Whispers of a Legend, Part One-Shadows of the Past, Page 2

  Chapter Two

  The Encounter

  The late morning sky, bright and peaceful, gave way to a fine day. At this moment, I gave no thought to the beauty of either the day or the pleasant landscape surrounding me. Instead my focus lay upon my mission. I galloped through the grasslands while the wind whipped through my fallen hair, my hat long lost along the riverbank. From the corner of my eye I saw Falco edged closer to me.

  Ignoring the white-tipped mountains in the far distance to the south, I raced on. On most clear days the majestic Preda Mountain Range reigned over the valley in which we now lived. Turstan said the powerful Kampar River, whose banks we raced, originated on the tallest peak and flowed boldly down into the valley, giving life to all around. The intimidating presence of the Preda Mountain Range could not be disregarded for long. In truth, it served as an entrance to the kingdom of Scarladin, our home, or would have been if not for that fateful night.

  Stories we had been told, Falco and I. We listened and hung upon every word, clinging to the hope of one day returning triumphant. We have dreamed and watched the sky. Some days, if the fog cleared long enough from around the peaks of the mountains, the hawkmen could be seen dominating the skies. In Falco’s eyes, I have seen the desire within him to fly the sky like our father before us, claiming his right as a Sordarin!

  Turstan boasted at great length of the mighty citadel which encompassed the grand cliff of Yucca. Excitement lay within his voice. For years he has talked of nothing else and only now we had come close enough to glimpse a semblance of the grandeur.

  “A great wall encircles the city of Yucca, home to King Edulf. The height and steepness of the cliffs below serves to discourage any from such a dangerous climb. Within those walls, the roofs of the homes of the Sordarins rise up. The castle encircled by three towers stands aloft, while in the center lays the Great Hall of the Sordarins.”

  We have long grown accustomed to Turstan’s ramblings of finding our long lost grandfather, but on this day my mind gave little thought to the castle in the distance, intent only upon my goal. Regretting not taking the time to tighten my braids, I fought against the distraction of my unruly hair. In a vain attempt I pushed my hair back while I urged my mount on. From my vantage point, I realized I had once more lost ground after the turn.

  I glanced over my shoulder. To my side - underbrush. Suddenly the thought of losing gnawed within me. Not again, not today. Without another thought, I took a sharp turn from the path and cut through the underbrush. Dodging branches, I kneed my heels into my roan’s side. He responded. The finish lay within my view beyond a long extended ditch. Without hesitation, I clicked my mouth. Knowing instinctually what I wanted, my pony lunged through the air.

  For a brief moment, I felt I flew into the air. Landing abruptly, my pony’s legs buckled, almost throwing me. Regaining control, I flung my hands up in the air. We lay well beyond the finish line. Reining in my pony, I turned in triumph to my brother, who brought his horse down to a trot. He frowned.

  "Ha! I won!" I declared most boastfully.

  "Kela, you could have killed yourself!" Falco cried, irritation clear within his tone.

  I was not certain if it was for concern or the fact he lost. His sandy blond hair ruffled. His deep blue eyes simmered at me. His white shirt smeared with signs of leaning against his chestnut horse. "If I urged Mayer on, we would have collided!"

  At that moment in time, I could have cared less. I wiped the sweat from my brow with the sleeve of his borrowed shirt, but my thick auburn hair clung to my forehead. Now I regretted losing my hat. Turstan wouldn't be happy. Lately, he harped upon the fact I should conduct myself more like a lady. Like he would know what a lady should behave like. I laughed at the thought.

  I could feel my eyes sparkle with victory. Rounding about my brother, I tethered my pony. "You're mad because you got beat! How many times have you beat me? Never mind that your horse has longer legs!"

  He grimaced, arching his back one way and then another. With his hand, he tried in vain to scratch his back.

  "Not going to do you any good, Falco," I bantered, taking advantage of the rare circumstance of having the upper hand against my older brother. "Turstan said it will take months for your wings to form. You have no choice but to endure."

  A huge grin formed upon his face. He countered. "But when they do, I'll no longer be grounded. It will be the skies for me. Poor Kela, we will see who beats who then!"

  He knew me well. Jealously swelled within me. Why could I not have been born a male? Life wasn't fair to have treated me in this manner. Refusing to allow him the upper hand once more, I countered, “But it's not this day! I'll race you home!"

  Without waiting for a reply, I took off, intent upon taking the lowlands, but in my haste I had forgotten the heavy rain of yesterday. I had not gotten far when my pony slowed with the weight of the sodden mud on his hooves. With the greatest reluctance, I pulled up as the ground gave way beneath the weight of my horse and myself. Soggy and muddy, there was no way I would ever make it through. To make matters worse, the echoes of Falco laughing fell upon my ears while he galloped away.

  Oh, why did I not think? I reprimanded myself soundly. How many times had Turstan told me I was too impulsive? Slowly, I backtracked through the mud, annoyed with myself. Oh! With the thought of the gloating Falco waiting on me when I returned back to the farm, I slowed my progress.

  At least I would take the time to look for my brim hat. Turstan wouldn't be happy if I came back again without my hat. He had threatened withholding my riding if I lost another, but he was always threatening something. Sometimes I believed he liked to hear himself talk for he rarely, if at all, carried through with any of his threats.

  I slowed the pace of my mount to look through the tall, thick grass. Finally dismounting, I walked. There was no hurry. I knew what awaited my return: either taunting by Falco or another lecture which surely would follow from Gunilda.

  Engrossed in my undertaking, a loud and thunderous noise caught me off guard. I hesitated until I deciphered the sounds were voices carrying up river.

  Startled, for few people ventured this far into the wilderness, I crept cautiously toward the edge of the trees. Down the river’s edge, I could make out forms engaging in a circle. A commotion held the attention of this small band of men. I eased ever so quietly through the underbrush to the edge of the trees. Seeing through the line of guards surrounding the scene, I smiled when I made out the turmoil concerned an elaborately dressed rider laying soaked within the river’s bend.

  A rather large and heavy legged man lay drenched while his purple headdress clung over his eyes. Screaming unintelligible words, his hands gripped his confining head piece in a vain attempt to relieve it from his head.

  “Your Majesty!”

  From the banks of the river, a little man cried, running into the strong flowing current. He stepped and slipped. In a desperate effort to fight his fall, he tried to compensate by lunging backwards only to find he, too, floundered in the cool river water. Frantic arms thrashed as he tried to stand, but with each attempt he would lose his footing and find himself once more face down in the water.

  I laughed soundly, hoping not to call attention to myself, but found I could not leave the humorous sight, especially since the water rose no more than waist deep at that point in the river.

  The band though seemed intent upon saving the regal man from himself, if nothing else. His Majesty, with a final heave, managed to free himself of his bondage, sending his emblematic head covering into the river’s current.

  Immediately another member of dubious band trotted his horse into the river, reaching down to retrieve the errant head dress. Extending his arm too far, he lost his balance, falling into the Kampar within inches of His Royal Highness. His hands extended out of the water, grabbing hold of the first solid object it could find, His Majesty’s leg. No sooner had he grasped hold than His Majesty floundered once more in the water.

  The enraged
monarch stumbled out of the water. He treaded out onto the bank in his waterlogged clothing. Dressed in bright purple jacket with a leather belt tied at the waist, his clothes hugged tightly to his wet, soaked body. His hair dark was as his eyes, which glared at all around. Although while I quite enjoyed the scene, I instinctually realized he was not a man to engage. Time to depart. I edged away from the sight.

  Except the moment I had begun to swing my leg over my pony, I halted, hearing a resounding voice shout.

  “Take hold! Do not let him depart!”

  Kela.

  I heard him at that moment. My arrogant brother!? Oh, all that is good! What had he done? Holding the reins of my pony behind me, I ambled back to the scene. How I had missed him sitting in the river laughing hysterically, I don’t know, but there he was, water-drenched with a broad grin on his young face!

  His feet dragged his body through the current. He shook his shoulder length hair back off his face. His horse stood quietly along the bank, his reins free to the ground. Falco stood, rubbing his forehead as if he had hit something.

  My mind raced, studying quickly all around with more thought than amusement. The small procession, which had the markings of a hunting party, consisted of around fifteen armed escorts. Most were dressed in bright gold and brown uniforms, their faces immaculate, without a trace of a beard. The guards made no effort to move except to encircle Falco on their horses. They gave him no room to make an escape, but Falco didn’t seem affected. Of course he didn’t. He was Falco!

  "Your Majesty! Let me help you.”

  His Majesty shoved the attendant back harshly. He walked intent upon Falco.

  “Who dares to disrupt my hunt? Knock me into the river!”

  “I beg your forgiveness, Your…,” Falco hesitated in a sarcastic fashion as he half bowed. “Highness. You have to forgive me once more, for I know not who I address. I can assure you, though, that my intentions were not to land within the river.”

  “Such insolence!”

  “Young man. Get down upon your knees and beg forgiveness from His Majesty, King Gregorius de Folur, King of Brixtone. The land you inhabit.” The voice carried from the small man the river had tried to swallow.

  “Again, my apologies, my lord,” Falco said, gesturing toward his horse. “It was not my intent. I will take my leave and will take more care upon my ride.”

  “You are going nowhere!” King de Folur snarled. He pointed to one on a horse. In a loud voice he demanded, “Seize him! A good flogging will teach this impudent blusterer the price one pays for such calamity!”

  One of the guards began to dismount. In a swift motion, Falco sprang towards him, easily having hold of the guard’s sword. He welded it with ease against de Folur’s chest.

  “Now, my lord, let me once more express my sincere apology for the accident, but I have no desire to be flogged upon this day.”

  Shaking my head in disbelief, I heard the mutterings of the warning Turstan had instilled within us. Lay low and never, never call attention to yourselves. We couldn’t afford to, but now I had no choice. I couldn’t allow my brother to be flogged by such an insolent man!

  Oh, Falco! Without issue, my brother would have need of me within moments. Mounting up, I kicked my pony’s flanks and rode up to the group. For a brief moment, I wondered about my decision. The band’s horses were of great stature, strong and clean-limbed. There would be no out-running them, but my appearance didn’t give way to much attention, except for one who sat still upon his mount.

  He was the most handsome man I had ever laid eyes upon. His long yellow hair tied back from the most telling eyes of the most unusual color, perchance a blue of sorts. He sat tall upon his mount with an amused look upon his face. The situation seemed to give him no cause for concern. His head tilted to one side. He looked curiously and closely at me. He glanced back at Falco.

  “Father,” the young man said. “Does not this ring strange to find such here? Take note of his back. Is not the forming of wings emerging? He is a Sordarin.”

  Panic surged within me. Falco’s wet shirt clung to his back, outlining the full skeletal formation. I held my breath as I caught my brother’s eye. His mark of his emblem blared out upon the back of his neck. The hope that no one noticed depleted when I glanced back at the young man sitting upon his mount. I quickly comprehended he did. Oh, hang the devil! He knew. We were in danger! Turstan was going to kill us if these men did not.

  Falco! I screamed from within me. There was no more time for playing around. Now!

  Falco dropped the sword upon the ground and in one motion he was upon Mayer’s back. Jerking back upon the rein of my horse, I inched backwards. Falco took off in a gallop. In a blink of an eye, one of the guards held his cross-bow in his hand, aiming at Falco’s back. Without hesitation my hand flicked toward the cross-bow and it flung out of the guard’s hand. A few of the guards tried to follow; light flashed while I called forth the full extent of my power, an instinctive surge.

  Turstan’s warnings forgotten, the only thought lay with protecting my brother. The guards urged their mounts to gallop. Immediately upon my thought, they hit what I am certain they thought to be an invisible wall, sending them sprawling upon the ground, moaning and groaning. I kept backtracking, not daring to turn my back upon the group. From the corner of my eye, I caught sight of the young prince. He hadn’t moved, but a smile formed upon his face, watching the sight before him.

  His father screamed for all to follow us. The prince shook his head as if he knew and understood. “It will do no good, Father.”

  King de Folur gave no heed. He directed his band in a chaotic manner. Falco called to me from the woods.

  It is set!

  With one more outstretch of my hand, the guards all were flung from their mounts as a force hit them. Abruptly I turned and galloped toward Falco while a mysterious fog appeared. Within the mist, Falco grabbed hold of my reins. In moments there would be no visibility and only Falco could navigate such.

  “Oh, Falco,” I began.

  “Do not go there, sister. Was that not the most fun? Did you see the look upon the king’s face?” Falco laughed. “They will think before confronting us again!”

  “One seemed to know, Falco. Did you not see? He saw your mark.”

  “You are letting your imagination play with your thoughts,” Falco dismissed my concerns. “Come, we need to get back before Gunilda sets supper.”

  I sighed heavily. It would do no good debating with Falco. He was probably right. Had we not been nomads for years: moving upon every suspicion Turstan had upon a stranger’s remake or look; never settling down; never making friends; and always looking, yet always overly cautious? Yes, Falco was right. If I mentioned the incident, we would be on the move once more and I liked this place. No, I would keep silent.

 

  Over eight years had passed since I lost my parents, a time forgotten - now lived only within my dreams. Since that time, we have lived a different life, protected only by two loyal servants whom served now as our guardians and protectors. Long ago, Turstan had determined that to survive we had to live within the shadows of the land around us. He trusted no one and over time he held to this oath.

  His previous life had been spent in service of Scarladin: his home, his country. This we knew because he had long told us his stories, especially when he drank his ale. Gunilda admonished him greatly when his tongue loosened with his drink, but the stories were the best when he did. I feared that Falco and I encouraged his talk when he was in such a state.

  In his youth he had been given charge within King Edulf Calledwdele’s Royal Wings. His days of service to King Edulf had been one of despair. Not long after he led a mission upon the boundary of the Payelaga Desert, his wife, Frieda, whom he loved dearly, had taken to her bed early with child. She did not survive, nor had his son. He fell in rank after not caring where his fate lay.

  Our father, Prince Mithelk, found him thus. He offered Turstan new standing and an escape
to the throes of Nottesdone. In this, Turstan gave his loyalty to his prince. Turstan was a grim man of great strength. His hair at one time had been raven dark, but now speckled with gray. His once proud wings had been damaged beyond repair during the battle where my father had lost his life. He held to his oath and protected us children with his life.

  Questions abounded upon what happened that night. Who had betrayed us? Why? And who could we now trust? To Turstan's way of thinking, Gunilda had been of little help in trying to rectify our situation, constantly saying it would be made known to all when it was time. Time? How much longer would time have to elapse? In truth, I believe Gunilda had no trust for Sordarins.

  The place called upon to serve as our home sat quietly a top of a hillside, a long, comfortable craft of a dwelling with a thatched roof of straw. The walls at places looked warped, bulging out, but if the truth be known of the times the house had been moved, one would wonder about the strength of such establishment. A stone hearth centered the kitchen with open shuttered windows on the bottom floor. The entrance door was wide and tall. No other entrance would be allowed where a Sordarin dwelled. Their wings would not allow for anything less. The ceilings were high and the rooms spacious and broad.

  Turstan stood comfortably within this house and saw to our needs, but he held no knowledge of childrearing. A Sordarin warrior had little to do with such, but he held no pity for himself. He did only what he knew. He had taught Falco the ways of the Sordarins, in which I followed suit. In turn, Gunilda had tried to instill into the two of us the Witheleghe’s ways, but at most ends, I'm afraid, she had been met with bitter disappointment. We were born to be Sordarins as our father, Turstan bolstered. Gunilda took comfort in Sareta, a true Witheleghean.

  Over time, all of us came to comprehend that Sareta held tremendous powers. A wish would become reality if Sareta felt the need, as when Turstan felt threatened. Sareta could will the whole of the house elsewhere. The problem lay with where elsewhere lay. We held no knowledge of where would be safe for all of us to grow. Turstan held firm it would be in Scarladin, but Gunilda cautioned all with the fear of betrayal. Had we not been betrayed by both Sordarins and Withelegheans?

  “When the time is right, all will fall into place, Turstan. We can’t force the issue. The children need time to gain strength. Do not be fooled into believing Asmeodai has ceased looking for them, especially Sareta. He must feel her power. It is better to use caution.”

  But of late, Sareta had grown weaker. Barely eight years of age, Sareta was a delicate creature with unearthly beauty. Illuminating from her was a glow, a white sheen. Her dark hair flowed down her back; her skin clear, white; her eyes were like an opening for the heavens, sparkling as stars. It was if she didn’t belong to this world. Gunilda constantly guarded over her.

  Gunilda, unlike Turstan, gave not quickly her knowledge. She held within her the understanding of Witheleghe. And made no secret she held to Sareta greatly. Gunilda stood slender and tall, n’ver given away her age, which must have been great. She had served my mother and her mother before her. She longed for her home, yet was terrified upon the comprehension of the waste it lay within upon the ascension of Asmeodai. She was a true Witheleghean. She abhorred violence, yet when called upon, gave no issue if Turstan felt the need for such. She lived in fear for herself and her charge, Sareta.

  My concerns forgotten, the two of us ran and giggled back from the barn toward the cottage on our return. We gave no notice of Gunilda who waited on the step, looking tired and worried. Immediately we both dug our heels in the ground, for we were met by her cold glare.

  For a tense moment of indecision, I exchanged glances with Falco. The look upon Gunilda's face gave no question that we had been caught and lay upon trouble. Most times, Turstan served between us and Gunilda, but Turstan was nowhere to be seen this day.

  “Explain quickly,” she demanded. Her frail body bent over, worn from the years and the stress we lived under. Her dry wrinkled skin folded tensely around her eyes. “Your sister has taken to her bed. What have you asked of her? Falco?”

  I lowered my head, noticing Falco biting his bottom lip while he thought.

  He uttered, “It was for fun only, Gunilda. We needed only a small favor. It wasn’t too much for Sareta. She did it with ease.”

  “Ease! She has taken to her bed. You take her too much for granted!”

  “We didn’t mean to, Gunilda. Is she going to be okay?” I asked, worry echoing within my voice. I stepped toward my sister’s room. Gunilda halted my progress with her hand.

  “I’ll take care of Sareta. I have warned you before and you do not listen. Have I told you not to ask of her? You know well she will give you both anything you want, but she hasn’t the strength. The years of need have put a strain upon her,” she sighed, studying the two of us. “Now, the question is what did you do?”