Prophecy Of The Guardian (Guardian Series Book 1)

by J. W. Baccaro

  Immediately, Seth rushed over to help the poor lad up, and a good plenty laughed at the careless prince, a boy ‘trying’ to sound noble but failing miserably, only to make a fool out of himself. Young or not, Loreus seemed so unlike his father, a man who from childhood hardly revealed a single fault. But no longer did that man walk this earth.

  “He’s not our king anymore,” many among the crowd jeered. “And Mirabel is not our friend.”

  Triumphantly, Magnus approached Mirabel, face to face. “May we never cross paths again.”

  “So be it, Magnus,” Mirabel answered in a whisper, “…so be it.”

  Magnus walked away. His people followed and began packing their belongings.

  Those who remained with Mirabel stood quiet—speechless. The wind whistled a sad melody, fitting for the moment.

  “This isn't right,” said a young man called Mythaen, looking aside at his uncle Alaric. Both of these men were among the four who returned from the battle earlier that day, now standing beside the cast away Nasharin. They remembered Mirabel's great acts in past times, and how he’d saved their lives that day in battle. No matter how much Magnus tried to belittle Mirabel, or make him sound unworthy…truly, disrespect for this warrior should be considered a sin.

  “We are faithful to our king,” Alaric vowed, looking Mirabel in the eye. “As we are to his friend—our friend.”

  “Aye,” Mythaen agreed.

  Feeling the same, the crowd bowed their heads to him.

  “Thank you, dear friends,” Mirabel answered, admittedly surprised. “But venerate me not; gather your children and belongings. We haven’t a minute to spare.”

  ~~***~~

  Once everybody finished packing, yet a second time and stood ready to leave, Sorrel and Kaylis approached Mirabel to say goodbye. Sorrel looked a little uncomfortable, as though she were sensing the eyes of her husband watching her. “I’m so sorry it has to be this way,” she said, her voice soft and feeble like a delicate flower.

  “I understand,” Mirabel answered.

  “While I’m not happy with my husband’s decision, I must follow him. He is my husband. Besides, I am with child. I can sense it.”

  “May the blessings of the Light be with you always.”

  “I pray the same for you. Thank you for all you’ve done for us throughout the years.”

  He nodded.

  She kissed him on the cheek then glanced back to her son. “Kaylis, it’s your turn to say goodbye. Your father and I will be waiting.”

  Kaylis couldn’t seem to look upon him as he sobbed bitterly.

  Mirabel knelt down, gently set a finger under his chin and lifted his face.

  His eyes were glossy, his cheeks swelled.

  “There, there, now, my little friend. Everything is going to be all right.”

  “I hate my father! Why does he have to be so negative toward you all the time? You didn’t do anything wrong. I want to follow you. You’re my friend. Both you and Seth.”

  “You’re our friend too. But believe it or not, your father needs you. So does your mother. Please, let not this parting of ours build up any more anger against your father. He’s only doing what he thinks is best.”

  The child sighed. “...if you say so. But will I ever see you again?”

  “I guarantee it. We are Nasharins.”

  Kaylis smiled and wrapped his arms around him tightly, giving him a farewell hug.

  “Thank you for coming with us tonight. That was very brave of you.”

  “I didn’t do much.”

  Mirabel thought about the golden ball stashed away in his backpack. “You did enough.”

  “Aye? I snuck back well, huh?” he snorted with amusement. “My parents never knew I was gone.” He peered down at the child Mirabel rescued. After being given an unnatural amount of mashed apricots and goats’ milk as if the babe’s belly had no end, he’d been wrapped in fresh blankets…the babe seemed fast asleep. “Goodbye, little Darshun.” Kaylis patted him on the head. “You will learn great things from your new father.” He wished farewell to a few others who were dear to his heart, like Seth Caelen and little Prince Loreus…then returned to his father and mother.

  A few minutes later, both groups parted, and the camp was empty.

  ~~***~~

  The following days consisted of traveling through heavy woods, across plains and meadows, even over a mountain. Every twelve hours they stopped for a rest, sometimes for the night.

  Finally, on the ninetieth day of the three months spoken, just as Mirabel promised, they reached the land which would be their new home. A beautiful place as well, there were over a thousand acres of open grassland surrounded by a thick forest, consisting of maples, oaks and pines.

  Scattered across the fields were an abundance of flowers ranging from yellow dandelions to reddish-orange butterfly weeds, blue chicory, and purple lupine; the mixture of their colors made the fields come alive with passion. Indeed, a perfect place to build a city. The Loreladians yelled out shouts of joy and praised Mirabel, then decided to dedicate the very first feast they would have in thanks to him.

  “We have made it, my brother.” Seth sighed with relief. “Just as you promised King Loreus. He’d be proud—is proud, looking on us from above. Now, what of the child and the golden ball?”

  “Answers…I must find.” Mirabel wore a look of concern. “So, rest while you can, it may not be long before we’re called back to war.”

  CHAPTER THREE

  THE NASHARIN RACE

  Seven long years they spent building the new city, and after much hard work and labor, it was completed. They’d constructed another castle, hundreds of homes made from wood, mudbrick and stone, and quite a few farms—about fifty acres each. The entirety of the land became the new Loreladia. Fortunately, the Loreladians were the only ones claiming these lands for hundreds of miles around, or so it seemed.

  Prince Loreus grew into a handsome young man. His blond hair long, his build; tall and muscular. He’d become King Loreus the Second. Though, he’d never been in battle, he still possessed the look of a true king, strong and noble…it shone in his golden eyes day after day.

  However, not everyone agreed with this seeming nobility. For many, a king must prove himself in battle before he could rule, and until that day, those having these feelings would continue with their disrespect for him—secretly, of course.

  In addition, his clumsiness didn't work in Loreus' favor. He typically tripped over any object in his path, such as tree roots, children's toys and people’s feet. It even became rather expected of him to fall on his face at banquets at least once before the night ended. Not to mention, he became known for bumping into and knocking over knickknacks and idols of deities sold in stores. In fact, more and more often, the owners desperately wanted him out of their places of business, but who was going to tell that to the king? Poor Loreus.

  As for Mirabel, he took the child Darshun…who was now seven years old, a happy-go-lucky kind of boy into the wilderness for a journey, lasting last five years. He would learn to become a Nasharin warrior. But first, he must know the basics, how to hunt, build shelter and survive.

  Little Darshun's first hunt began. For two days he’d been tracking an elk and by the following afternoon, he held the creature in his sights. A truly big one, a twelve pointer with beautiful dark brown fur, drinking from a stream. Sitting quietly in the brush, Darshun pulled back the arrow on his bow and held his breath in excitement. “Father is going to be so pleased,” he whispered, a tad louder than he meant to.

  The elk turned his head and through a slight opening of the brush, caught his eyes.

  “Eh? He sees me, yet—does not run.”

  The elk remained in his place, showing no signs of fear, and began to chew on the vegetation.

  Darshun began having second thoughts. “Aww, he’s hungry, and he looks so peaceful, simply enjoying his meal. I don’t think I want to kill him anymore.” He lowered his bow and carefully walked out of
the undergrowth, stepping a little closer for a better look.

  The elk raised his head, still munching on a few blades of grass.

  Darshun smiled. “He’s magnificent!”

  Abruptly, a cluster of black birds flapping their wings startled the creature and he poised himself to run.

  Darshun’s instinct took over and in a flash, he raised the bow, aimed then let go of the arrow, bringing the creature down. For a second, Darshun froze, shaken up and in denial of his actions. The cold hard fact of reality danced before his eyes and he hadn’t the slightest idea what’d come over him.

  Regardless of an arrow wedged deep into the middle of the creature's chest, the elk still moved, quivering, throbbing—struggling to get away. Slowly, Darshun approached, kneeling beside the poor thing, looking into his eyes. The elk stared back. What was this creature thinking? He’d trusted Darshun and now an arrow pierced him. Darshun reached out a hand and gently stroked his head. Breathing heavily, the elk continued to gaze at him. “I am sorry,” Darshun whispered.

  Strangely, the creature seemed to—nod? Only once. Either he understood, or it could’ve been simply a mundane course of action. It didn't matter, because a moment later he gave up his life. The elk was dead.

  A tear strolled down Darshun’s cheek. “Forgive me…The ways of the forest.” Then came a rustling of leaves. Darshun turned around and saw Mirabel coming through the brush. Rapidly, he jerked his head away to wipe his tears.

  “You got him!” Mirabel greeted. “Clean shot too. Well done, my boy.”

  “Yeah.” Darshun nodded, curving his lips into a weak smile. “I got him.”

  A few hours later, they rested near a large creek that Mirabel called, ‘The Azriel River.’ He made a fire and cooked the deer meat.

  Darshun didn’t eat any of it. He sat still, staring at the fire, lost in a daze.

  Sensing something wrong, Mirabel asked, “My son, what troubles you?”

  For a moment, he was quiet; then he raised his head. “Father, why do the gods create us to die?”

  “Which gods do you speak of? Because the Loreladians worship many gods, but we as you know, give homage to only one, the God of the Light, Abidan.”

  Abidan. Darshun’s earliest memories were stories about him. The God of Gods, the King of Kings, the Forger of the Light who dwells beyond the stars. Some say, he’s a wrathful god, others a loving one, or perhaps both. Nevertheless, his very name frightened Darshun. “Well then, why does—he create us to die?”

  “That’s a question I cannot answer. Neither shall you find such an answer from any mortal. All I can tell you is this; every creature we kill dies for a just cause, for food, clothing and medicine. In return, we keep the woodlands free from evil.”

  “But why must things die at all?”

  “That is the way of this world and we learn by these experiences. The creatures of the forest kill as well. You will witness these things as we journey across the land.”

  Darshun sighed.

  “Understand something, to hunt a creature with honorable intentions and then refuse to take part in it for food for your body is disrespect to the creature and nature herself.”

  Darshun wiped his glossy eyes and held the deer meat to his mouth. “Then, I shall not disrespect this creature.” He took a bite and chewed.

  ~~***~~

  “The first kill is always the hardest. That’ll pass,” Mirabel urged, though in truth he felt oddly curious as to why such a fact bothered Darshun. No Nasharin ever sympathized with animals in these matters. They were exciting to the spirit, being the kind of creatures they were. Why, even Seth Caelen, one who could communicate with animals directly, didn’t have a problem when it came to the hunt. Most would call Darshun weak for this, a child of fragility. Mirabel didn’t see it that way at all. Just...different and interesting nonetheless.

  Soon, it grew dark and the fire burned steady. Darshun gazed at the hot coals, seeming to enjoy the heat flushing against his body. More than once, he tried catching the shooting sparks bursting out from the flames, getting a few between his fingers and extinguishing them quickly with nothing more than a quick rub. “I like fire,” he commented seemingly to no one in particular.

  Witnessing his restless spirit, Mirabel knew it was time for talk, preferably before he burned his fingers off. “Darshun. There’s something you must learn tonight. It’s the sole reason for this trip.”

  “Aye?” He didn’t sound very enthused, still focusing on the sparks shooting his way.

  “You and I possess the same physical features as the Human race, and we appear Human, but we are not. You can feel this in your spirit, I gather?”

  Looking perplexed as an interest began to dawn on him, Darshun looked to his father. “Yes, yes. For a while now.”

  “And since the first time you developed that understanding of what you and I are, creatures different than men, you’ve been anxious to learn about our being.”

  He nodded.

  “That curiosity flows through all of us, especially when we’re young, so I shall now tell you of our race and our people’s legacy…The Nasharins.”

  Darshun sat up straight, eager to listen.

  “Our legacy dates back two thousand years ago, at the beginning of the third age of the earth. Deep in the western plains lived a High Wizard called Milandrith—”

  “A 'Wizard?' Like the magical beings Uncle Seth and you sometimes talk about?”

  Fixing a stern gaze to him, he answered, “If you are well enough to stay quiet and listen, you shall find out.”

  “Oh, right—apologies.”

  “One day, Milandrith was called to slay a dragon terrorizing the city of Milantha. The creature already killed many of the city’s warriors, and the High Wizard, popularly known in the area, seemed to be their last hope. To make a long story short, Milandrith accepted the challenge and was triumphant. That same day, he was welcomed into the city as friend and became close to the royals of that kingdom.” Mirabel's eyes seemed to darken, or at least became incredibly stern. “But there was one he especially grew to adore, the Princess Auristela, the king’s daughter. A lovely woman whose charm melted the hearts of men everywhere…” Mirabel paused and looked off into the distance.

  Darshun waited patiently or at least he tried to.

  “They fell in love. One day, she confronted her father about their love and asked his permission to marry the Wizard. He seemed much displeased and forbade her. She was to be given to a prince instead. But the princess ignored his words and the following night, in secret, she became the Wizard’s bride. Though, the secret didn’t last long and once the King discovered this…he banished them from his kingdom. In truth, he wanted his daughter back, so he held a council with the remaining High Wizards of the region. He told them about Milandrith’s actions. They were infuriated with his words for it was considered a curse for a Wizard to marry a Human—”

  “Why a curse?” Darshun asked, quickly putting a hand over his mouth, realizing he’d interrupted yet again.

  Mirabel smiled. “This, I don't mind answering. First of all, you must understand that Wizards were the first creatures of good to walk the earth. Many thought them favored by the spirits of the Light, because they were spawned by angelic beings.”

  Darshun glanced away, raised his brows and licked his lips. Something he often did when confused, or bewildered.

  “I'll explain. It is said that eons ago, in the early shaping of the earth, beings from another realm came here and sought to make this planet their own. These beings were Angels fallen from the Light in the highest realm of the Heavens, cast out for their ill-repenting hearts. They were the 'original' creatures of Magic, you might say, created to serve Abidan. Dwelling now in a realm consisting of physical laws, they took on physical bodies. They were ruthless and incredibly powerful and all races that would come about would be in submission to them, so they thought. But out of the Heavens stormed an army of Holy Angels that waged war against the Fallen…�
��

  Darshun sat forward, eagerly listening.

  “The armies clashed among the sky and blood fell like rain. The earth shook, the waters rose, thunder cracked and the winds roared; even the natural order of creation shifted. In the end, most of the Fallen were destroyed and the others retreated back into the spirit realm. But the Holy Angels suffered immensely too. Their blood had been poured out across the earth. It is said the ground cried out for their blood and wept their loss, and for their sacrifice the earth would one day return the favor, breathing life back into them.”

  Darshun rubbed his arms as the story caused chills.

  “As time passed, the blood of the Angels soaked into the hardest elements, and over tens of thousands of years, power streamed within them, forming beautiful red crystals, similar to gemstones except these were known as ‘Asharian,’ meaning ‘elements of angels.’ Then a mist fell from the sky, a mist some say was the breath of Abidan. It descended upon the rocks and split them open releasing their energies, and the energies converted into physical forms, the Wizards—the first natural creatures capable of immense powers. And so you could say they were descended from Holy Angels…”

  “Holy Angels?” Darshun gasped.

  Mirabel nodded. “Their purpose in life was to guard the earth for a thousand years, protecting all that was good and to remain pure of heart. The longer they aged the more powerful they became. Death did not come about, except through battle. At the end of their journey the God of the Light, the Holy One Abidan, brought them into the Heavens. But to become one with mere mortals, especially Mankind who fell from grace from the very beginning, was a grave curse and would cause them to become mortal. From then on, they would be vulnerable to sickness, decrepit old age and death—”