by Peter Wacht
Eyes focused on the shifting surface beneath his feet, his mind centered strictly on his task, it took him a second to realize that the ground had begun to shake. The soft rumbling sound grew louder, and it was coming toward him. Looking up in shock, Thomas leaped to his right, landing heavily on his side and sliding several feet back down the slope as a large rock rolled past him. In the beginning he had done his best to avoid them, but now, in the interest of speed, he had forgotten about the boulders. Thomas cursed in frustration. The edge of the cliff was no more than two hundred feet away. He was almost there, and he had ten minutes left. Ten minutes! He could still make—
A boulder cascaded toward him, larger than any of the others. It had been lying right on the lip of the cliff face, and now it rolled directly toward him, hopping and skipping its way down the slope. It was massive, blotting out the sun and putting Thomas in darkness. The analytical part of Thomas’ mind guessed that it weighed several tons. The practical part told him to run, but he had nowhere to go. It was coming too fast for him to move out of its way.
The rock beneath Thomas' feet gave way, forcing him to drop to one knee to retain his balance. Wait a second. His sliding body had created a deep gash in the loose rock of the cliff face. Several of the shale pieces that had broken apart were almost as large as he was. Maybe it would work. Just maybe. He really didn't have a choice, nor the time.
Diving into the hole he had made, Thomas quickly pulled a large piece of shale over the top, covering the hole. He then used his legs to support the makeshift ceiling of his burrow. The large boulder gained speed rapidly as it rolled down the hillside, leaving a deep wake behind it, much like a ship cutting through the sea with its prow, and sweeping the loose rock and shale before it. The first small rock hit Thomas' structure and harmlessly bounced off it. Then another followed, and another, each bigger than the last. It was working. The boulders were rolling right over him. Now for the real test. The massive boulder was almost upon him.
A detached part of him wondered at the improbability of the whole thing. How one moment he had almost reached the top, and now, in just a few seconds, he waited for a boulder to flatten him into the cliff. The ground shook even more, and because of it, Thomas' body slid backwards down the slope. As a result, he lost control of the piece of shale he used as a shield. Thomas dug his fingers into the hillside, desperately grasping several large rocks sticking out of the soil. Suddenly, the dim shadow of the sky disappeared, replaced by black. Holding his breath, Thomas braced himself for the collision. As the boulder hit the piece of shale, the tremendous weight pushed Thomas' legs down into his chest. He tried to breathe, but couldn't. Every muscle in his body felt like it was about to explode.
In an instant, the pressure dissipated. Thomas gulped down a breath of air, grateful that the piece of shale had not cracked under the weight of the boulder. It had worked. It had actually worked!
"Thank you," he whispered to the piece of shale as he gently placed it on the hillside. Getting unsteadily to his feet, Thomas wiped his sweaty, bloody palms onto his breeks. The top was only a few hundred feet away, and the large boulder had cleared the loose rock out of his way. Leaning toward the cliff face with his body, Thomas ran up the newly created path. Only a few minutes remained.
Finally reaching the top of the cliff, relief swept through him. The Circle was right in front of him. Ignoring the pain in his hands and the stiffness in his legs, Thomas ran toward the huge columns. With a final burst of speed, he leapt into the Circle and ascended the Stone as quickly as he dared. The Sylvan Warriors remained where they were when he had first disappeared, standing stoically in front of a particular column. They watched him with hard eyes as he climbed the final steps of the Stone. Even Rynlin and Rya had a look of indifference on their faces. Had he failed? He couldn't have. Could he? A knot of fear rose in his throat. Standing again in front of Tiro, Thomas prepared himself for the worst.
CHAPTER NINE
The Village
"It was very clever of you to walk the trees," he said in a loud voice so all could hear. "Most struggle through the forest on the ground and become hopelessly lost."
Thomas looked at Tiro in concern. Had he passed? That's all he wanted to know. Tiro saw it on Thomas' face and smiled, enjoying the suspense.
"You have overcome the first challenge. You know the forest and the dangers that lurk there; you are a part of it." Thomas let out a sigh of relief that was short-lived. "On to the second challenge. This is a test of your inner strength. Three dreams await you."
Stands on high. The words echoed through his mind. His daydreaming would have to wait. He should be giving his full attention to Tiro and his next challenge. Stands on high. Rynlin had explained his theory regarding the prophecy, and now he was here.
He glanced around the Stone. The Sylvana stared back at him. At first, he had taken their expressions to be ones of indifference. That remained somewhat, but had something else worked its way in as well? Hope, maybe. Could it be hope? Stands on high. Maybe it was. Maybe Rynlin had explained his theory to them as well, or some of the Sylvana had developed their own theories. Stands on high. Now was not the time to think on it. There was too much at stake.
"In each dream you must do what is right, and that is something for you to decide. But I warn you, the choice is not always easily made. There is no absolute right or absolute wrong, despite what you might think. There is only individual judgment. Let your judgment be your guide. If you choose wrongly, you will fail, and you may die. Therefore, think before you act. Are you ready?"
Die? A shiver ran up Thomas' spine, remembering the ghoul and how close its cold, deadly touch had come. Rynlin and Rya had conveniently forgotten to tell him about that possibility. They had simply said that if he failed, he could never join the Sylvana. He'd have to talk to them about their slip when this was over. If he survived, of course.
Thomas nodded. The bright white light greeted him once more, again blinding him for a moment. When the spots cleared from his eyes, he found himself in a large field just beyond the outer boundary of a small village. Thomas turned in a circle to get his bearings. He was completely and thoroughly lost. The mountains of the Highlands were nowhere in sight. A few stalks of corn still remained, crushed beneath the feet of the workers, who had just harvested the field.
The village itself was unremarkable, with a small road running through its center passing by wooden cottages with thatched roofs. Most farmers couldn't afford stone. A small green formed the center of the village. The villagers probably gathered there for their holidays and meetings. Thomas was thoroughly confused now. Why had Tiro sent him here? Judging from the position of the sun, much of the morning still remained, so most of the farmers would be out tending their crops.
Seeing nothing of interest in the surrounding forest, Thomas walked toward the village. He stopped in his tracks. A quiver of arrows was at his hip with a bow across his back. Thomas slipped it over his head. It was his bow and his arrows. But how did they get here? He hadn't brought them with him. No weapons were allowed for the first challenge. Of course, Tiro had said nothing about weapons this time.
Shrugging it off, Thomas entered the village with bow in hand. Smoke drifted into the sky from the cottage chimneys, carrying with it the wonderful smell of baking bread. Across the green several women sat together talking, a few quite animatedly. He wondered about what. At first he thought it might be because of him. A stranger walking into a small town could set off quite a ruckus. But, no, it couldn't be him. They hadn't seen him yet. Some of the women gestured, but in a different direction.
Thomas walked halfway to the green when the rumble of horses’ hooves shattered the quiet. The women who sat together so placidly just an instant before now ran in fright. Why would they—
Ten horsemen, their long hair tied back in braids, galloped into the village. Wearing black leather armor, they held whips and lassoes. Slavers! The lead rider singled out a young woman and charged forward. She screa
med in terror as the horse bore down on her. Before he knew what he was doing, Thomas ran toward the chaos. The rider was no more than a few paces behind the fleeing girl when he lashed out with his whip. The hard leather bit into the woman's arm, opening a long cut. She fell to the ground in pain, the whip still entangled about her arm.
All across the green similar scenes played out. Another slaver had already caught a young girl, probably no more than twelve years old. One horseman had missed on his first pass, but was now coming around for a second, gleefully pursuing a young woman with auburn hair. For the slavers their work had become a game, as they realized that no one could challenge them.
The first rider jumped down from his horse and swaggered toward the girl, who sat on the ground in a daze. She stared in disbelief at the cut on her arm, no longer understanding what was going on around her. The man reached down and took hold of her other arm, giving the girl a leer.
The situation soon became frighteningly clear to the young woman. She frantically tried to pull her arm free, but she couldn't break the slaver’s hold. Tears ran down her face as her fear and desperation grew. Suddenly, she fell backward in the grass, free of the rider's grasp. The man still stood above her, but with a glazed look in his eyes. A second later, he toppled over, a long arrow sticking out from the center of his back.
Thomas had acted without thinking, but he didn't care. Once again, he didn't have time to think. It always happened that way. He just acted according to his instinct. Certain that his first arrow struck true, Thomas pulled another from his quiver. He had sprinted to the center of the green, and now stood there with his legs spread apart, one slightly in front of the other. Nocking another arrow to his bow, he drew back on the cord. Sighting on the rider who had already captured a woman, he released.
The second attacker fell dead with an arrow through the eye. Both were large men, much like their comrades, and displayed the quick sure movements of soldiers. They were accustomed to battle, as it was an almost daily part of their lives. Nevertheless, a single bolt with a steel tip had an amazing capacity to level the playing field.
Thomas quickly moved on to the next slaver, and then the next. In seconds, five men were dead. The other raiders finally noticed that someone was actually fighting back, initially thinking that the men of the village had returned from the fields. Much to their surprise they saw a single boy standing boldly in the middle of the green.
Three immediately charged forward, kicking their horses to a gallop. The urge to run briefly rose within him, but Thomas beat it down. He stood his ground and calmly placed another arrow onto his bow. Shooting at a moving target was much more difficult, and with three charging toward him, he couldn't afford to make a mistake. Thomas waited just a moment longer, then raised his bow, sighted and released in one smooth motion. A second arrow immediately followed the first, and a third the second.
The three slavers never knew what hit them, falling dead to the green, pierced by Thomas' yard-long arrows. Their panic-stricken horses continued down the road. The two raiders who remained at the far edge of the green stared in shock at their friends lying face down in the short grass. They considered themselves brave men, but if this boy could so easily dispatch three men on horseback, how difficult would it be for him if there were only two? They wisely decided that the time for valor had passed.
Turning their horses back the way they had come, the two slavers tried to escape the village. Unfortunately for them, Thomas was not in a forgiving mood. They made it as far as the last house on the village's outskirts before steel-tip arrows knocked them from their saddles.
It was over. The village was safe and none of the women seemed to be hurt badly. He regretted the killing, to a degree. The fact that he had killed ten men in a matter of minutes hit him squarely in the gut, the gorge rising in his throat. He fought the urge to empty his stomach, trying to ignore the bad taste in his mouth. He didn't enjoy killing these men, and he wasn’t proud of what he had done, but it proved necessary in this situation.
He thought his grandfather, Talyn, would approve of his judgment. The sick feeling subsided and he began walking toward the women to see if he could help those injured by the attackers when a bright, white light flashed before him. Once again, black spots danced before his eyes. Thomas sighed in frustration. This was becoming wearisome.
When Thomas opened his eyes, he stood atop the stone with Tiro. The Sylvana remained as still as the stone monoliths towering above them: quiet, forbidding, dispassionate. Yet Thomas was certain he felt something percolating within them. He was sure of it. Hope. He could see it in their eyes now, even if their faces continued to hide it.
Then another thought struck him. He should have realized it before, but he had been so busy thinking of what he had to do, he had failed to pay attention to what was going on around him. He had sensed the energy from the beginning. The Sylvana, at least those who could control the Talent, were using the Circle as a focal point to combine their strength and bring Thomas back and forth from wherever they sent him or create the scenario he had to respond to, and watch what he did most likely. It was an interesting discovery on his part, but one he couldn't explore at the moment.
CHAPTER TEN
Choices
"The Sylvana are warriors, people of action," intoned Tiro. "You made the correct choice. On to the second dream." In another flash of white light, Thomas left the Circle. This time, though, he closed his eyes before the white light blinded him. When he opened his eyes, his vision was clear.
Or was it? He stood in the middle of the most lavish, luxurious room he had ever seen. It was enormous. The ceiling rose twenty feet into the air, and upon the lacquered wood an artist had painted various scenes. One showed a castle sitting majestically in the middle of a bay, a long causeway connecting it to the mainland. The Rock of Ballinasloe, Thomas assumed. No other fortress resembled it. Another depicted a man standing on a hill, his golden armor shining brightly in the sunlight. Ollav Fola perhaps. The others Thomas didn't bother to examine.
Dozens of windows rose from floor to ceiling, showering the room with bits of green, blue and red as the sun shone through the beautiful stained glass. Even the furniture was magnificent, and Thomas usually didn't pay attention to such things. A stool was a stool and a table a table. Though there were only a few tables and chairs lining the walls, leaving the center of the room bare, they were all intricately carved with swirls, points and curls. The back of one chair illustrated a dolphin leaping out of the water, another an eagle gliding through the sky. He had never seen such sophisticated and precise craftsmanship before.
Thomas examined a table more closely. To his surprise his feet sank into the floor as he walked around the piece of furniture. A dark blue carpet lay beneath his feet, which were barely visible because of its thickness. It was then that he noticed his clothes. He wore a white silk shirt, a pair of blue trousers with gold running up the sides and soft leather boots that came to just above his ankle. A red sash ran around his waist, and a gold chain at his hip held a dagger.
Thomas pulled it out of its sheath. Truly remarkable. The blue steel joined to an ivory hilt encrusted with diamonds, opals and moonstones. Thomas quickly returned the dagger to its sheath. He had never held something so valuable in his hands, and it made him uncomfortable. He was not used to such wealth. It didn't feel right. Nothing about the room felt right, in fact. He didn't belong here.
As he stood there pondering what to do next, his forehead crinkled in thought, the door on the far side opened silently. A beautiful young woman stepped into the room. Thomas' frown turned into a look of surprise. It was her. The girl from the Burren. She wore a dark blue dress with white lace at the collar and sleeve. Her long, raven black hair curled around her face. His heart missed a beat when he saw her smile. She was the most beautiful woman he had ever seen.
What was her name? He should have remembered it. He had heard it at the glade. What was it? Kaylie. That's right. Kaylie. And she was coming
toward him. Thomas gulped, trying to swallow his nerves. As she drew closer, his heart melted. The dress complemented her sea-blue eyes perfectly. Thomas smiled, attempting to mask his discomfort.
Her smile grew wider and her eyes danced with delight in response. He couldn't take his eyes from her. If he spent the last of his days staring at her face, he would die a happy man. Wait a second. Kaylie wasn't stopping. She was only a few feet from him now, and her smile had become a mischievous grin. Not knowing what else to do, Thomas held his ground.
Finally Kaylie stopped, yet she was so close Thomas felt her breath on his neck. Slowly she reached upward, her soft hands taking hold of his cheeks and drawing his lips to hers. Thomas closed his eyes in delight. An unfamiliar yearning rose up within him. Thomas hugged her to him. This excited Kaylie even more, her kiss becoming more urgent, more demanding. He didn't have any idea what to make of his current situation, but he didn't care. The uneasiness he had originally experienced dissipated. After much too brief a time Kaylie pulled away from him, but not so far as to require Thomas to remove his arms from her waist.
"Patience, Thomas," said Kaylie, a sly grin on her face. "Tomorrow we will be able to do this whenever we want rather than having to sneak a kiss in private." Her voice was soft, but commanding. She was used to giving orders. To his ears, though, it sounded like music.
"Tomorrow?" he asked in some confusion. Her eyes had captured him once again, and he surrendered meekly.
"Yes, silly," she said, tapping him lightly on the shoulder in mock anger. "Tomorrow. How could you forget?"
