Cycles of Therran: Volume One

By Zakk Duffy

The Cycles of Therran began when the tainted god first appeared and attempted to annihilate the land of Therran and all life upon it. Since his defeat, the tainted god rises from dormancy every thousand years, creating the Cycles. Seepage of Darkness is the first volume that chronicles the occurrence of the 5th Cycle.

Tret is raised by his parents on a reclusive mountainside. His parents are killed from a magical attack just prior to his thirteenth birthday. For the next four years he lives alone on the mountainside, surviving as best as he is able. Moreck, a friend of his deceased parents, finally locates him. Tret finds out the truth about himself and his parents, which had been hidden from him since his birth. The young sorcerer follows Moreck, a master swordsman, to continue with the quest his parents began before he was born.

The races of the elf, dwarf, and fae separated themselves from the human race almost one thousand ago, after the ending of the last Cycle; becoming present day myths. A magical talisman, belonging to each of the races, must find a wielder of it and come together for the final battle with the tainted god.

Three different harbingers appear in the world, one at a time, preparing the way for the coming of their master. Records of them and the past Cycles were written in an ancient language that has been forgotten. Moreck and Tret set out to uncover lost knowledge, unite the talismans and their wielders, engage in a campaign to defend the land of Therran from the harbingers, and battle an evil group of sorcerers known as the Pentad.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Xlibris US
• Release date: Feb 27, 2015
• ISBN: 9781503531031

Zakk Duffy

Zakk Duffy has lived in the far northern continental United States, to the far south, and from the East Coast to the West Coast. A passion for viewing new sights, discovery, traveling, and the wilderness has been active since a child. This led to many adventures and the meeting of unusual characters. He has been involved in technical writing—editorial essays and articles. The reading of science fantasy began at an early age and has captivated his interest and imagination throughout his life. The enjoyment of combining real-life experiences with the creation of a world within the science fantasy realm cannot be adequately expressed. Zakk Duffy currently lives in the northeast United States in a small country town and continues to write.

Book preview

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Copyright © 2015 by Zakk Duffy.

Library of Congress Control Number:   2014922868

ISBN:      Hardcover                     978-1-5035-3101-7

                Softcover                      978-1-5035-3102-4

                eBook                            978-1-5035-3103-1

All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic or mechanical, including photocopying, recording, or by any information storage and retrieval system, without permission in writing from the copyright owner.

This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places and incidents either are the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously, and any resemblance to any actual persons, living or dead, events, or locales is entirely coincidental.

Any people depicted in stock imagery provided by Thinkstock are models, and such images are being used for illustrative purposes only.

Certain stock imagery © Thinkstock.

Rev. date: 02/17/2015

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TABLE OF CONTENTS

Chapter One Orphaned

Chapter Two Pixie Fae

Chapter Three Seplar Cub

Chapter Four Journey North

Chapter Five Offspring Of Sordin & Ianna

Chapter Six Helassia

Chapter Seven Brannon’s Journey

Chapter Eight High Council & Pentad

Chapter Nine Harbinger

Chapter Ten Battle

Chapter Eleven Naibia

CHAPTER ONE

ORPHANED

Year 987 of the Fifth Cycle:

No life. None at all. Total absence. The entire glade was clear of anything living. No flora of any kind, nor signs of decaying remnants. Flying insects avoided any path that led over that lifeless spot of earth, circling around it. There was only naked ground… and that dark mound of ash which decorated its center.

Tret knew the pile of ash also consisted of his now deceased parents. He felt them leave this world four hours ago, when that burst of brightness lit up the midnight sky. An unnatural brilliant luminescent glow loomed high over his home for perhaps ten seconds, casting eerie shadows where they should not be. The illumination had reached the rock ledge where he was camping, higher up on the mountainside.

Instant shock and grief had gripped him. It did not require the use of his magical abilities to know that death occurred. A bond was broken. The sacred life-sensed bond of a child and his parents. It no longer existed, severed by death. The presence of his parents on this world was no more. He no longer felt whole. A part of him was ripped away, leaving an emptiness with an endless depth.

Tret knelt outside the barren glade, watching the sporadic display of miniature flame-shaped orbs that danced upon the surface of the mound. They were extremely pale white in color. Each flame-like white glow seemed to contain an inner blackened shadow of itself, a darkness within the pale light. The grey-black powdered debris remained extremely dull in contrast, as if paying tribute to the dead and departed.

Several flame-shaped orbs would sprout up, flicker for a few moments, then die out. More would appear as those disappeared. The cycle was continuous. It captivated one’s vision as they blinked in and out of existence. The effect was mesmerizing. Tret felt entranced.

A strange unknown attraction coursed through his veins. The dark mound seemed to be summoning him… the flamed orbs of light calling to him. Both worked in unison, increasing his desire to stand and walk into the glade. The entire clearing seemed to pulsate. It was hard to tell exactly what it was. It was too feint to be distinct, but he felt it.

Tret instinctively stayed out of the clearing. Residue of unfamiliar magic seemed to lie in waiting, like a trap unsprung. Perhaps it was paranoia, but he suspected it wasn’t. His ma had repeatedly told him to be exceedingly cautious when encountering unknown magic. Her past words reverberated through his mind, enforcing his will and choice to remain where he was. A mere twelve years of existence did not prepare him for a situation such as this.

Tret sat on his haunches, gazing at the remains of his home. He rearranged the position of his legs for the seventh time. He had not moved from this spot for hours. It seemed but a few moments, as well as an eternity. It was as if a noose had been placed around time, and hung there suspended… choking on itself.

How could this have happen? The shock of the unbelievable, the unimaginable, vibrated through his entire being. It had a numbing effect. The denial in his mind placed him in a strange paralysis, unable to think. An aspect of him remained clear headed, but mainly he felt stunned and in a daze.

A light breeze felt cool as it caressed the wetness on his face. He had not been aware that tears had fallen… and that they still continued to do so. Evidently, the physical body could react on its own, in response to one’s inner emotional distress and sorrow.

The sun was beginning to show its glint of rays from the newly arising day. Tret could almost hear a hiss, when the morning’s sunbeams touched down upon the scarred earth of the newly made gravesite. At that moment, an unexplainable quiver surged up from the base of his spine to the back of his skull. His young body shook. The trance-like state shattered, and he was part of the real world once more.

A village was situated at the base of the mountainside. The townsfolk would not have missed the temporary flash of brilliance from the past night. Right now, he guessed that Seleena would be organizing a group to make the trek up the mountainside. Perhaps five villagers would come, maybe only the one. It would be time consuming, being a journey that led three quarters of the way up the mountain’s slope. And the upper portion of this mountain range was greatly feared.

What would be found, would only be the ashy remains centered in the middle of a now barren and dirt riddled ground. Tret was not planning on being here, or anywhere in the vicinity. Anyone that came, would try to persuade him into going back to town. That was inevitable. And because of his young age, likely to attempt to force him if he did not comply. Seleena would make the climb up here. Of that, he was quite certain. She was one of the only two people that had ever visited his parents at their home. The woman was a close friend of his mother. She would place a sleeping spell on him if she felt it was necessary. Tret was determined that would not happen.

Shaking his legs to initiate proper circulation to them, he decided to return to the Brodarian Shelf. It was an instinctive choice. The campsite up there was a second home to him. He doubted any of the villagers would dare venture further up the mountain, even Seleena. It was the domain and breeding grounds of the Red Cougar, a creation of the god Brodar. No other life form lived on that rock ledge. It was shunned not solely by humans, but by all creatures.

Tret slowly stood up and took a step backwards, searching to see which plants were too bent or broken in order to recuperate and right themselves. Finding a few plants that were too injured, he gently plucked them from the earth. The plants were shook over the spot from which he had pulled them. The fallen loose dirt was placed into the depression that the removal of the plants made. The loose earth was pressed flat, then covered with some leaves and / or dead twigs

Tret continued to attempt to cover any visible signs of his recent presence, such as impressions made on the ground. It was done automatically, without thought. His father, Sturmon, began teaching him about tracks at an exceedingly early age.

Tret decided to follow the same path up, as that of which he descended. That allowed for an opportunity to cover up both set of tracks simultaneously. If someone thought he was alive, and could not initially locate him, another search might come later. Tret wanted to give the impression that he was in the cabin, at the time it was magically burned and turned to ash. Only magic could have caused the devastation he witnessed.

Tret set to retracing his path back to the shelf, wiping any signs of passage which he was able. It led almost directly north and above him. It wound up being a more difficult task than anticipated. The speedy and reckless descent left blatant signs of passage. Deep foot prints from landing when jumping down a decline, skid marks, moss torn off rocks, injured plants, and more left an obvious path. He had to force himself to take the time it required to cover or disguise the trail he left behind, during his furious flight back home last night.

A feeling of relief engulfed him when he finally reached the ledge and stood on its surface. The sight of the massive vertical cliffs, towering straight up into the vast reaches of the sky, renewed some sense of security. It was a bit odd in a sense… the way he felt safe and secure, while others would only feel terror.

The Brodarian Shelf was considered a place of horror and death by the people of Therran. But Tret camped there frequently. It was why he was not at home when the attack came. Tret was to gather wood and do other chores to prepare the camp. He did that as often as possible, giving his parents a chance to spend a night together alone. There was not much he could actually do for his parents… at least not special, anyways. That he could do.

His da was to join him the following morning. They had planned to mine precious stone from a vein that he had discovered on a previous camping trip. But most of the time would have been spent traveling west along the ledge, exploring new pathways that led into the many vertical splits that led into the wall of the towering cliff.

The rock shelf, located at the base of the cliff, ran from the west coast of Therran, to the east coast. It was also the highest point of the mountain range that anyone could go. The three - four hundred foot cliff extended the entire length of the mountain range, situated along the back side of the ledge. It was an impassable rock curtain that was too sheer to climb. What lay on the other side, if anything at all, no one knew.

Tret immediately made his way to the lean-to, after reaching the flat surface of the Brodarian Shelf. The camp site was not located on the open section of the ledge. The cliff contained many paths that led into its bosom. An entrance into the cliffs could be ten inches in width, or twenty feet. Of these passages inward, none were tunnels. They resembled gigantic cracks into an otherwise solid stone cliff wall. Every passage had the sheer rock walls, and the absence of a ceiling. When looking up, one would view open sky. Some passageways widened significantly. An increase in width generally occurred where other passages branched off in multiple different directions. Another spot of a widening was where it dead-ended… causing a kind of cul-de-sac. All paths into the cliff eventually ended.

Years ago a base camp was made, at the end of a passage which held one of those cul-de-sacs. From the entrance, it was situated inward a distance of roughly one hundred feet or so. The site itself was at its end, and approximately two hundred feet in diameter. A perfect place for a base camp, while spending time on the shelf.

A rustle of air touched the side of his foot. Looking down, Tret saw a tear in his deer hide footwear. It must have occurred when he ran down the mountain’s side last night. The soles of both were thin, and he had been meaning to swap them out with a new pair. That new pair was now part of an ash pile. Bending over, Tret removed his current footwear. His life felt as ruined as his footwear. Disgusted, Tret flung them back towards the woods and over the ledge of which he had just ascended.

The entrance to the camp was directly across the flat rock floor of the ledge. Tret moved sluggishly. His body had life, but he felt withered and mostly dead inside.

Accompanied by the shock and grief of losing his parents, it was but a natural response… to seek out a place which offered some sense of comfort and security.

Upon reaching the campsite, Tret entered the lean-to. Intending to sleep and find relief from this living nightmare, he laid his body down and curled into a fetal position. For the sake of his own sanity, he needed a break from the world… to remove himself from it, and all it represented. Sleep overtook him in the passing of a few minutes.

Tret stirred, his own sobbing waking him from his slumber. The intensity of his recent loss was strangling him. Briefly opening his eyes, the wall of the lean-to entered into his vision. His gaze turned to the entrance of the lean-to.

A man’s face was peering down at him. Long straggly hair with a color mix of silver and copper surrounded the man’s head. The eyes were orange! The image spoke. I hear a crying baby. Yes, yes… a crying baby with the body of a young lad.

The image spoke as if he found his observation as being humorous, cackling slightly after he made his declaration.

Hallucination? Nightmare? Maybe a dream within a dream. Tret looked around the lean-to, attempting to find something in it that should not be there, or if something was missing or out of place. Anything that would indicate he was dreaming. All appeared as real and as it should be. When his sight returned to the doorway, nothing was there. The apparition was gone. Had he succumbed to a madness, crazed with grief?

Tret willed himself back to sleep. Or perhaps it was just an attempt to dream a different dream, and leave the current one. He was not certain what was real or not real.

It was dark outside. Whether it was the noise or the pain from his gut that woke him, he hadn’t a clue. Tret’s stomach rumbled with a growl that sounded like an upset mother bear. It was empty and wanted filling. He had no interest in satisfying its desires. Ignoring the belly’s grievances, he again willed himself into the blank comfort of unconsciousness.

Tret’s eyes opened. Light was coming in through the lean-to’s entrance. He lowered his eyelids over his eyes, and eventually he was asleep once more.

Fire. The sound of burning crackling wood penetrated his ears and slumber. Tret recognized it for what it was. A blazing camp fire.

Eyes remaining shut and body motionless, he listened. Nothing else was heard. Not a voice, not a foot step, nor any other manner of sound. Another dream seeming as real?

Fifteen minutes passed. No change. The silence of the night was being broken by the flaming wood, and naught else.

Someone had to have created the camp fire, if indeed there was one and he was not dreaming or going insane. But no one dared to visit the Brodarian Shelf. And who would know of his campsite? Tret briefly wondered if he might have made the campfire. Sleep walking perhaps. That might be the answer…. if he was not still in a dream.

His mind walked in a maze of confusion. What was real? What was illusional? What was happening? What state was he in? Uuggghhh!!! Tret had to resist a great urge to pound his head till some sense came into it, or knock himself into oblivion. The sound of the campfire would not go away.

Breathe deeply. Breathe slowly. Calm yourself. Clear the mind. Past training came to his rescue. Tret let go of a silent thank you to his parents, regardless if they were aware of it or not. Expressing his gratitude was that which really mattered.

Tret sat up. After a moment, he rose to his feet and stepped outside the entrance to the hut.

A figure stood by the campfire. It stood facing the fire’s leaping flames, with its back towards him and the lean-to. It looked to be a man just under six feet in height. It was hard to tell exactly, since a hood was raised over his head. He wore a robe with black trimmings. The seam line at the bottom of the robe, the end of the sleeves, the neckline, and the belt wrapped around the waist… were all black. The rest of the garment was orange, neither light nor dark, though a bit faded.

The figure turned around. It possessed the same face which peered at him through the doorway not long ago. The orange of his eyes seemed to glow.

You are a self-pitying useless little boy that one’s parents could only be ashamed of., scolded the strange apparition with undisguised contempt.

Emotional grief, despair, and turmoil churned within Tret, as if caught in a raging whirlpool. Muscles became extremely tense and rigid. His body flushed with heat. Tret succumbed to an unfamiliar temper. His head throbbed as uncontrollable ire overwhelmed him. Frenzied fury seized him. Hot rage sizzled about him like molten grease on bacon.

Who are you to speak to me like that? Tret raised his arm, thrusting it forward and toward the figure. Lefier surlai he mumbled as lightning shot forth from his fingers tips.

Astonishment, mingled with puzzlement, replaced Tret’s prior seething. How could this be? The bolt had ricocheted skyward, a few feet before reaching him.

The old man’s scowling visage switched to one of mirth. The figure then vanished, leaving behind a shadowed sound of that insidious cackling which he had heard before.

Who, or what, could that be? Now that his parents were gone, only Tret and the gods knew of this place. Only he and the gods did not fear this place.

Was this a punishment of some kind? Were the gods torturing him for their pleasure? Was it not enough that the two people he dearly loved were taken away from him, his family gone? Was he being pushed into that crazed void called insanity? What was happening? Why send that unnatural creature to taunt him?

Beads of sweat poured out of the surface of his skin. They merged together and formed a stream of perspiration that flowed down his forehead and into his eyes. The salty liquid stung. Blurred vision and heavy breathing added to the mind boggling perplexity he was already facing.

Tret cursed the gods, his tongue lashing out with a volition of its own. Tret’s knowledge of curses was limited, but those he knew were released with a fierce savagery of which he had rarely experienced in his short lifespan

Why are you doing this to me? Have I not suffered enough? What else is going to be inflicted on me? I have had enough of this. What is it that you wish me to do? Question after question ransacked through his brain.

The tender twelve year old’s mind had taken all it could take.

Choose now, he bellowed out loud, Tell me what you want, or send me to the spirit world !!!

Tret could not stop quivering as he waited.

Time passed. Nothing happened. No response whatsoever.

Within his mind, he shouted out again.

Then again. And again.

Nothing… nothing… nothing.

Tret let out a thunderous screeching howl that a human throat should not be able to produce. It contained all the hurt, frustration, and anguish from every fiber of his being. He dropped to his knees, feeling completely emotionless and totally drained. A moment later, he tottered and fell sideways to the ground. Tret was unconscious before his body made contact with it.

Tret felt his body rise, hardly conscious that he did. He was not aware of how long he had laid on the stone ground unconscious… nor cared.

The light of a mid-afternoon sun casted a brightness on the day. It was a brightness he did not feel. The youngster left the cul-de-sac that was situated in the cliffs, and trotted down the passageway. His legs began to feel a bit cramped from being unused, or in one position, for too long. They were stiff, not limber. It did not matter, he did not care.

Exiting from the entrance into the cliffs, a turn was made to the right, heading west. There was an inner drive to keep moving. Stopping was not an option. Built up energy went to the legs. The rise and fall of them became faster and faster. It was as if an accelerated speed could run his problems into the ground, grinding them into dust and making them insignificant or non-existent. Objects on either side flashed by, a blur to his peripheral vision.

It was not long before leg muscles felt more cramping. The added pain bolstered his incentive to run.

Further along the western ridge of the shelf, the soles of his bare feet let it be known that they were being put through a grueling ordeal. No attention was paid to it. Tret ignored the complaints of the body. His lack of caring had placed him in a mental state too far removed from the concerns of the physical realm.

Eight miles later, the adrenaline was a lingering memory. The resources of that excessive energy became depleted, leaving his lungs gasping for breath. Lightheadedness accompanied exhaustion.

Tret plopped on the ledge floor directly beneath him, allowing his body to start recovering from that insane race that brought him to his present location.

There was a vague awareness of a stifled and frigid inner rage that dwelled deep within him, but it was not felt externally. Instead, a strange form of serenity saturated both his mental and physical self.

Tret had caught sight of a Red Cougar, just prior to his halt. Thoughts of the strange feline filled his mind as he sat and recuperated from the run.

The shelf above his past home had originally been the habitat to a number of Red Cougar. Though the Red Cougar housed themselves on the shelf, their feeding grounds consisted of the forest. There was not much choice in the matter, since the Red Cougar was the only creature living on the Brodarian Shelf.

It was the territory given to them by their god and maker. Brodar created them to be powerful, and basically invulnerable. No warrior or soldier had been recorded to have killed one, for no known weapon could pierce its body. No sorcerer had been recorded to have killed one either. The red glare of their eyes had the ability to entrance, rendering the magic user completely immobile…. and easy prey. If the sorcerer knew not to look into its eyes, and casted a lightning spell, the lightning would rebound off their skin. A ball of fire would burn the hair growing from their hide, but otherwise it would not be harmed. A magic user could conjure anything with a spell, attack the feline with it, and it would not penetrate the Red Cougar’s outer skin. It was immune to magical attack.

His mother could kill them though, and had. For some reason, his mother greatly respected the Red Cougar and would not hunt them down, but only protect and kill in defense if necessary. She did not attack the creature from the outside, but from the inside. She froze their blood. The cat’s outer coating was not a barrier to magic itself, but only to that which the magic manifested into. How or when his ma discovered that weakness, he did not know.

The group of felines that had lived right above their cabin were all dead. It was five years of living on that mountainside, before the last of that brood challenged her. Since then, others along the ledge treated them as if they were non-existent. According to his mother, the members of that particular feline species were intelligent beings.

A kind of unspoken truce was enacted. They let the Red Cougar be, and the Red Cougar let them be. It was a mutual understanding.

Tret recalled how he had annoyed his parents by insisting that he should be able to go the shelf alone, or beyond shouting distance into the woods, without one of them as a chaperone. It was less than a year of nagging, and his ma relented. Tret thought that she realized he would eventually wander off wherever his feet would take him, regardless of the restrictions placed upon him. The desire for a freedom and an independence was human nature, and that independence would grow as the child grew.

Tret had tried to control the sudden impulses that came up from within him. Oftentimes, it was too difficult to resist. Or maybe it was simply that he did not wish to. His mother viewed it as being compulsive, rash, and reckless. She did not conceal the fact that it worried and concerned her. To her mind, it was a trait that her son was better off not having.

He had not any fear of the creatures of the ledge… after all, he was nine and could take care of himself. Besides, the Red Cougar had left them alone for the past four years. When his family encountered one of those predatory cats, they were ignored. An attack or challenge would not be forthcoming.

Consent had be given to Tret, for him to be allowed to visit the ledge unattended. But there had been a condition. He had to successfully be able to cast the spell that froze their blood. Once the content of the spell was taught, it took a year to actually master it. It seemed to be an eternity to him. He did not know it at the time, but his ma expected it to take two years. Truth be told, it was not the first time he surpassed her expectations. But his ma, reluctant as she was, kept her word as she always did. He cherished that quality about her.

Tret remembered casting his first spell at the age of five. It was accomplished on his own, by mimicking his ma. He had watched her do it over and over again. It was a simple fire spell… but it did not work as he intended.

Instead of small flames igniting the unlit campfire wood, huge flames appeared… the tips of them rising upward to ten feet. The intensity of the heat instantly turned the wood into blackened cinder. Fortunately, no one was near it when the spell was cast…. though Tret was close enough to receive a few mild burns on his skin, and the singeing of some hair.

Being a young child, he could not fathom why his ma reacted the way she did. Her startlement had startled him. But her startlement quickly altered. Tret was familiar with that look. The downward tilt of the eye brows, the glare that lit up the pupils, the flushing of the cheeks, the setting of the jaw, the tightening of the flesh on her face… those were all signs of how upset and disturbed she was of what he did..

Personal pride of casting a spell disappeared faster than a snake striking its prey. His desire to please brought displeasure. Tret’s smile of accomplishment abandoned him. A dejected and teary eyed child sat waiting for a scolding, not knowing why it was coming.

Looking back, Tret did not regret the event. It resulted in his ma initiating the teaching of spell casting three years earlier than she originally planned to.

Tret knew why his mother insisted that he be able to cast the blood freezing spell. Although no Red Cougar now nested above on the ledge, there still existed a danger from their race. An exception, to the general rule of a mutual truce, could feasibly occur. The adult Red Cougar were overly protective of their young. Drastically so. Cubs were uncommon in regard to their species. To say they did not engage in breeding regularly would be an understatement. If the parent of a cub felt that the cub was threatened in the least, the parent would likely attack, truce or no truce. That was why he was required to cast the spell properly.

Eventually, Tret also learned to control the spell, so it would not kill. By chilling the blood instead of freezing it, an animal would become slow in movement…. similar to a snake in cold weather. The content of the spell is the same, but a limit is placed on the amount of power and how it is directed. If the mind was trained, one could regulate it. It required a certain type of meditation to train the mind adequately, and much practice to focus the power appropriately. That was much more important than merely learning the content or words of various spells.

Quantity does not surpass quality. …. was one of his mother’s favorite sayings.

His father had been a member of the Warriors Guild at one time. While one parent shared knowledge of magic, the other taught the combat skills of a warrior class. Tret did not take to the use of weapons, as he did magic. Being his father’s only child, Tret made the effort to engage in the combat training with as much enthusiasm as he did magic. He did not want to be a disappointment to the man he loved and admired.

Upon reflection, he may have shown himself to be overzealous at times…. an over compensating for his lack of desire to learn physical combat, compared to the usage of magic. While they rested between exercises, he and his da would converse about various subject matter. The different guilds and the arts they taught, were common topics. He would chuckle and say things like: If a man truly mastered two arts, such as magic and combat, he would no longer be part of the human race. or To excel in more than one art would make one’s head spin so quickly, it’d likely fly off his shoulders.

Tret’s father enjoyed joking with him, even playing pranks. He always felt extra comfortable and more relaxed when with his da. There was something about his father that lifted the lowest of spirits. His good natured humor was infectious. Outgoing, friendly, respectful, cheery, were all terms that would be descriptive of his personality. Trusting and confiding in him seemed as natural as a bud blossoming.

There were a few occasions that his ma said to him, Do not try your da’s patience and anger him. Even a demon would be intimidated by him when he’s angry. And she was gravely serious when she spoke those words. It confounded him. Since when did his da ever get angry? Was he even capable of such an emotion? His da may have shown displeasure or irritation in regards to a subject matter or event, but there was no ire behind it. In the past, Tret did attempt to imagine his father being angry, but it was futile. He could not envision an angered face being on him, or what it may possibly look like. It was too foreign a concept.

Tret’s ma, in contrast, had a sober disposition. Being stern and serious was not an uncommon state for her. To him, she appeared to have a deep concern or worry about something which never quite left her mind. What it could be, he had no idea. He viewed their life as basically care free.

Tret’s conscious thoughts switched from the past to the present. He breathed easier and evenly, though his lower limbs continued to ache considerably. A muscle would knot up, and he’d massage it till it cleared. The soles of his feet had lost more than a few layers of skin. They would take time to heal. As he sat there and rested, thoughts continued to whirl within his head.

Evidently the gods wished him to live…. and live he would. But it would be on his terms. Any god or goddess could threaten or do with him what they will. It would make no difference. He would choose as he wished. He would do as he pleased…. no matter the consequences that the gods may force upon him.

A brief vision of him being bent over, facing his butt towards the gods, flashed through his mind. He chuckled, though it sounded more like a gurgle. One should not make fun of the gods. Refusing to do a god’s bidding was not the same as taunting and mocking the gods. There was a line that should not be crossed.

Tret was god-free, not god-bound. He had not chosen a god to follow. Zarka, the god of the warrior and of battle, was the god his father had chosen to be a follower of. His mother… well… that was unclear. She knew the lore and spells taught by the followers of the goddess Nadia, who was the caretaker of all living creatures. But she was a sorceress. A sorceress did not lay claim to or adhere to any one type of magic, nor one god / goddess. His mother was an enigma.

Both his parents said that the gods manipulated the lives of men. They called it destiny. His da referred to it as The game of the gods. A human was a living pawn, if that person played a part in one of their schemes. He did not expound on that general statement, but did promise to go into more detail once they left the mountainside and began to travel. That was to be a day after his thirteenth birthday, when childhood officially ended. Too many of his questions had a response of waiting till they left the mountainside. Patience is a virtue, was one of his father’s favorite sayings. His parents seemed to have an endless supply of them.

Tret decided to choose a goal. A reason to stay in this world. Something to dedicate his life to. It would be the avenging of the death of his parents. Being a young lad still, it would take time. Patience, an abundance of it, would be necessary. He would have to continue the training that his parents had started, and become much stronger. He had considered his parents as invincible. He knew nothing in Therran that could stand against both of them. Yet they had been attacked and killed.

The death site should be studied. He would have to go back there…. though the thought of it repulsed him. It also unnerved him. The attraction and pull that the lifeless clearing had on him…. could he resist it long enough to investigate that unfamiliar magic? In it may lay the key of not only finding the attackers, but understanding what occurred and how to stand against it in the future. Logic told him that it had to be something unknown to his parents, or they would still be alive today.

To physically be ready to hunt down those who killed his parents, would take a number of years. That gave him significant time for study… if he did not succumb to that calling within the glade. When he felt ready, an attempt to avenge would lead him away from the only place he had ever been. He would face the murderous killers. It was his chosen destiny, gods or no gods. Naught would deter him from it.

Tret accepted the loss of his parents, without the stirring of any emotional attachment or affects. The serenity experienced after that racing, could be attributed to an emptiness…. an emotional voidness.

Without being so tightly gripped in turmoil and grief, he realized that he sensed an echo of life… but it was not of his parents. Of that he was quite positive. But there was a lack of knowledge of what it was or what caused it. The severing of the bond of life, that had always existed between him and his parents, generated a mystery.

When his mother first began teaching him of magic, she would speak of its history and varying types. It had been an on-going topic for all these years. It was too vast to ever be fully encompassed. From what had been discussed, he could not recall his mother ever mentioning a magic that could explain what he felt. Tret concluded it may be due to his magical abilities, a sub-conscious creation of his hollowed heart… an attempt to begin filling the void left from the absence of his parents. It was as close to a plausible explanation as he could come to.

Tret felt weak. Strength had waned due to the length of time that there was a lack of nourishment. Absence of the intake of food had to be rectified. Thirst also. The needs of the body were not to be ignored any longer. Once strength was restored, he could proceed with the goal he had set for himself.

Tret left the rock ledge and entered the woods below it. The time for rest and contemplation was over.

Thanks to the dual training of his parents, Tret could hunt with or without magic. His sole weapon lay in a sheath that hung from his waist…. an ebony black knife presented to him on his last birthday. One option would be the setting of traps. There would be a waiting period for a trap to be sprung. The messages he received from his stomach voiced an opposition to the waiting. Magic was a quicker avenue to take.

Moving slowly and silently, his green eyes searched the landscape. Prior to a sighting, a sound reached his ears. A slight rustle behind a bush indicated a presence not seen. Angling towards it, he purposely made loud noises with the stomping of his feet. A rabbit scurried from behind the brush, appearing in his line of vision.

Monu slei prementia, he murmured.

The animal instantly became a corpse. The meat was as frozen as its blood.

Fieri slei arnoi, Tret pronounced, reciting a fire spell and controlling the heat from it. He did not want the meat bursting in flames. Burnt and charred remains were not on the menu. The rabbit was at body temperature once again.

After removing the knife from its sheath, Tret crouched and took in the sight of the dead animal. He never did like killing anything, even for survival. He realized it was the way of the world. That did not mean he had to enjoy it. His ma had stated that his reluctance was due to the touch of the goddess Nadia. It dwelled within him, even though he was a male.

At this point in time of his life, he was indifferent. He still had a respect for all life and did not enjoy killing. But he felt no remorse when he had to do so. Tret recognized the change and filed it away into his sub-conscious.

A deft stroke of the knife separated the head of the rabbit from its neck. The feet were then removed. The point of the blade was inserted under its tail. The knife was then drawn upward to its neck, slicing the skin on its way.

Grasping each side of the parted skin with his hands, he pulled the two sides away from one another. The innards of the rabbit became exposed. All the contents of that cavity were removed and placed on the ground. Bloody fingers searched for the heart. Finding it, the heart quickly found its way into his mouth. It was better to devour it raw. The heart carried the animal’s life essence. It would be a waste not to consume the organ while fresh, before it could be cooked out and then eaten. His parents informed him that some cultures engaged in this ritual after killing an animal, while others thought of it as repulsive.

Four more slices into the hide were made. Two were from the neck drawing down over each shoulder, and continuing to the bottom of the upper front legs. The other two began under the tail and proceeded along each side of the haunches, finally reaching the bottom of the hind legs.

Placing three fingers down the hare’s throat and his thumb against the front exterior of it, Tret used his other hand to pull the hide situated at the back of the neck. The outer skin coating was soon separated from the flesh of the body.

Keeping the main carcass for eating, the remains were magically turned to ash.

No time was taken to gather wood and make a fire. The meat of the rabbit sizzled as it was heated from a flame spell. It was not a preferred method of cooking. The taste of the meat had more flavor when cooked by natural fire.

Tret tore off a back leg and sank his teeth into it. Chewing and swallowing was done slowly. A fast onrush of food, for the filling of a stomach that has long been empty, generally resulted in a belly cramping up.

The rabbit was small, while the appetite was big. All that could be easily accessed by the teeth was devoured. Tret placed a finger tip at the top end of the ribcage. Pressing down, he ran his fingernail to the bottom end, gathering small amounts of meat. A tedious task, but worth it. The hand lifted and his lips removed the tasty morsel from the end of his finger. The remains caught under his fingernail were suck out and freed, so they too could be added to the contents of his stomach.

Sedated by the food, Tret raised himself off the ground to walk over to a tree, and sit with his back resting upon it. Time to digest for an hour or so. Thirst still had to be quenched, but that could wait a little longer.

As Tret leaned back against the trunk of the tree, he closed his eyes and rested some more. He let his mind wander where it may.

Being raised on a reclusive mountainside, by his parents, did not present an opportunity for making childhood friends. No one came up the mountain to visit, except for Seleena and Master Drevin. They were adults. Seleena lived in the hamlet of Brodarien located at the base of the mountain range. No other villager would make the trek up to their home.

A bond of trust formed between his mother Sylvia and Seleena. It took a few years in its making. One day, Seleena decided to accompany his ma when she was returning from a trip into town. Seleena had been invited long before that, with a guarantee from Sylvia that she would be safe. It took a lot of trust and courage for Seleena to finally accept the invitation. Eventually, Seleena made the journey on her own. His ma said that would happen.

Master Drevin was a Minstrel, and did not live in Brodarien. He hailed from Helassia, a large city far south of the hamlet. Master Drevin was a member of the Musicians Guild, and one was situated in that city. The distance would explain why he visited only twice a year. The time of year that he visited did not vary. Although Tret saw Seleena much more often than Master Drevin, he would admit he was somewhat more fond of the Minstrel.

Tret’s parents would not share details of their past, prior to his birth. Master Drevin did…. especially on the last two visits. Due to the Minstrel coming just twice a year, the stories Tret heard from him were actually few in number. The stories he did tell, were intriguing. Apparently, Tret did not know his parents as well as he had thought. The master Minstrel seemed to weave a tale that spoke of people who were other than his parents. The respect, that Master Drevin showed his mother and father, went deeper and was greater than a mutual friendship. Tret had taken that respect for granted, without putting any thought into it. Now, he viewed it differently and more clearly. Master Drevin’s life may have been saved by them, or rescued from an event that would have been traumatizing. That could be a cause for the deference the Minstrel displayed when in his parents company. It may also explain why Master Drevin did not treat him in the manner of which most adults did with children. Tret wondered what Master Drevin’s reaction would be, when he again came to visit, and found the ash mound laying where the cabin used to be. That should occur within a week or two.

Tret could meet Master Drevin, since he did show up at approximately the same time each year. There would be no issue in being there when he arrived. If he did though, the Minstrel would likely reveal to Seleena that he survived and was still living. The two were friends. Master Drevin played for and entertained the village for at least two days, during each trip that was made. Seleena provided him with a place to stay for the duration. She had a loft above her tayloring shop, and no charge occurred for his usage of it.

Tret felt somewhat guilty at the deception. The feeling could not be fended off. Master Drevin was the nearest thing to a friend relationship that he had.

For more than one reason, Tret had to remain alone and not get involved with other people. At least not those who could recognize him. It would bring an end to him of being thought dead.

An entrance into the cliffs lay a short distance to the west. A pool of clear fresh water waited at the end of that passageway. A brood of Red Cougar did reside in that area. Maintaining extra alertness was always a wise choice, when a group of Red Cougar roamed the vicinity. And much more so if traveling down an enclosed passage. A mother cougar with cubs may be aiming to satisfy a thirst of her own. Being caught at a dead end, with no place for her and the cubs to go, may excite the mother feline enough to initiate an attack. It was the worst possible scenario, with regard to running into a Red Cougar.

The ledge itself extended roughly thirty miles to the west, from the location of the lean-to. In the past, he had traveled ten of it… and ten miles to the east as well. The wild jaunt he had taken, had brought him eight miles closer to the western ocean.

There was familiarity with this region. It was easy to recognize any spot on the ridge, once it was traveled. No two locations appeared alike. The Brodarian Shelf wove snake-like around the contours of the mountain range. Sections were as wide as three hundred feet, and as narrow as six feet.

Childhood education included geography. Many maps, entailing all of Therran, resided in his memory. It could also be said that it resided in his imagination. Tret had not been further south than the base of the mountainside, where the village of Brodarien existed. Personal experience was limited to one village, one location. That was his reality. Other towns or cities fell to that which he could envision. The same applied to landscapes.

The strong desire to explore and wander came from being contained to a little speck on the map of Therran. Of that, Tret had no doubt. He would have ran off for days at a time before returning home, if it were not for the love he held for his parents. His mother would have gone into a frenzy due to his absence. It would have been too difficult to endure hurting his ma, in such a way.

His father, on the other hand, would have remained calm and taken it in stride. That was his nature. Putting him through the ordeal of having to deal with his mother…. he just could not do that to his da.

Throughout those years, it amazed him at how caring for another could curb one’s actions. No matter how determined he became to meander off on his own and disregard the restrictions, his feelings for his parents held him at bay..

Tret felt the greatest joy when a camping trip was planned. He knew it included new discovery. The unfamiliar and unknown awaited. Excitement could not be suppressed. His eyes lit up at every mention of the up-coming event. It was a reaction he could not control. The eyes of both his parents would sparkle also. It seemed to him as to be contagious.

After the truce with the Red Cougar had been established, his ma did not frequently accompany him and his father. It became mainly a father-son event.

They explored all the openings into the cliff that they encountered. Some of those passageways branched off again and again, creating a maze within its bosom.

Each turn had to be marked because there was too much of a possibility of losing their way, if it was not done. Some passages circled around and came back to the beginning.

Six years past, his da had found a vein of opal in a passage, close to where their lean-to was built. They mined it, gathering the precious stone. It was to be used in the funding of future trips. They were to leave the cabin and travel the land of Therran, when he reached the age of thirteen. Tret’s thirteenth birthday was to be a special celebration. On that day, his parents said they would speak of their past… and of other matters they kept secret.

It was five years ago, that Tret began to become truly curious of the past. Three weeks or so before reaching the age of eight, his mother showed signs of being uncommonly wary. He was not able to go anywhere, do anything, without being in sight of his parents. His da also appeared to be constantly alert and not as relaxed as he was accustomed to him being.

His ma had made a journey to the town below, and returned with two apple pies. Nothing tasted better than apple pie. He could consume them both in one sitting. The treat was served on every birthday.

Sitting at the table and relishing the final bite and flavor of his share of the apple pie, Tret noticed that both parents had taken on a serious countenance.

Something was up. He wondered what he may have recently done wrong. He searched his mind and tried to recall anything that might have put him in this situation. Still struggling to find a reason, his father spoke.

As you get older son, there are things that you should become aware of.

A child’s concern is to learn what needs to be taught., his mother piped in, Other than training and schooling, a child should live a care free life. Soon enough, that is taken away by the affairs of adulthood and the responsibilities that come with it.

Hearing his father speak again, Tret swiveled his head back in that direction.

Tret is your nickname. It is not your true birth name. Your birth name is Landor. This you will keep to yourself. It is not to be repeated to anyone.

Why not?. The question immediately shot out from his mouth, without giving it any time for thought.

It is an adult matter, and not to be told to you at this time., came the response. His da did not leave it at that, and continued. On your thirteenth birthday when you officially leave the state of childhood behind you, that will be the time to reveal issues of an adult nature…. not before. Necessity creates exceptions, but I am speaking from a general rule of thumb.

We regret keeping you in the dark about some things, dear. But it is for the best. Your attention needs to be focused on your learning, and not diverted by the concerns of the adult world., added his ma.

There is another thing., stated his da, a bit too soberly for his taste. It requires you to learn a new spell.

A new spell? Awesome! The thought thrilled him.

It is a spell of unbinding., his mother continued where his father left off. There is a chest buried in the ground, under our bed. The spell is needed to open it. If something were to happen whereby your da and I are not here for your thirteenth birthday, you are to open the chest.

The joy of learning a new spell was squashed as a spider underfoot. What could they be talking about?

The thought of his parents not being around brought him close to tears.

Tret, he heard the voice of his father say, do not look so disturbed. If we are away for whatever reason, we still want your questions answered at the time we said they would be. This is only a precautionary measure. It is what parents do. Do not fret or concern yourself so much with it.

That infectious smile appeared on his da’s face. He could not have done anything else that could have reassured him more.

Tret turned to his ma. She also was smiling.

It is as your da says, dear. Parents tend to be over-protective or over-cautious. Sometimes both. If I banged my head and lost some or all of my memory, who else would have the ability to open the chest… other than you? You know how your da is, he does not engage in magic whatsoever.

His ma lifted her eyes to his da. Peering at each other, a wordless communication took place. It was not the first time. It seemed they had an uncanny ability to know what each other was thinking. He knew it was not magic. What it was, he did not know. He supposed it had something to do with being married. Until he got married, it would likely remain a mystery.

Looking back on it now, it did not take much reasoning to realize his parents had enemies. Too many other factors pointed to it. The village of Brodarien was not on any map. They lived on a mountainside which no one dare traverse. And there was Master Drevin. Private talks were held by him and his parents. When in hearing range, the topic would change… and so would their tone of voice. Over the years, he did pick up bits of conversation, but nothing that could be pieced together or made sense of. And, of course, there was also the recent deadly attack.

The chest his parents spoke of lay under the ground, in a clearing radiating strange magic. Determined to shy away from entering it, the chest was inaccessible.

In roughly five weeks time, his thirteenth birthday would be here. It would be a day as any another. No special celebration. No questions answered. No excursions into the unexplored lands of Therran. No visiting the many different cultures that thrived throughout the country. No sights of new wildlife which he had not encountered before. Years of anticipation had been drowned in the waters of death. Happy birthday, Tret!

Tret cast the gloomy and self pitying thought into a thoughtless void where it belonged. It was better destroyed than entertained.

Enough time had gone by, as well as reflection concerning the past. The next objective was to attain water. It meant leaving the cool shade of the trees and into the warm rays of the sun. No form of vegetation grew on the solid rock of the ledge. During the light of day, it was the clouds that could prevent the full force of the sun beams from reaching the open space on the Brodarian Shelf. Today, the sky was absent of them.

The walk back up to the stone ridge was a short one. The edge of the ledge jutted out from the slope of the land just below it. It was that way with most of the shelf of which he had so far traversed. In some places, jumping up was required in order to reach the end of the ridge above him. If he managed to leap high enough to place his fingers over its lip, he could then lift his body up and over. Otherwise, another access point would be required. At this current location, the ledge did not protrude out from the ground very far. Being waist high, he could easily hop unto it.

Once on the shelf, the trek west was resumed. Tret preferred trotting, versus the leisurely pace of walking. Tender soles of bare feet landed on a smooth, seemingly polished bed of stone. Pebbles and small fragments of rocks were carried off by the winds ages ago. Larger and heavier pieces, that could withstand the strong billowing gusts, remained in place. Tret was grateful for not having to be concerned with small pieces of stone being embedded into the soft flesh of his feet. The missing layers of skin will heal soon enough, and then turn to hardened calluses.

Tret stayed to the outside, on the opposite side of where the ledge met the impassable towering wall of the cliff… standard policy when passing through regions where the predatory cats housed themselves. When along the wall, you could suddenly appear at the front opening of an entrance to a passageway into the cliff. If a Red Cougar was about to exit, it could be startled and react swiftly with an attack. The territory occupied by the cougar was dangerous, regardless of the truce that had been enacted. Training by his parents instilled proper protocol, which had become a habit.

Spying the path that led to the water supply, Tret turned towards the entrance and slowed to a walk. Forty feet in, the walled path angled forty-five degrees to the right. Rounding the bend, the water hole was sighted at its dead end… about thirty more feet in the distance.

This particular pool was average in its size. The diameter being approximately five yards across. All the water holes that he knew of, were circular in shape. Another quality that the pools shared, was that their depth could not be measured nor seen. His da attempted it, but was not successful. He had speculated that it went straight down to the base of the mountain, possibly further.

The corridors of this passage were fairly narrow. The water would be cool and refreshing, due to being out of the sunlight for most of day. The rays of the sun might touch the water of this particular pool for an hour, at most.

After swishing the refreshing liquid around in his mouth, it passed down the tunnel of his throat and entered the stomach. The whole process could be felt from beginning to end. It was almost exotic in nature. The water from these pools had an effect that other water did not. A tingling sensation of a vitality flowed through his body. When he had drank water that was not from these pools, it lack the same affect. Dipping the waterskin into the pool, it became full once more.

Tret sat at