Crescent Moon

by David Partelow

  But the Dreamer was nowhere to be seen, another painful, blaming scar wrought upon the soul of the Prophet, for the blame of this absence was his own.

  The ripple of such a thought shook through the Prophet painfully, yet he held to his dreams and visions. His mind was carried deeply through the fabrics of time and remembrance. The Prophet was drawn through his visions to the point of creation, knowing that he must absorb all that he witnessed, for the meaning could be the difference of victory or defeat. It was his blessing to know, and it was also his curse. And as so, the Prophet opened his senses to the unfolding nothingness and everything.

  What the Prophet saw before him was the bleakest of darkness. Yet with but a blink, this darkness was met with the birth of the Firestar, an explosion of powerful light. And born on this great light and creation was the being known as Magranar, a creature of pure and untarnished power. Magranar descended upon the darkness and brought life to Lunaria, lording over his creation as its ruler and god. Under the warmth of the Firestar, Lunaria flourished, a world of untold beauty and possibility. Yet even in this prosperous creation there was trouble, for a conflict began inside of the great being.

  As time unfolded, the creator was torn on how to maintain the balance of his world and how he should hold command over his domain. There were none like him to discuss such a course, and eons of solitude tore at Magranar’s core. At last, a new dawn emerged when the great deity split, ushering in the birth of the eternal brothers Mardas and Moreg. The dual beings were joined of spirit, yet divided of view and soon these views shaped Lunaria in light and darkness.

  Time then unfolded once more, and the Prophet watched the dawning of strife, for the conflict that bore Mardas and Moreg now permeated Lunaria. Under this influence, the creatures and races of Lunaria were drawn to opposing sides, shaped by the hands of the eternal brothers. The harmony of Magranar’s world grew turbulent under Mardas and Moreg, for while Mardas embraced the light, Moreg wished to return the world to the darkness that once reigned. The impending clash was all but inevitable.

  The Prophet cried out in his dreams, feeling the force and power of the battles waged of that time. The bloodshed was unrelenting and fully welcomed by Moreg. Mardas knew that his brother had to be stopped at all costs, or war would carry endlessly until all that was left were death and shadows. These were the darkest days that Lunaria would ever know, with the survival of the world cast into doubt. Mardas challenged his brother openly then, prepared to do whatever was necessary to stop the unending strife of his world.

  The fight between the brothers shook Lunaria completely, placing its survival in question. And it was in this carnage that Mardas realized at last the folly of his battle with Moreg and sacrificed himself to put an end to the conflict. Moreg jumped on the chance to finish his brother, yet the light and love offered by Mardas consumed and destroyed Moreg, severing his hold upon Lunaria. The shadows faded at last and the races and creatures of Lunaria could again know peace.

  The Prophet could then feel the relief of those that had survived the conflict. Mardas, somehow surviving the ordeal, vowed to never let such a fate befall his world again. Breaking himself once more, Mardas faded from the world forever and in his place rose the four elemental Guardians. As the children of Mardas, these beings each commanded one of the elements of life: fire, water, air and land. It was these Guardians who would continue to protect Lunaria after Mardas and through this the world prospered once more.

  Yet evil as powerful as Moreg could not be completely vanquished so easily. For though his form was broken, the brother of Mardas somehow lived on. Refusing such sacrifice as Mardas, Moreg endured in the shadows he loved, building strength to try to reclaim Lunaria as his own. And because of this darkness, the protectors of Lunaria could never fully lower their guard.

  The Guardians remained ever vigilant against the threat of Moreg, taking precautions to combat the great and ancient evil. Yet over time, they realized that the fallen dark god was subtle and powerful. Moreg proved patient and able to turn the most loyal of hearts cruel and wicked. It was then agreed upon that any of Lunaria’s inhabitants could be corrupted, even the Guardians themselves. At last, it was the Guardian of the waters that came to solution and a hope for their world. And this was the birth of the greatest champion the world of Lunaria would ever know.

  The Dreamer.

  Drawn from another world, given a power born of the strength of the Guardians, the one chosen as the Dreamer was above Moreg’s corruption and able to combat his influence with almost limitless power. An order was born in that time, a tradition passed down from one Dreamer to the next. Called upon in Lunaria’s darkest hours, the Dreamer brought again the light lost through the perils wrought by Moreg.

  But now, as darkness began to stir once more within the lands of Lunaria, the Dreamer was nowhere to be seen.

  The Prophet knew without knowing how that this absence pleased Moreg. Lunaria desperately needed its champion once more. Scant few knew the reasons for the disappearance of the Dreamer, and the Prophet was one of them. The knowledge left him with a burden of guilt and sadness that was like a scar on his soul. Moreg’s darkness was gathering strength, calling to the Prophet even now through whispers of peace and promises of true power.

  The Prophet accepted these visions, his spirit wide open as his thoughts rushed back to his body. In a gasp, life returned to his limbs and the Prophet’s eyes shot open as he cried out. Sitting up from his bed roll, the ancient being looked upon the smoldering remnants of his fire, assuring himself that he was awake and still very much alive. Absorbing the details of his small camp, the Prophet calmed himself as he drew steady breaths. The Firestar was just beginning to rise and was offering glimpses of its gentle warmth.

  The Prophet took long moments reorienting himself. For while the dreams that carried him only lasted small spans, such moments still felt like exhausting ages. He looked down at his dark, tattered robes and then the wrinkled hands that spoke volumes of his age. He smiled softly down at them. They were old and pained, but the Prophet had earned every mile he mustered from those hands. Every wrinkle, every scar and scrape had been a gift of his travels upon a magical world and he welcomed every groan and ache that was wrought from their use.

  The Prophet stood gingerly as he stretched the weariness from his bones. Looking about at the small pond before him, he nodded softly at the small lily fairies that made the soft waters their home. The fairies had accepted that the Prophet meant them no harm, yet still they kept a wary distance from the newcomer. Waving to them, the Prophet began to put away his camp as the burdens he carried slowly weighed on him once more. With the calling of the visions, he knew exactly where he had to now travel. And the surety of that knowledge brought the Prophet very little comfort.

  With the contents of his camp returned to his pack, the Prophet slung the old bag upon his back as he procured his sword and walking staff. These objects were two of his greatest gifts, one given by the High King Tor-El Landen and the other from an ancient tree older than the Prophet himself. Both had been his companions through many spans of years, keeping him safe against the perils upon his path. And thus packed and armed, the Prophet continued his journey upon a new course.

  The Prophet kept one hand upon the hilt of his sword as he walked. He knew if the light was calling to him now then Moreg would be aware of it. He kept his pace cautious as he veered from the main roads. Luckily, the Prophet was aware of paths and trails lost to others and was able to keep his travels undetected. He just wondered for how long he could keep safely shrouded in such secrecy.

  Walking onward, the Prophet could feel the stirrings deeply within him, even now. The visions were just starting, destiny was just again falling into place as the stars slowly aligned. It was a time of darkness yes, but the Prophet knew that the light would rise to challenge it as well. This was needed more than ever. He would require whatever time he could salvage to right the wrongs of his own sins. In the end, he prayed t
hat such time would be enough.

  Continuing his trek, the Prophet paused long enough to drink from his water skin. Wiping at his brow, he pressed forward, feeling destiny surge within his very core. He knew he had to continue on, yet the next visions were crucial to the survival of Lunaria. To stand true at the Crescent Moon, his world and the Dreamer would need champions to pave the way. There would be tribulations that he could no longer endure alone and as such, the Prophet reached out now, clearing his thoughts and throat.

  “Rigmor,” he whispered with conviction and purpose. “I come to you now. Guide my way. Show me those who would shape destiny and defend the light. I welcome your council with all that I am,” offered the Prophet as he walked onward.

  Keeping his pace, the Prophet was soon offered new vigor as strong magic rushed over him. He smiled faintly, knowing his request had been answered. As such, he allowed himself to be guided on his path as visions filled him entirely. The Prophet’s eyes coursed with purpose as he saw nothing yet also everything he needed to see. He was now in a waking dream as his cares fell to Rigmor and the shaping hands of fate. Now, with his spirit broken wide open, the Prophet saw the truth as he was guided upon the path.

  It was out of his hands now as he witnessed those that could and would rise to be heroes in a deeper and darker battle for the light and all Lunaria.

  and so they meet

  ana and Elizaeth

  Upon the magical world of Lunaria, under the warmth of the Firestar stood the mighty kingdom of light called Saelen. From the heart of Saelen, the realm was ruled by the good King Tor-El Landin, who kept vigilant against all evils against his people. Within his domain rested a magical haven for elves known as Lunamorn. The largest of elven settlements, Lunamorn stood proudly as an example of valor for all in the great kingdom and realm of light.

  The ivory walls of Lunamorn practically shimmered in the Firestar light. The pride of the elves could be easily seen in the kingdom’s architecture, from its graceful arches to its stoic towers. The only contrast to the glistening span of white was the gentle green vegetation spanning the kingdom. Perfectly tended, it offered a pulsing life to the unswerving dignity that was Lunamorn.

  Inside the vast walls of the kingdom, the elves lived peacefully within their home. But while they were beings of goodness, sometimes they judged outsiders harshly, especially those different from themselves. Very few non-elves ever ventured within Lunamorn, save for the greatest allies of the elf Rangers. And even then, such heroes were often looked upon with distrust. For most elves believed that being different was a cause for suspicion, a trait they attributed to their longevity and prosperity.

  This belief brought Lunamorn to its current predicament, for it was a problem they had no idea how to resolve. Presently, two elves escorted a youngling through the streets of Lunamorn amid a slew of curious eyes. The two adults ignored the attention, while the young elf in their care cast back angry gazes to those that looked at her. Shrouded in a blanket, the little elf attempted to shrug off the blanket and have words with the onlookers, yet the adults that guided her stopped her quickly, nudging her onward.

  The male elf put a hand on the young elf’s shoulder as they walked, never taking his eyes off the road ahead. “Do not encourage them, Ana. It only makes things worse,” he said, obviously distracted by the eyes upon them.

  The young girl looked up at the elf speaking to her. And while her skin was like pure moonlight and her eyes shimmered like the stars, currently she held an anger that darkened her features. Her mood was as wild as the long hair upon her head as she replied. “I don’t care, Handuin. I have done this too many times to bother with what others think of me anymore,” said Ana.

  The female elf patted young Ana on her back. “Take heart, Ana. I am sure this time will be the last time for such a change. And in time, the other elves will accept you too,” she said.

  Ana crossed her arms in a huff. “There is a very fat chance of that ever happening, Deeva,” said Ana. The young girl’s response prompted the three elves to continue in silence.

  As Ana walked, she tried to remain calm, but it was not easy. She could see the other children pointing and whispering about her. Some of them were even giggling. From the day she had been brought to Lunamorn, Ana had been passed from one family to the next, many times over. She realized quickly that she was unique, so unique in fact that there was not one in all the kingdom like her. And it was a fact that made others gossip, fear and laugh in her direction.

  Ana tried to not let it bother her, but in the end, it simply made her feel deeply alone.

  It wasn’t long before they reached their destination. Ana waited silently behind Handuin and Deeva as they gazed upon the immaculate home before them. Making sure it was the right location, Handuin motioned for Deeva and Ana to follow him. Ana sighed at this, for she’d almost lost count at how many times she had done this routine. Somehow, in her heart she knew it would never end.

  Handuin wasted not a moment, rapping on the door soundly three times. The door was quickly answered by a stern looking elf who bore his bold eyes into all three of the visitors at his entrance. When the man’s eyes met Ana’s, she found herself taking steps away from him until Deeva placed both hands on her shoulders to keep her in place. With nowhere to go, Ana held her ground, swallowing hard as she tried to remain brave.

  The elf at the door was quick at addressing his visitors sharply. “State your purpose, for I am a busy man,” he said. And while he did not yell, his words stung in Ana’s ears as if he had.

  Handuin bowed before responding. “Good Domas, it is I, Handuin. I have been in contact with you about claiming custody of a very special little girl,” said Handuin as he motioned to Ana. “This is Ana and she is anxious to get acquainted with her new home and family.”

  “You do all of Lunamorn a great service,” added Deeva, squeezing Ana’s shoulders gently. “I think you will find our young friend here a wonderful addition.”

  Domas waved a hand at the pleasantries. “Our time for such charity has simply come up. But before I make any lasting decision, this first must be cleared with my family, especially my daughter,” said Domas as he motioned them forward. “Come in then.”

  As Domas opened the door further, Ana looked up at Deeva sadly. “Well, we’re off to a great start,” she said. “I give this place a week, if that.”

  Deeva sighed as she gently moved the young elf forward. “Let’s go, Ana,” she said.

  Upon entering his home, Ana and the others followed Domas through a spacious hallway before being lead into a large room where another elf waited. Ana guessed that she had to be the wife of Domas. The woman looked upon Ana with gentle features as she studied the girl with curious eyes. Ana thought the woman was beautiful with her long, braided blonde hair and icy blue eyes. Ana still said nothing though as Domas went to stand beside the woman.

  Domas spoke as he stopped and turned. “This is my wife, Myriah. She is the one you have been in contact with, Handuin. It is my wife who has shown a great interest in taking in the orphan. Myriah, this is Ana,” said Domas.

  Myriah smiled as she approached Ana. Placing her hands on her legs, Myriah leaned forward, offering Ana a deep smile. “Hello, Ana. I have heard much about you. I’m sorry that you have been shuffled around as much as you have. I know that must be very trying,” said the woman.

  “Please answer when you are addressed,” said Handuin softly.

  Ana cleared her throat as she nodded to Myriah. “Pleased to meet you, Myriah. And yes, it has been very trying,” she said.

  “Whatever happened to your parents, Ana?” Myriah asked.

  Ana shrugged as she shifted uncomfortably. “I don’t know, Myriah. I never knew my parents. All of my memories start here in Lunamorn,” said the young elf.

  Myriah nodded as she frowned at this. “I am sorry, Ana. That must be very hard to take in. You had an unfortunate start and things have not been much easier for you since. How many homes have you
been in so far?”

  Deeva chose to speak for Ana. “Ana has been loved by a handful of wonderful families that have welcomed her with open arms,” said the woman.

  “Seventeen,” said Ana after her as Deeva gave her a scowl. “I usually get to stay for as long as the family can endure me being…different.”

  Myriah gave Ana a warm smile. “You do not look different to me, Ana,” she said.

  Ana gave the woman a wry grin. “Oh, I’m certain I can change your mind in just a few seconds,” said the girl.

  “Ana, behave,” said Handuin with a soft sternness. He then addressed Domas and his wife. “She is rambunctious, yet I assure you Ana is also well-behaved. She gets along with most of the children of the houses she has resided, I am told.”

  Domas placed his hands on his hips. “Well, that is the real issue here,” said the stern elf as he eyed Ana fiercely. “Our daughter will have the final say in this matter. She is a prominent young woman on her way to becoming a Ranger one day. And as such, I will not tolerate anyone that will detract from her future in any way.”

  Handuin nodded at Domas. “That is perfectly understandable. Will we have the pleasure of meeting your future Ranger on this day?”

  Domas nodded. “You shall,” he said. The elf then motioned to the other door in the room. “Liz, come here please.”

  Ana looked to where Domas had motioned. She watched as a young woman walked into the room quickly with wary eyes. Her blonde hair was tied back in a long ponytail. She was no more than four years Ana’s elder, yet she somehow looked even older to Ana. As Ana’s eyes met with Liz’s, she could no longer remove her gaze. The two stared at one another then, with neither offering a single a word.