by L. R. Flint
“This is an ill turn of events,” the older elf muttered, mostly to himself.
“Well, Izotz, I would like to introduce you to the elf Lord of Baso Argi, Basajaun.” Ah, I knew I recognized his face, I thought in triumph; he was the elf I had espied arguing with Koldobika not long before I had met Alaia. I bowed my head to the elf Lord and then he returned the favor saying, “Greetings, Itzal Izotz Kemen.”
“What?” Izar shouted.
I could not be sure why Izar was enraged, but Koldobika seemed to have expected her outburst. “You never told them?” Basajaun inquired of the wizard, who simply shook his head.
“You never told us what?” I asked my old friend, occasionally glancing at Izar, who was giving me a strange look.
“She is your sister.”
My jaw dropped and I could not help but stare back at the girl. She was my little sister? It seemed impossible. “I thought you were dead,” was the only thing I could think of to say to her.
“I never knew…” her words softly faded away.
"Wait, I thought you were sent to find me."
"Yes, but I only knew—I had no idea that you were…my brother," she finished softly.
“Why?” I looked back at Koldobika, feeling betrayed. He had known about my family and had known that my sister was still alive and had never mentioned it to me? Outrageous—that is exactly what it was.
He looked away, knowing he should have told us sooner, but there was no changing the past. “It was for your safety—the safety of you both.”
I grunted, unsatisfied, but I let it pass. I turned back to Izar. “You are not dead,” I said, finally smiling. She walked over to me and I wrapped my arms around her, hugging her tight. “My baby sister,” I teased.
She laughed and shoved me away. “I will not stand for that.”
“This is really her? You are not playing a horrible joke on me, Koldobika?” I laughed.
The man chuckled dismally. “I would not dare.”
“What happened, then? Why was I human and she an elf?”
“When you were young the Council decided that it was best that you take on a human’s life, so we had you transformed into a human. In order to let you regain your elven form we made a link between you and that stone you carry at your neck. It held within it your unused powers and upon contact you would begin changing back to your true form.”
“Why did I have to become human? The rest of you seem to be getting along just fine.”
“Before you were born, the King of Caernadvall swore to take your life.” I gave a disbelieving laugh, there was no way he could be serious. The King wanted me dead? “We had to hide you in the one place he would not look for you: his own domain. You had to be kept safe so that one day you could defeat him and bring peace back to the lands.”
I waited for Basajaun or Izar to burst out laughing at the absurdity of the wizard’s joke, but the three faces that stared back at me remained solemn. “You cannot be serious,” I exclaimed. “Koldobika, there is no way that I am going to save the nations. I realize that you are not a great defender of Caernadvall's King, and I know you are a good person, but this is not my task—you have got the wrong man. I cannot do something that big.”
“You were born for this task, Izotz. Your parents gave their lives for your cause.”
“No,” I said heatedly. “They died from a sickness. I saw their bodies failing them as they succumbed to the illness.”
“That is only the part you remember.” I shook my head, refusing to believe what the wizard was saying. It was not possible—it could not be.
“There is a prophecy that this will be so,” the elf Lord interjected.
“Really?” I asked skeptically, daring him to tell me.
Koldobika shrugged. “In a manner of speaking.”
“Please, enlighten me.” I was curious to see what fool had prophesied of me becoming a hero and defeating a King and his allies, in order to save unknown numbers of beings.
“It is not so much a prophecy as an oath, made by Zigor, which involves you—as the firstborn of your parents. He will find you and when he does your only hope will be to destroy him.”
“Pray tell how I am supposed to do that. I cannot even beat a woman in a sword fight, so how am I supposed to kill the bloody King of Caernadvall? Not to mention, he has got thousands of Guards at his beck and call and unknown verses of dark magic must surround him.”
“You may have more power than you yet realize,” Koldobika said solemnly.
“But for now,” Basajaun again interrupted, halting the tension that was building in the room. “You are here and you are safe. Much has happened in your life of late, so you should rest and enjoy the cheerful spirit of this haven.” He then excused himself and departed, leaving the welcoming words hanging in the air.
Izar, my sister, laid her hand on my shoulder and before she too left, said, “You can only go as far as you are willing to believe in yourself.”
13 WIZARD’S WORDS
I sat, perched on a huge boulder that rose from the riverbank. The springy moss covering its entire surface tickled one of my feet, while the other hung above the flowing water, catching the cool spray. The merry sounds of the water flowing past and hitting the stones that rose to block their path were soothing. It was wonderful to not worry about the Guards, or where my next meal would come from, and whether or not I was going to live through the day. I refocused my attention on Koldobika and what he was saying as he sat leaning against an old willow whose bent trunk leaned over the waterway, the tips of the swaying branches drooping into the rushing river.
“Your father and the King were once friends, you know.” I chuckled dully at the thought. “Before he turned to darkness Zigor was a good man; he cared about his people and led them graciously as his father had before him.” He paused for a long while, seeming to forget that he had been charged with filling in the missing details of my past.
Remembering I was there, he continued: “The Queen died while giving birth and your father’s mages failed to keep her spirit within her body. Zigor swore by his life that he would kill your parents' firstborn child. The King tried once to kill you, but someone interfered and was able to help your family escape. They moved to Caernadvall shortly after the construction of the Wall had begun and from then on you know what happened.”
“Except for their deaths.”
Koldobika gave a weary sigh. “They were tormented by a sickness during their last days, as you remember, but we do not know that it killed them. The last time anyone is known to have seen them, they were sailing away on Eder’s ship, searching for some secret they had heard of and believed could save you from your fate.”
“Do you know what they were looking for?”
Koldobika shook his head. “They told no one.”
I lapsed into silence, considering the possibility of something that could avert the consequences of what Zigor had sworn. It would have to be an incredibly powerful force if what Koldobika had told me was true concerning the deranged man’s oath, sworn by the powers of Lietha. Koldobika said nothing, giving me a moment to ponder things, but the moment turned into a long while and he eventually interrupted, saying he had to speak with some of the Council members.
“Izar will likely be without the haven, but you are welcome to explore Baso Argi and meet the inhabitants; many of them would be overjoyed to find that the rumors of your presence are true.” I nodded, considering the suggestion a possibility, and Koldobika strode off.
The wizard had finally found me where I sat, at the water’s edge, brooding over the idea that so many seemed to think that I was destined to destroy the tyrannical rule of Caernadvall’s King. The idea that I—raised amongst the poorest of the poor—could bring peace, end a King’s rule and law, and possibly end up governing the elven race because of it, did not agree with any form of reason that I knew. Koldobika had told me that I had been born into near-royal blood, commanding a higher station in life, but being born
and being raised were two entirely different things in my mind. I had not been taught the secrets of waging war, or the delicacies of diplomacy, yet I was to unite all free peoples and lead them into an epic battle between good and evil.
I also could not believe that Koldobika had known the truth about my family and, most relevantly, my sister—who was not dead, as I had thought—whose death I had long since come to accept and only now, after so many years, was I was being told the truth. I did not doubt that Izar was my sister, for the resemblance between us was obvious and she looked almost exactly the same as my memories of her as a small child, but it was strange accepting that she was alive after believing the opposite for so long.
I rose from my seat at the water’s edge, curious as to what I might find in the nearby haven; a place I had not yet been, it had my utmost curiosity. The Eastern grounds of Baso Argi contained the strand of willow trees, which I was now familiar with, and amongst the silvery glades was the road that would lead me to the center of the village. The road led me back to a different section of the river and just beyond the bridge were stone and wood-planked buildings. The occasional tree rose amongst the buildings, giving shade to swathes of grass or stretches of road.
The beams, posts, eaves, and doorframes of each building were covered with intricately carved patterns, but even more diverse and beautiful were the many species that dwelt, bartered, and flourished next to one another. There were not many humans—most with magical backgrounds like Koldobika—but there were the elves, my specie (which seemed to be the most populous), and added to them were many creatures that I was not yet familiar with. There were some that looked a great deal like miniature humans with heads that reached just above my waist; many of them sported knee-length, or longer, beards, stern faces, and cunning eyes. Creatures with feline bodies had the heads of eagles; their sharp beaks shone in the bright sunlight while huge, feathered wings rested at their sides, able to carry them aloft. The tips of their tails sported tufts of long, feathery hair and retractable talons grazed the dirt as they walked. Firebirds flew overhead, soaring above the treetops; occasionally one would burst into flame and soar ahead of the others. There were dragonfolk and large, hulking beasts with gnarled features. There were small sneaking creatures and even smaller fairies that flitted swiftly through the air. Amidst the new faces were species I was familiar with, ones that were common also in Caernadvall.
As I walked along, staring in awe at the new sights and exotic scents that came from the fruits, flowers, and spices, a group of dragonfolk landed on the road ahead of me, filling the road. In general they looked similar to Alaia (the only dragonlady I knew), but each had his own specific features and none of them had the same exact coloring or pattern to the scales of their wings. The tallest male—golden-haired with scales of a similar hue—inclined his head. The others copied their companion and moved to form a lane between them so I could pass.
I inclined my own head before continuing on my path, and after passing them I noticed a familiar entity. Observing my encounter, while lounging against a building, Izar had a smile lingering on her face as I walked toward her. “Koldobika said that you were expected to be gone for the entire day.”
She shrugged. “I was able to run a few errands at once and currently find myself with a bit of free time. Care to join me? I can give you a tour of the haven.”
“I would appreciate that.” She stepped away from the building and onto the path, walking slowly at my side, continuing in the general direction I had previously been going. While we walked, the occasional being would shout out a greeting to Izar, or stop and speak with her, curiously inquiring after my name. Those who did not speak, watched (mostly in simple curiosity, as not many of the people knew yet who I was).
“That building, there, is the blacksmith’s shop.” She directed my gaze to one of the many stone buildings. The majority of the side facing the path was open to the view of passersby and I could easily hear the clang of a hammer beating heated metal against an anvil. A lazy stream of smoke rose from the chimney after gathering in a cloud beneath the peak of the roof.
“Why not use magic?” I asked.
“Not everyone can use magic,” Izar reminded me. “And if we used it for each and every task we would all become lazy and end up trodden deeper beneath Zigor’s feet. We would be a people not worth saving.” I nodded; she was right. I contemplated her words, wondering if I had been overindulgent with my own gift of magic.
As we neared the smithy I could see the light from the red-hot embers of the forge glowing on the leather apron, and sweaty shoulders, arms, and face of the busy smith. The man was enormous. Each of his arms was easily larger around than my entire body and the rest of his frame matched them in scale. The more curious features were shadows near the top of his head that seemed to be horns; though I had seen stranger things recently, the sight of horns atop the man’s head made me somewhat wary. The nearer we came to his domain, the more clearly I could see the scene in the strange, half-light of the furnace. The flickering firelight threw red shadows across his face that made his already-vicious facial features seem all the more evil.
The smith noticed our approach as he dipped his piece of work into a barrel of water and a cloud of steam rose into the air as he called out a greeting. His deep, rumbling voice came from the heated shroud of water like a disembodied cry. “Ah, Izar. What brings you to my humble abode?” As the steam dissipated, his face came into view and a look, which was meant as a smile, shone like a cruel sneer.
“I have an item that needs mending.”
He nodded toward a counter cluttered with what appeared to be his tools and scraps of metal. My sister dropped a small satchel onto a bare section and the movement let loose a soft tinkling within the bag; once it was out of her hand she quickly left it alone.
“Ganix, this is my brother, Itzal Izotz.” To me she said, “Ganix is the most renowned smith that lives.” A pleased smile crossed his face at her compliment and my mistrust of him began to disappear.
“I am merely an artist and fire is my tool, while the hard bones of the earth are my mediums.” His voice seemed to mimic the grinding and crumbling of stones being crushed against one another.
Though I was now at ease with his presence, I still held some curiosity that he was there in the first place. “You are an ogre. I believe your kind has an abiding lust for the blood of elves. If so, how is it that you can abide this place?” He chuckled at my boldness, before he replied.
“Many of us do; how can you know that I do not?” This was said good-naturedly, though any fool could easily have mistaken it for a threat. “You have killed one of my kind—I may have killed an elf once.” He stated this as if it were a simple fact and no lives were involved. As he spoke he ran a hand along the edge of the still hot blade he had been working on moments before.
“How do you know I killed an ogre?”
“We ogres can see those kinds of things. It is somewhat like a sixth sense.”
“I did not instigate the fight,” I defended.
“True. The ogre you fought was an uncivilized and lawless brute.” He then changed the subject to the disappearance of Alaia and the progress of the scouts who had been sent out to search for her. The conversation was mainly between him and Izar, since I knew very little of the involved events.
As they talked, I studied the ogre, comparing him to my memories of the one I had fought. Ganix’ face was taut with hard-earned muscle; he had high cheekbones and two, foot-long horns atop his naturally bald head. He wore long pants, hardened leather boots, and wore a sleeveless, open-fronted tunic under the thick apron used at the forge. He turned to face me again and I noticed the three long, slender, blue tattoos down his face—one from the middle of his forehead down to his chin and the other two, vertical slits on either side of his face, above and below his eyes.
“So, Izotz, you really did come from under the rule of Zigor the Tyrant?”
“Yes.”
The o
nly other differences I could see between Ganix and the other ogre were in their build; Ganix was shorter but seemed to have a larger mass of muscle. Ganix’ eyes were red, just as the other ogre’s had been. It was curious, as I had never before heard of creatures having red eyes, yet the entire ogre species seemed to have them (if an idea of the norm could be contrived from only two entities).
“Everyone, it seems, is fooled by a blanket of lies and no one knows the true evil that is their King. Some of them go as far as to think that he is a good and generous leader,” I stated. Not having been in a family of high position or great riches, I had been subject to the less desirable aspects of life beneath the King’s rule and so it was not too difficult to change from merely disrespecting him, to despising him.
“The fools. If there is anyone whose blood I lust after, it is his,” Ganix growled. The fire hissed and sparks crackled across the room as if the forge were acknowledging his anger.
“Aye. Any one of us would not think twice before stabbing a knife through his heart.” Inwardly I flinched at my sister’s words; even Eskarne had never been that blunt in speaking about murdering the King.
Just then Ganix finished his work on the sword and carried it over to the cluttered counter to let it finish cooling. “Would you like to see some of my trinkets?” he asked. I consented, and he unlocked a huge oak cabinet along one of the shorter walls. From the bottom shelf Ganix retrieved a silver globe. The ball was hollow and made from thousands of thin, silver wires, woven and melded together to form a design of magical creatures prancing about its perimeter. Each figure was no bigger than the width of one of my fingers; the detail was incredible. I was honestly amazed that something so small and intricate could be made by the giant hands of the ogre.
“Are these hard to make?” I asked.
“Also very time consuming.” I asked what the item was used for, not thinking that it had any value other than ornamental. “They are meant to be shades for light orbs.” He held out his hand to receive the globe. “Only the rich can afford them though, and there are not many rich amongst us.”
