by John W Fort
The Shadow of
Black Rock
The Forbidden Scrolls: 1
John W. Fort
copyright 2015, all rights reserved.
DEDICATION
To Sydney Six and Lucas Five,
My children and inpsiration to be a better man.
CONTENTS
Part I - Shadow Fall
Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
Chapter 4
Chapter 5
Part II -Secrets
Chapter 6
Chapter 7
Chapter 8
Chapter 9
Chapter 10
Chapter 11
Part III -Apprentice
Chapter 12
Chapter 13
Chapter 14
Chapter 15
Chapter 16
Chapter 17
Chapter 18
Part IV -Youngling’s End
Chapter 19
Chapter 20
Chapter 21
Chapter 22
Chapter 23
How to Help the Author
About the Author
Acknowledgements
About the Forbidden Scrolls
PART I - SHADOW FALL
CHAPTER 1
The shadow overhead loomed closer as Raef ran farther into the meadow. He was running away from the village, away from safety, but it had gotten between him and home, and there was nowhere else to run. The youngling’s dark locks swirled behind him as he tore through the open field. The blades slapped against his shoulders stinging and leaving tiny cuts up and down his slim arms. The grass was slowing him down; he could not outrun the foreboding creature.
A rush of wind from behind threw him face down, tumbling him head over heels before coming to rest on his stomach in the deep grass. He felt the darkness pass so close over him its chill blocked out the sun. He trembled, crouching in a ball and closing his eyes tight as if that would make it go away. He could not make himself look up. He felt the sun on his back and he knew the shadow had passed, but he still could not bring himself to look up. Was it going to come back?
Slowly, after what seemed an eternity, Raef opened his eyes and looked up. The grass around him blocked all but the sky above. He sat up on his knees, back to the village, and carefully peeked over the grass. In the distance, high up in the sky he caught a glimpse of a dark figure flying towards the distant mountains. He was not sure, but he thought it glanced back briefly at him before flapping its mammoth wings and shooting up into the sky, nearly out of sight. Raef watched it for a moment as it continued towards the dark, spiny mountains on the horizon.
Raef stood upright and looked down at himself. He was still breathing hard. His trousers were muddied and stained with grass. The tie straps, sewn to each side and knotted in front, had come undone. He tried to tie them together, but the result was insufficient. He would need his mother’s help. The lacing above his leather shoes that held his trouser legs to his calves and ankles was also coming undone. He held out his arms and saw tiny droplets of blood where the grass had cut him. He suddenly noticed the sting again and clasped his arms together across his chest holding his hands over the bloodied spots. He felt tears begin to well up in his eyes. He looked around and realized he had run nearly to the center of the meadow on the east end of the village. He worried he would be punished for being so far from home. He felt exposed surrounded only by an expanse of grass. His village was in the center of a vast forest of tall fir trees and he was not accustomed to being out in the open. He turned toward the village and began to run back along the trail he had cut through the meadow, holding his trousers by the waist so they would not fall down. He broke out of the meadow and ran down the dirt road that led to the northeastern edge of the village where he lived.
Raef was careful to stay on the flat space in the center of the road between the ruts so he wouldn’t stumble. It was late spring and the roads were no longer muddy so running was easy. He ran past rows of small dwellings, their dark timber frames outlining white washed walls of clay and stick, the roofs thatched with poles and grass. He felt the laces of his shoes come loose and his trousers began to flap around his ankles as he neared his family’s dwelling.
Raef rounded a corner and ran down the short path to his home. He hit the thin door with enough force to make it fly open and slam against the inside wall. His mother was at the center of the room stirring a pot that hung over the house fire. Raef ran to her and clung to her leg.
“Momma, Momma! It was chasing me…and it nearly snatched me up!”
Malta, his mother, paused and looked down at him. She was on the short side for an adult and almost always wore a kind smile. She lifted an eyebrow as she looked down at him. She did not look as alarmed as Raef thought she should be.
“What was chasing you?”
“The dragon,” he said, “it was the dragon!”
She put down the wooden spoon she held and reached down to pick him up.
“Raef, my little story teller, no one has seen the…well, that monster in a very long time, not since before you were born,” She tussled his hair, “I think your imagination…”
“It was, it was!”
His mother’s expression grew dark, and Raef could not read it.
“Raef, what did you see, exactly?”
“It was flying!” he said, “It came down out of the sky when I was in the meadow. It chased me, but I fell down, so it didn’t get me, then it flew away, but it looked back at me again and…”
“You were out playing in the meadow?”
Raef felt a slight panic, “I…I…I was just at the edge. Not out in the big part. But then it came out of the sky and chased me way out there!”
His mother looked confused “Raef, Raef,” she said, “I have told you never to wander so far from home alone. I do not want you to be going out in the meadow.”
“Will Father be angry?”
His mother put him down, put a hand to her chin, and looked off into the distance. Her eyes squinted slightly, and her face grew expressionless. Raef followed her eyes to see what she was looking at, but her gaze led only to the blank wall of the hut.
Just then his father walked in the door, coming home for the mid sun meal. Folor ducked to get under the doorway then stood, his head nearly brushing the ceiling joists. His inky hair hung down past his waist. Folor paused inside the door with a large smile and looked at Malta, then down at Raef. Raef’s mother did not seemed to notice Folor’s arrival. Raef saw his father’s smile fade.
“Is something wrong?” Folor asked his mother.
“No, no,” stammered his mother, taking her gaze off the wall and looking at her husband, “well, Raef…he says he was chased by a dragon…out in the meadow.”
“A dragon?” Folor asked.
Raef ran to his father’s feet, waving his arms as he talked.
“I saw it, I saw it! It had big red fangs and black claws…”
“Raef,” Folor cut him off, “The dragon does not have red teeth. And where are your shirt and tunic? I will not have my own son running about the village half-dressed.”
“But, Father, it really did chase me! It was right over me, and its wings made a big wind an it knocked me down!”
Folor looked down at Raef and squinted.
“Folor,” Raef’s mother said, “something scared him in the meadow.”
Folor sighed and looked down at Raef. “What did you really see?”
Raef studied his father’s face. It looked stern, almost angry. Folor got very loud when he was angry.
“Well,” Raef said, “it was like a big windy thing, and it knocked me over and…and…I couldn’t look up, but then I did,
and it was flying away and…it was really big, Father!”
Folor sighed again, hung his robe on the wall and walked around Raef to the table with slow, deliberate steps. He sat on one of the wooden benches putting both his arms on the table, banging them down harder than Raef thought he needed to. Raef watched his father’s arms flex and bulge through the tunic he wore.
“No one has reported a sighting in seasons,” said Folor speaking in the direction of the window. Raef was not sure to whom his father was speaking.
“Besides, the dragon never ventures so near a village,” continued Folor.
“Raef was alone in the meadow,” said Raef’s mother, “He is small…easy prey. Perhaps…Folor do you think?”
“Malta, be sensible. After all this time why would...that beast come back? And why chase our son?”
“It has not been so long. Narra vanished just last moon cycle. You know, Serip’s daughter.”
Folor did not look at Raef’s mother, but shook his head disbelievingly.
“You know it was the dragon that took her,” said Raef’s mother, “We can’t keep letting Raef go off alone like that!”
Folor sighed. He does that a lot, Raef thought. Then Folor looked over at Raef. He smiled a little, and Raef came up to his side. Even when his father was seated Raef did not even come up to his shoulder. Folor reached out and patted his head.
“Malta, Raef will be fine. Narra had already fifteen seasons. She probably ran off with some greenling from another village. The dragon had nothing to do with that. Besides, I taught Raef how to take care of himself. He will be fine.”
“Folor, Raef has only six seasons!” Malta turned briskly back to the fire and began to stir the pot hanging over it. “The dragon did see him. I am sure of it now.”
“Malta, we cannot keep our son locked up in the house. We will not become one of those hysterical families that believe the dragon is hiding behind every rock.”
At that Folor stood swiftly, walked to his bed against the far wall, and pulled the privacy curtain closed behind him with a swoosh. Raef saw his mother sigh, pull a towel from her sash, wrap it around the wire handle of the pot, and lift the kettle from the fire.
“Raef, go wash up, the meal is ready. And put a shirt on at least.”
Raef padded over to the washbasin that sat on a small table against the wall as his mother put the pot on the table. It smelled like lamb to Raef, and he didn’t like lamb much. He washed his hands and his arms to get the little bits of dried blood off. He was surprised that it no longer hurt. He wondered why his father did not believe he saw the dragon. Had it been real? Was he really safe? Raef was not quite sure.
✧
The water in the small pool stirred as if a breeze had blown over it, though the air was still and hot. The image of the small youngling washing his arms faded with the ripples, then the pool grew still as glass. Erif let out a sigh, stood slowly and stepped away from the pool. He had been crouching as he watched the scene play out in the water. He put his hands to his waist and bent backward, stretching his back until he felt it crack. Groaning, he ran his fingers through his short hair as he felt the sun warm his bare chest. The tattered remains of his trousers were insufficient for the straps of his boots to hold tight to his calves. The summer breeze blew the frayed edges of his sand-colored trousers about his legs.
Erif looked out over the dry, desolate island that was his new home. Hardly a tree in sight, only sand, dust and rock. He had thirty seasons and he found himself wondering how had his life come to this. He looked down at the temporary pool of water formed in a depression by a rare rainfall. He remembered the youngling in the vision.
“He is doomed.”
“No,” said the old spirit standing beside him.
Erif looked up into Zul’s gray eyes. The spirit had a snowy beard and hair that blew in the breeze. Zul’s face looked a bit worn and well tanned, but showed no frailty that one might expect of a being so ancient. Only the spirit’s threadbare and faded robe gave any sign of age.
“You know what will happen to him,” Erif said.
“That is why I am asking you to save him.”
“You know I can’t defeat it.”
“Not alone, that is why I am here.”
Zul moved closer to Erif and put a hand gently on the Warrior’s strong shoulder. Erif looked back at the pool of water where he had seen the vision.
“We can go back now,” said the old spirit.
Erif looked incredulously at the spirit.
“You drug me all the way up this hill just to see this? Couldn’t you have shown me down on the beach?”
“Use the walk back to gather your courage.”
Zul faded from sight. Erif shook his head and began the long walk back to his camp near the beach. The air was hot and the path dusty. The few trees on the horizon were stunted and haggard. This particular sun’s journey had actually been fairly pleasant before Zul had interrupted. Erif had managed to put his loneliness briefly out of his mind. But now this vision of doom reminded him of his own situation. This deserted island was the very image of hopelessness. He took a deep breath and walked taller. He would try to have hope. At least he wanted to have hope. He felt ready to follow the Great Spirit, even into this fanatical plan, but what could Erif do stranded out here on this island?
Erif’s attention was snapped back to the present at the sound of a faint scuff on the ground nearby. His hand instinctively went to the sword at his side. Half hidden behind a dry bush crouched a gray wolf. Erif saw other wolves in the distance. The closest wolf snarled at the sight of the man. The wolf turned when Erif began to draw his sword. As it slinked away, Erif could see the long scar on its side from the last time it tried to ambush him. The other wolves followed the first upwards into the higher hills. Erif sheathed his sword and muttered to himself. He looked down the long, winding path. He could scarcely see the beach where he had made his camp. He shook his head and slowly trudged on. Couldn’t Zul have chosen a closer spot to show him this vision?
✧
“Ow!” cried Raef, falling to the ground and grimacing as he held a toe he had snagged on a rock. His leather shoes were thin and did little to protect his feet against rocks. “Damn the spirits!” he muttered, trying out words he had heard older greenlings use.
The three younglings walking with him stopped suddenly and looked back at him. They had his seasons but wore hair cut above their ears, indicating they were the sons of Warriors.
“You are not allowed to speak that!” said Keever, as he walked back to Raef.
“Your father is a Keeper,” said Chaz, joining Keever to circle around Raef, “You profane his name.”
“Be quiet,” said Raef, still holding his big toe, “I can speak what I want.”
“But, you are an Intercessor,” said Liet, joining the circle.
“So?” said Raef, feeling his cheeks burning.
“Intercessors are not to speak like that,” said Chaz.
“You do!” Raef said.
“We are Warriors,” said Liet, reaching down and giving Raef’s long hair a sharp tug, “Warriors don’t go to ceremony, and we can speak any way we like.”
The three Warrior younglings danced around Raef, taunting him a bit more, then ran ahead on their way to youngling lessons. Raef watched them go as he sat in the dirt. He was actually a little taller than all of them, but they were stronger and faster. Raef got up and followed at a distance, trying to fight off tears. Why did his family have to be Intercessors? He would almost rather be a common Laborer or a Merchant. But these were things he knew could not be changed.
Raef did not mind going to lessons. The Training Lodge was one of the few places all the younglings were treated the same. Except the Laborers, that is. Their younglings worked out in the fields. He decided it was good he was not a Laborer. Raef kind of liked the Training Lodge, even if it was hard to sit still so long. He was not quite confident in numbers, but he liked to hear the stories
of old times and learn about the other villages in the Great Province. But after lessons he could not quite fit in with the other younglings. Some returned to their homes, but Chaz, Liet and Keever played Warrior back behind the Training Lodge. Raef played with them, but he wished they would play something where he could not get hurt. They used sticks as swords and an old wooden barrel as the dragon. Raef played half-heartedly, keeping his distance from the flailing sticks. Liet turned and saw Raef, who was standing away from the others.
“What’s the matter? Afraid of a stick!”
Liet swung his pointed stick back and forth in front of Raef’s face. Raef held up an arm in defense and backed away. Liet laughed at him.
“Now Raef is the dragon!” Chaz said, “Get him!”
Raef dropped his stick and ran, the other three chasing with their makeshift swords. Raef shrieked, running in circles to evade them.
“Younglings!” came a stern warning.
All four froze at the sound of the older voice. It was Irah, Raef’s older sister. She was a greenlia with fifteen seasons and a well respected Intercessor. Her earthen hair was braided down her back. As Raef and his father, Irah was tall for her age. She stood in the road, hands on her hips.
“You three stop that, or I’ll tell your mothers!” Irah said.
Raef’s three friends knew better than to disobey her, even if they were from the Warrior clan. They dropped their sticks. Raef was relieved but embarrassed.
“Raef,” Irah said, “You were supposed to be home by now. This is new moon meditation, remember? You need to get cleaned up.”
Raef hung his head. He could hardly imagine anything more embarrassing. In Warrior families a sister, even an older one, would never tell a brother what to do. And Warriors never went to meditation or religious ceremonies. Raef could hear his friends snickering quietly. He could only imagine what they thought of him. He slunk away after his sister. He could hear the youngling Warriors begin to laugh as he left.
When he arrived home, his father was already dressed in his crimson Keeper robe. The mid-sun meal was set at the table, his mother busily laying out leather mugs and thick slices of hard, stale bread called trenchers, which the food was to be served on. Folor did not look pleased. Raef hurried and took his seat on the bench.
“Raef, look at you!” said Folor. “You are a filthy mess! You were supposed to be home in time to wash before the meal.”
Raef sat quietly at the table, unable to look up at his father, who had not taken a seat at the wooden family table. Irah sat next to Raef and began to cut some meat from the wooden serving plank at the center of the table and put it on her trencher. Raef, hoping his father was done speaking, pulled a knife from where it had been tucked in his trouser tie strap and reached for the meat to cut himself a piece.
“Well, Raef,” said Folor after a minute, “we cannot take you looking like that. What were you doing, rolling in dirt?”
His mother did not look at Raef or Folor, but sat quietly and poured malt from the pitcher into her mug.
“Go on, Raef,” said Folor, pointing to the wash basin, “get over there and wash yourself. And hurry; we are already late!”
Raef pushed away from the table, not looking up at his father.
“Folor,” Raef’s mother said quietly, “the ceremony has not started. We are not late.”
“But we will be,” said Folor, “and it will be your fault, Raef!”
As Raef ran past his father he felt a sharp swat. His backside stung. Folor followed him to the basin, standing over Raef like a granite tower. Raef tried not to cry too much as he washed his face, hands and arms. When he was done washing Folor finally stepped away, returning to the table to eat.
“And put on some clean clothes,” Folor said before Raef could return to the table.
Raef dried his face and hands and went to his bed to change his clothes. He did not have a privacy curtain, so he changed with his back to the family. When he turned to the table Folor was seated and everyone was done eating.
“Hurry up and eat,” Folor said, “you can’t very well carry your food with you.”
“I can eat after,” Raef said.
“No, you will eat now,” said Folor.
Raef sat and quickly cut some meat and put it on the trencher in front of him. He spooned some pottage from the pot and put that on the trencher beside his meat. Folor sat across from him, glaring while Irah and Malta got up and cleared away the meat plank and the three used trenchers. They would be given to the poor to eat later. Raef wanted to cry but was afraid that it would make his father even angrier. He ate quickly, trying not to drip food on his shirt.
His family arrived at the Ceremonial Lodge after most of the others, but they were not late. As they entered Raef saw the rows of split-log benches filled with villagers, but the meditations had not yet begun. The Ceremonial Lodge was the second largest structure in the village. Only the Common Hall used for dances, village feasts and watching travelling troupes of actors was larger. Even then, the Ceremonial Lodge was much nicer inside with ornate carvings in the timbers that supported the tall ceiling. Most of the seats were already taken, but Irah found a spot for him, his mother and herself to sit near the front. The village Nobles and their families sat on the front rows with those of Intercessor lineage like Raef’s family in the rows just behind them. Raef did not understand why those on the front rows were called Noble because they looked no more significant than his own father. Raef’s father even wore a nicer robe than any of the Nobles. The Merchants, Artisans and Laborers sat in the rows behind the Intercessors and made up the largest group. Folor walked to the front of the room and stood to face the gathering. It was his turn as one of the Keepers to lead the ceremony. The other Keepers stood off to the sides in their blazing robes.
Raef watched as his father begin to speak. Folor towered over the other Keepers, and Raef imagined him to be taller, perhaps, than anyone in the village. His father’s voice resounded through the lodge, and Raef relaxed and slouched down on the bench. No one would make fun of him here. Not even his father would raise his voice to him. Not here in the Ceremonial Lodge. There were no Warriors here, everyone here observed the ceremonies. All Intercessor males wore their hair long, just like Raef. Even the male Nobles, Merchants and Laborers had hair that brushed their shoulders. Here he was not different.
Raef leaned against his mother and tried to listen as his father spoke. Folor was saying something about the Great Spirit, Zul. It was always hard for Raef to pay attention at ceremonies. He was glad that younglings were only required to attend some of the ceremonies.
“We must never lose our vigilance against the evil of the beast,” said Folor.
Raef knew that his father meant the dragon. This was at least a little interesting, because the Keepers rarely spoke about the dragon.
“Even its very name is too evil to be spoken. We must never let down our guard.”
Raef wasn’t sure what his father meant. What was a “guard?” He leaned back so his foot reached the floor and made circles in the dirt with the toe of his shoe. The people were pleasant here, but it was terribly dull.
“We can be fooled as it is so rarely seen, hiding in the forbidden mountains,” Raef heard his father say, “but do not be lulled to complacency. It lives to catch us unaware and eat us alive when we let it come too close.”
Raef wondered if what chased him a few sunsets past was really a dragon.
“But we are guided by the Great Spirit, Zul. He will protect all who observe the ceremonies.”
Folor’s voice faded as Raef closed his eyes and imagined being a Warrior and hunting wild animals out in the forest. But then he heard Folor mention his name. Raef perked up to hear what his father was saying about him. Folor was telling the gathering about the dragon chasing Raef out in the meadow. Several heads turned to look at Raef. Raef was confused, hadn’t Father said earlier that it was not really the dragon?
“Surely Zul protected my son,” Folor sa
id, “for Raef, though only a youngling, observes the ceremonies.”
Raef sat a little taller. His father was telling a story about him in front of everyone, and saying nice things about him. Real dragon or not, Raef liked that. Folor continued to speak, but he moved past the dragon story and onto something else Raef didn’t understand. Raef drifted into another fantasy. He imagined a giant dragon coming after him, but Raef stood still in defiance.
“You can’t hurt me, you old dragon!” Raef said in his dream, “Zul will stop you.”
The dragon swooped down, but was repelled. It swooped in again and again, but Raef could deflect it by a simple wave of his hand. Raef laughed at the beast.
“Shh!” said Irah.
Raef was startled and opened his eyes to find the room silent. His father was no longer at the front, and everyone’s eyes were closed with hands and heads lifted skyward. They were meditating. Raef hated this part, sitting in silence so long. All the adults seemed to like meditating, and he supposed he would too one sun’s journey. Younglings only attended the new moon meditation each cycle. Raef was glad for that. Raef slouched down in the hard wooden bench and let his mind drift away again to fantasies of exploring the nearby forests and defeating dragons, trying to keep more quiet this time.
