenaries faded into the background. She ran until her legs gave out and she collapsed onto the trail gasping for breath. Fear and adrenalin carried her much farther than she thought possible. Her side burned something terrible. The sun hung low on the horizon and the thick canopy of trees caused it to grow dark quickly. The day was gone in an instant. She could not imagine spending the night in this place, alone, in the darkness with those creatures out there hunting her. It began to grow darker and darker. She heard music in the distance and could see the telltale flicker of fire. What luck! With forced determination, she crawled back to a staggered stance. The effort was tremendous. Farrah wanted to quit. She wanted to lay down and give up. She suddenly heard her grandmother’s voice in her head telling her to light the lantern and so she did to chase away the shadows. Farrah staggered, gritting her teeth against her trembling legs wanting to buckle. She made her way to the campsite. Three wagons sat in a semi-circle in a small clearing to the side of the trail. A giant of a muscled warrior stood at the edge of the light and a handful of people sat about the fire, eating, and laughing. They appeared so happy, so content, so oblivious. Something smelled good and one of them was busy playing a lute and singing while the others applauded. The scene looked like a dream to the frightened woman. The big warrior spotted her and headed in her direction as she called to him for help in a hoarse voice. Her screams sounded as little more than raspy cries now. Tears born of relief streaked down her cheeks. She collapsed in the middle of the trail from exhaustion. The last thing she heard was a deep male voice speaking followed by the clatter of her staff on the trail as it slipped from her fingers.