Key to the Stars, Page 2

Chapter 1

  Golden beams of sunshine streamed through the trees, filling the forest with the warmth of summer. Throughout the woods, wildlife stirred in the morning light. The warm breeze carried the birds' gentle melody along, bringing with it the sweet aroma of blooming flowers. Lush green bushes tipped with red and yellow brought a variety of color to the thriving foliage and gave the smaller creatures shelter from hunters. Above it all, Arus Sheeth lounged against the trunk of a large apple tree under the rising sunlight.

  "All right, Vultrel," he murmured, picking a shiny red apple from a branch above him. "Your move."

  Below, a lone deer made its way toward a nearby stream, its tiny hooves crunching the fallen acorns and twigs. Arus ran his fingers through his brilliant red hair, unconsciously tightening his grey bandana when they reached the strips of cloth tied behind his head. He took a bite of the apple and sat back to enjoy the morning, confident he was safely concealed by the trees. His loose brown pants matched the bark of the branches, and his red hair blended in with the countless apples around him. The deep blue of the morning sky was a close match with his tunic, and anyone who glanced in his direction would assume they were simply seeing through the trees and into the dawn above. His leather boots were a darker shade of brown, but they blended well with the many knots peppering the thicker branches near the trunk.

  Beneath him, the deer came to an abrupt halt and raised its head. It stood still as a statue, moving only its ears to track the sound that had drawn its attention. A moment later, it scampered off into the woods. Arus peered down, but his ears perked at the rustling of leaves in the tree behind him. A quick glance confirmed his suspicion.

  "That didn't take long," he grunted, dropping the apple and pulling himself higher into the tree. With the agility of a cat, he scurried through the branches away from the sound. When he neared a point where the thicker limbs of the next tree reached into his path, he used them as a bridge. Without looking back, he continued along, darting from tree to tree. His pursuer followed him, gaining on him, pushing him, forcing him to put every ounce of energy and concentration into his escape.

  "You're going to have to do better than this!" a familiar voice called from behind.

  Arus wasn't listening. The nearest tree stood a fair distance away, and he had no time to backtrack to the cluster on the opposite side. With a deep breath, he launched himself into the air, his hands outstretched as far as they would reach. Flesh met wood as his fingers grasped the nearest tree limb, and he swung his legs forward to a thick batch of branches below. They fractured under his weight, sending him flailing through a jumbled tangle of wood and leaves. He reached out blindly and found another limb, halting his descent.

  "That was graceful!"

  Arus looked up. The taunting voice came from directly above. The fastest escape would be on the dirt path beneath the trees, but his opponent's speed would overtake him. It always did.

  And that left him with only one choice.

  With a defiant grin, Arus released his grip on the branch. He drew a shimmering sword from the sheath at his hip as he fell, and his boots sank into the dirt path. Gravity pulled him to his knees, but his attention was on the black-haired young man falling toward him from the branches above his head. He was half a head taller than Arus, clad in dark pants and a sleeveless white tunic. The youth raised a long steel sword above his head. Arus rolled away as he landed, then leapt forward to cross blades with his best friend.

  "You're doing better than yesterday," Vultrel said with a smirk. "I almost didn't make that jump."

  Arus pushed his sword against Vultrel's. "Maybe I'll finally put a blemish on your record!"

  Steel flashed in the sunlight as the clashing of swords echoed across the forest. The morning duel had become daily routine for the boys before they returned to the village with fresh fruit for breakfast. Only fourteen years old, Arus still had much to learn about wielding a sword, but under the tutelage of Vultrel's father, Eaisan Lurei, he had developed a solid foundation of skills upon which to build. Still, although he and Vultrel had been training together since they were six, Vultrel had always come out of their practice duels as the victor.

  "You're anticipating my movements," Vultrel warned, deflecting Arus' outstretched sword. "Focus on what I do, not on what you think I'll do."

  "It's hard not to anticipate," Arus responded, meeting Vultrel's low slash with his blade. "I can't keep up with you if I don't use my knowledge of your techniques to—"

  Vultrel pulled his blade away and dropped to the ground, thrusting his right leg out in a wide kick. The blow knocked Arus' feet from under him. Vultrel was upright again before Arus' back had even hit the dirt. "A time will come when we will face opponents who use different styles and techniques than we do," he said, pointing his sword at his friend's throat. "We won't be able to anticipate anything then. We must discipline our minds to concentrate only on the moment, nothing before or after."

  Vultrel offered him a hand. As he pulled his partner up, Arus grabbed his wrist and twisted it behind his back. Before Vultrel could react, Arus' sword was at his neck. "There will also be a day when we face opponents with no honor. Don't be so eager to show compassion to a fallen enemy."

  Vultrel couldn't help but smile. "Quite right." He grabbed onto Arus' arm and pulled, flipping him head over heels. Arus tumbled to the dirt with a dull thud, and Vultrel again pointed his blade. "But don't forget that an enemy is not defeated until he is bound in shackles and imprisoned."

  Arus spun his sword up and knocked Vultrel's away, then scrambled to his feet. His attacks continued to bounce off of Vultrel's defenses, filling him with a mixture of frustration and admiration. Vultrel responded with an assault of his own; Arus was barely able to defend himself from the speed and variety of his movements. He soon found himself backed against a tree, Vultrel's blade pushing hard against his own.

  "Soldier's sight, eh?"

  Arus grimaced at his own lack of focus. Master Lurei had scolded him for it on numerous occasions; it referred to the negligence of a warrior concentrating so closely on his opponent that his lost track of his surroundings. The mind watched only the enemy, effectively blacking out the environment in a dangerous lapse of awareness. The phrase was a comparison to a soldier's blind devotion to his leader's cause, rushing to follow orders without considering the dangers of the mission.

  But Arus wasn't about to give up so easily. Summoning all the strength he could muster, he planted his left foot against the trunk of the tree and pushed himself forward, forcing Vultrel away. He gave no time for recovery, lunging with his sword raised. Vultrel dropped to the ground and threw his foot out once more, and Arus quickly found himself face-down in the dirt. Before he could get to his knees, Vultrel leapt onto his back, his blade once again at Arus' neck.

  "Checkmate."

  Arus sighed in defeat. He was no stranger to the phrase; Vultrel uttered it every time he claimed victory over another in combat. It had been directed toward him more times than he'd like to admit, but he always took his losses lightly, focusing more on lessons and experience than victory and defeat. "I thought an enemy wasn't defeated until he was disarmed and captured," he grinned, still clinging to the hilt of his weapon.

  "True," Vultrel agreed, "but if this were a real battle, nothing would've stopped my blade from severing your head from the rest of your body." He slipped his sword into the sheath strapped to his back and extended his hand.

  "At least I did better than yesterday," Arus said as Vultrel helped him up. "No mud patches to worry about today."

  "You did very well." Vultrel gave him a reassuring pat on the shoulder. "Don't be so hard on yourself. Father says we've both exceeded his expectations. Most students are still learning the basic forms at our age, but we had those lessons aced before we were ten!"

  Arus sheathed his weapon. While he knew that his skills were above average, he refused to allow hims
elf any pride. Pride led to arrogance, and arrogance was a weakness that enemies would be quick to exploit. No matter how much he trained, there would always be room for improvement. With a gracious smile, he bowed to his training partner. "An excellent training session as always, Vultrel."

  Vultrel returned the bow of respect. "Likewise, Arus. A commendable effort on your part."

  The warm breeze blew as Arus wiped his forehead. The sweet aroma of the forest filled him with the memories of a thousand summer mornings gone by when there was nothing to consume his time but to play tag with Vultrel in the village square or chase rabbits in the forest. His father's death had forced maturity on him early, and he often missed the days when he could run off and play for hours on end without having to concern himself with housework and chores. But he was the man of the house now, and he certainly wasn't going to leave all the work to his mother.

  "Now," Vultrel began, "where did we leave our fruit?"

  "This way."

  While Vultrel had been put to work on his family farm at ten years old, Arus had spent much of his time in the forest, hunting deer and gathering firewood. His afternoons had taken him through just about every inch of the woods, sometimes even deep enough that he could see the golden sand of the Mayahol Desert through the trees to the east. He never ventured into the desert; the land had been forbidden territory since the end of the Vermillion War.

  They headed west to retrieve the fruit they'd gathered earlier in the morning. The smoky aroma from the village chimneys crept upon them as they neared the forest's edge. Before long they came to the main road, an old dirt path just outside the walls of Keroko Village. With sacks of fruit slung over their shoulders, they approached the main gates. Two soldiers clad in leather armor and armed with polearms stood guard at either side of the archway. Not that armed guards were needed these days—there had been little need for them since the end of the war—but they served to keep wild animals out of the village and catch petty thieves trying to escape.

  The guard on the left, a short but burly young man named Solaan, greeted the boys with a warm smile. "G'morning, Arus! Morning, Vultrel! Looks like we're in for a fine day today, don't you think?"

  Arus returned the smile, bowing his head in respect. "Beautiful," he agreed. "Not a cloud in the sky."

  The guard on the right, thinner than Solaan but no less muscular, spoke. "How did this morning's training go, Vultrel?"

  "Undefeated as always, Markus," Vultrel responded with a sly grin. "But Arus put up a good fight. I don't know how much longer the record will last."

  Arus laughed as he tossed an apple to Solaan. Vultrel handed an orange to Markus. The guards bowed in appreciation as the boys passed under the stone archway and headed into town.

  Keroko was one of the larger villages in the western region of the kingdom of Asteria. It was well-known for its agriculture, with traders from all over traveling for weeks just to taste a Keroko-grown orange or purchase an ear of corn. Just about everyone in Keroko was a farmer in one form or another, whether working on their own land or on their neighbor's field. Even the smallest homes on the most crowded streets had small gardens where tomatoes and carrots were grown. The center of town, known as Trader's Square, was the hub of Keroko's economy. Peddlers and farmers lined up their carts there and rented wooden stands to showcase their goods. Buildings constructed of wood and brick surrounded the Square, housing various shops.

  Though the village flourished, it hadn't been long ago that Keroko—and Asteria itself—had been brought to the brink of collapse. A decade prior, a band of men calling themselves the Vermillion Mages appeared in the Mayahol Desert. They wielded unspeakable powers, calling the forces of the planet to their aid. They handled fire like it was a toy, called lightning from a cloudless sky, and even manipulated the power of raw energy, unleashing spheres and beams of light that incinerated anything or anyone foolish enough to stand in their way.

  Arus unconsciously rested his hand on the hilt of his sword, remembering those days. His father, Master Dayne Sheeth, led the village militia alongside Master Eaisan Lurei. The Mages attacked from the east after dark, leveling buildings and killing countless. Though the battle was fierce, the villagers later learned that it had merely been a diversion to keep them from interfering with the battle taking place at Cathymel, the capital of Asteria and home of the royal Castle Asteria to the north. Once Keroko had been secured, Eaisan and Dayne mounted their horses and rode to the capital. It was days later when they arrived, but the fight yet raged. They finally returned to Keroko after two weeks, wounded but victorious. The Mages leader, a man named Aratus Truce, had been slain, and his few remaining disciples had vanished into the Mayahol. Since then, the desert had been declared forbidden territory, and none dared to set foot in its golden sands.

  Vultrel's hand on his shoulder pulled Arus from his thoughts. "You all right? You seem a bit preoccupied this morning."

  Arus nodded. "I'm fine. Just . . . remembering things, that's all."

  It was all he needed to say. "He's proud of you, Arus," Vultrel assured. "You can count on that."

  Arus hadn't ever spoken much to Vultrel about his father's death; it wasn't an easy topic to discuss. "I know," he nodded, "I just never . . . never got to tell him how proud I was of him."

  Vultrel patted his shoulder. "I'm sure he knows, Arus."

  The two reached the Boyer farm, a spot where the road split to the north and west. The north led to Vultrel's farm, while the west passed Arus' home. It was where the boys met every morning before gathering breakfast, and where they separated hours later. Vultrel bowed. "See you at the festival tonight?"

  Arus had nearly forgotten. The Festival of Souls would be held that night; a yearly gathering of the villagers in Trader's Square to celebrate the lives of loved ones lost over the years. There would be singing and dancing, music and games. The adults would drink too much ale, and the children would run about catching fireflies. The most anticipated event was always Master Eaisan's rendition of The Blade of Kaleo, a story he told every year. "I'll be there," Arus finally said, returning the bow. "After all, I have to know if The Blade of Kaleo will be found this year!"

  Vultrel let loose with laughter. "I'll tell Father you're looking forward to it! Talk to you later!"

  He turned and raced up the northern path, and Arus headed home. It was little wonder he'd been thinking more about his father lately. The festival always brought back old feelings and memories. He remembered the day his father died as though it had happened yesterday. Arus was six years old at the time, and Master Dayne had just returned from the last battle of the Vermillion War with Master Eaisan. Though Vultrel's father was battered and bruised, Master Dayne was in far worse condition. He barely had enough time to say goodbye to his wife and child before he died.

  "Arus!" a woman's voice called in the distance. His mother, Elayna-Marin Sheeth, stood on the front steps of their small brick house. She waved to him with a look of impatience on her face. "You're late!"

  He ran the rest of the way and skidded to a halt just in front of the gate. "I'm sorry. Got a little . . . um . . . tied up back there."

  Arus' mother was a short woman, scarcely forty years of age. Her scarlet hair was tied up in a neat bun, and she folded her arms across her white kitchen apron. The impatience on her face was already fading. "I know I put a lot of stress on you," she sympathized, the sun causing her blue-green eyes to sparkle, "more than most boys your age probably have to take from their mothers. But please try to keep track of time for my sake. I get worried when you're out so close to the Mayahol and don't return when expected. It makes my hair turn grey faster than necessary!"

  Arus rolled his eyes as she plucked at her bun. "Your hair isn't turning grey, Mother," he chuckled, following her into the house. "Don't worry about me. I apologize for being late, but I can handle myself out there."

  The smell of fresh brea
d and butter filled the tiny home. Elayna immediately took his bundle of fruit to the counter to be cleaned and prepared for breakfast. The house was decorated with a warmth that only a mother could give, with hand-stitched curtains and flowerpots on the window sills. The interior was mostly constructed from wood, save for the brick stove in the kitchen. A wooden rocking chair sat next to it, draped with Elayna's half-finished knitting projects. A round table sat beside the staircase which led to the second floor. Empty plates rested in front of two handcrafted chairs at the table.

  "Breakfast will be ready in just a minute," Elayna said.

  Arus unlatched the clasp on his scabbard and climbed the stairs. His bedroom was simple, with only his bed on the left and the wardrobe on the right. Between them stood a polished wooden sword stand carved by Dayne Sheeth. Arus treasured it almost as much as the weapon he placed in it. The base was flat, with two forked pieces of wood extending upward on either end. His sword was a single-edged blade, curved so slightly that it was almost imperceptible to the naked eye. Still in its scabbard, the handle of the weapon sat snugly in one fork, and the blade-end of the red sheath fit into the other.

  "Don't worry, Father," he murmured, bowing in respect, "I'll make sure everyone remembers you tonight."