Prophecy Of The Guardian (Guardian Series Book 1)

by J. W. Baccaro

  “Why not? With those sparkling blue eyes and that long honey brown hair of yours, I’m sure you can attract many fine women.”

  Tedra was right. Darshun was now seventeen years old and had grown into a handsome young man, or Nasharin. When he’d entered the city yesterday, many eyes shifted to him, women’s and men’s alike.

  “Though, I must say your clothes could use some work. Sandals, tunics and breeches do become rather dull to wear every day, I would think.”

  “Heh,” he mumbled, letting out a burp.

  “Besides, you’re nearly twenty years old—oh, wait a minute, that’s right! What am I thinking? You’re Nasharin. I forget your growth differs from us humans. Master Seth, how long is it a Nasharin lives?”

  “The general age is five hundred.”

  “Ah, so a fine Loreladian woman is far from Darshun’s mind huh? Why, he's still a babe!”

  “I am not!” Darshun denied, or tried to deny, though no one could understand his speech because of the sausage and toast he was stuffing into his mouth.

  “Darshun Luthais do not talk with your mouth full!” Tedra scolded. “Shame on you.”

  Darshun rolled his eyes, and noticed Parlan laughing.

  “See, I'm not the only one she scolds,” Parlan replied. “Imagine if she was Queen of Loreladia? Ha! We'd all be in trouble.”

  “You'd all have proper manners and appropriate eating habits,” she stated firmly while crossing her arms.

  Parlan chuckled. “My dear Tedra; got to love you.”

  She exchanged with him the look an angry mother gets before opening her mouth to punish the juvenile and then fixed her gaze back onto Seth, to finish the earlier conversation. “So, you were saying, Master Seth?”

  “Aye, it is a bit unusual, a Nasharin settling down at so young an age. But I’ll be surprised if Darshun’s married by his two-hundredth birthday. The boy’s too full of adventure. Ha, reminds me of his father back in the day.”

  “Speaking of Mirabel, where is he?” Parlan asked.

  “I have no idea,” Darshun muttered. “We parted ways five days ago. He told me to return to Loreladia alone and that he’d come back another time. Then, just like that—he was gone, heading south. Didn’t say where, didn’t say why. Just left. I thought it kind of strange. Uncle Seth, do you know anything about this?”

  “Nothing to speak about now.” He evaded answering.

  It definitely wasn’t the answer Darshun wanted to hear.

  “That Mirabel,” Tedra mused. “Always off on some sort of adventure.”

  They all fellowshipped a little while longer over coffee, speaking of common, everyday things such as carpentry, farming and bake sales…quite mundane for Darshun,.

  Then Seth and Darshun thanked the Hagel’s for the meal and promised to see them at the Spring Festival.

  Darshun returned home, and to his surprise, saw a white mare stationed outside. “Father!” he shouted, sensing Mirabel’s energy and ran into the house. Where he’d gotten the mare from was a mystery.

  Mirabel sat at the gathering room table, dressed in his usual dark brown tunic and cloak. Ignoring his son’s presence, he seemed to be studying an old book Darshun had never seen before. Its cover read; ‘The Apocrypha.’ His expression appeared anxious.

  Darshun could hear him reading some of the pages in a whisper. Next to him sat a golden ball, and its presence attracted Darshun. He went over and slowly placed his hand on it. “Amazing,” he gasped. “Father, where did you get this magician's tool? It’s fantastic! Come over and see.”

  Mirabel put down the book and faced him. “See what?”

  Abruptly, a look of terror covered Darshun’s face. He screamed in agony, trying to let go of the ball, but could not. Some type of force kept it clinging to him, as though wanting him to see visions.

  Mirabel grabbed it from his hands, and a golden light flashed throughout the room. “Are you all right?”

  “I—I think so.” He gasped for air.

  “Darshun, tell me, what did you see?”

  Looking to and fro, and then at his father while still a bit disoriented, he answered, “It was like—like a dream that jumped from one thing to the next. But it felt—so real!”

  Mirabel looked directly into his glossy blue eyes with a stern gaze. “Tell me everything you saw.”

  “Well, at first there was a beautiful sunrise in Loreladia. People were singing, dancing and drinking. Men rode their horses and peace filled the air. Nothing unusual. But then from the north came a dark, hideous cloud. It swallowed the sunlight, Loreladia burned, and many disgusting creatures marched across the city and other landscapes of the earth. Men, women and children were slaughtered without mercy, and corpses lay everywhere.

  However, the most horrible of all was this creature standing on the peak of a castle shaped like a serpent, performing some type of ritual. In the sky above him were five crystals. Four made up a circle. While the fifth, a darkish sphere with blackened flames was stationed in the middle. It was this fifth crystal controlling the others. Then fire rained from above, scorching the landscapes; furious winds blew apart the woodlands and oceans of water, and what looked like blood covered the earth. It seemed to be the end of all life. Father, what kind of a crystal is this?”

  Mirabel put the book and crystal in a backpack and rose up hastily. “I’m sorry, but I have to leave again.”

  “You’ve only just arrived!”

  “Forgive me.”

  “Father, you’ve been acting strange ever since our departure. Please tell me what’s going on?”

  “I give you my word that I will explain when I return. But time now has never been so important.” Passing Darshun, he stormed outside and climbed onto his horse. He looked back, his hair whipping in the wind, his gaze stern. “No matter what happens, do not leave Loreladia until my return.”

  “Why would I—?”

  “Forward!” he commanded his mare and rode off into the forest.

  Darshun stood there, gazing at the tree branches moving to and fro in the wind. He felt dazed and confused.

  ~~***~~

  The following afternoon, Mythaen and Elwin took a wagon down to a water spring not far from the city, amongst the woodlands to fill up barrels for Mythaen’s well. It’d gone dry from a severe lack of rain—that, or perhaps his uncle Alaric had dug in the wrong spot. It was, after all, the season of spring, and Mythaen seemed to be already out of water?

  Following the brushy trail, drawing closer to their location they noticed a man with long, dark hair kneeling down and drinking.

  Their horses even became anxious.

  “Hold it,” Mythaen warned as he stopped.

  “What is it?” Elwin asked.

  “Do you recognize that man?”

  “It’s hard to tell this far away.”

  “He’s spooking the horses. I don’t like it.”

  Elwin rolled his eyes. “You’re too anxious. He’s obviously a Loreladian, there’s no other civilization around us for miles on end. Remember?”

  The horses began to grunt and move away from the left side of the tree line along the trail and now even Elwin began to worry. “Brother, what’s wrong with them?”

  It wasn’t long before he got his answer.

  There came a horrid, high-pitched growl, or hiss, and a large lizard-type creature jumped out of the brush. It stood on two legs and looked to be at least six-feet tall. It possessed two human-like arms with long sharp claws on each hand, a long neck and a narrow face. It also had orange crystal-like eyes, daggered teeth and a swinging tail. The lizard made the horrid noise again, piercing their ears

  Then the horses turned with such force they broke off from the wagon and ran away.

  Mythaen and Elwin drew their weapons, and the lizard attacked. It leapt at Mythaen and he swung his sword, but the lizard moved aside, avoided the blow and sliced open his chest with its claws. The wounds burned as if a blade coated in flame cut his flesh and he fell upon his back, m
oaning in agony. Next, the lizard opened its mouth and lunged for his throat. Mythaen held up his arm, causing the animal to bite his wrist, sinking its teeth deep. Trying to ignore the pain, he grabbed a dagger off his belt and stabbed the lizard in the chest. A dark red blood oozed out, and the lizard released him, screeching ever so loudly.

  “Hey ugly, why don’t you attack me?” Elwin taunted.

  The lizard faced him and stepped away from Mythaen.

  “Come on! I got a piece of steel to drive through your heart.” Elwin ran toward it, and the lizard spat liquid from its mouth. The green substance splashed against his eyes—blinding him. He backed away and helplessly swung his sword, but the lizard clawed his arm and slashed one of his legs. He dropped the weapon and fell to his knees.

  With its mouth hanging open, saliva dripping from its teeth, the lizard lunged at his face but suddenly flung back and collapsed to the ground, lying motionless.

  Mythaen looked and saw an arrow stuck between the lizard’s eyes.

  The stranger, the one who’d been drinking at the spring, walked toward them with an empty bow in his hand. He stood about five foot six, slender with long black hair, and dark eyes. He wore leather gauntlets, a tunic made from wolf’s fur gray with matching breeches and rugged black shoes. He also carried a backpack.

  “What happened?” Elwin called out. “I can’t see.”

  “It’s only temporarily,” the stranger answered in a low, some-what smooth tone. “Go and wash your eyes in the spring.”

  “Who are you? Where’s Mythaen?”

  “I’m all right,” Mythaen grunted. “Do as the man says.” He faced the stranger. “Thank you—you saved our lives.”

  His dark eyes were as shadows, his aura mysterious. He nodded, walked over to the lizard and removed his arrow. “I assume those horses belong to you?”

  Surprisingly, the horses were tied to a tree and drinking water.

  “Yes! I can’t thank you enough for helping us. My name is Mythaen Theodore. The other man is my brother Elwin. We come from the city of Loreladia.”

  “Loreladia?” The stranger looked curious.

  “Yes, have you heard of it?”

  After a short hesitation, he answered, “No, I have not.” Then, he unsheathed a silver battle-axe, mighty in size with a black shaft. He placed one hand on the lizard’s chest, a knee on one of its legs and steadied it. He swung twice at the torso, chopping the lizard in half.

  Blood splattered on Mythaen’s face, but he didn’t complain. “What was that thing?”

  “A Balska Lizard. They’re fierce and cunning creatures, perhaps the smartest of all lizards. You two are fortunate to be alive. I picked up its trail a few weeks ago and have been tracking it ever since. Though, it is strange one would venture this far. They live in the Western Plains, originally from a place once known as the Land of Dragons.”

  “I know of it—rumor is creatures of ancient times dwell there. I thought it to be myth.”

  “Soon, perhaps, it will succumb to that. The beasts are scarce, wander as nomads throughout the West. Strange activity now takes place there.”

  Mythaen wondered what type of ‘strange activity’ this man meant. But for some odd reason, he dared not to ask.

  The stranger tied up the two pieces with some type of forest-green shaded rope and hung them over his shoulder. He glanced at Mythaen’s bloody wrist. “You should clean that wound as soon as possible. A Balska’s venom can cause serious illness.”

  “I will, though I didn’t catch your name?”

  “I never gave it…Nayland.”

  “Nayland, please come back with us to our city. We’re having a festival in honor of the new spring year and our gods. For us the New Year begins tomorrow, April 21’st, and we always celebrate on the eve before, which is tonight. There’ll be music, food and all the ale you desire. My uncle makes the very best! It is the least I can offer you for saving our lives.”

  “I decline.”

  “Please, just for a little while?”

  He gazed at the surrounding trees, seeming to ponder something.

  Mythaen wondered about his thoughts, for this ‘stranger’ came off as a bit odd, nevertheless a good man.

  Nayland faced him. “It’s been a long time since I’ve been around individuals. Very well. I accept your offer. But I shall not stay long.”

  “All is well.”

  Elwin returned with the horses and gave Nayland a haughty glare. “So, who are you?” he asked.

  Nayland let out a frustrated sigh, probably not wishing to explain his identity again.

  “I’ll explain on the way,” Mythaen offered. “He’s joining us tonight for the festival.”

  “Oh, all right. If you say so.” Elwin glanced at the dead lizard. “Though, after almost being eaten, food is the last thing on my mind.”

  “We still need to fill the barrels, remember? But the horses broke the wagon and we have no rope to temporarily fix it.”

  “You may use some of mine.” Nayland knelt down and reached into his backpack. He unraveled a few pieces, then glanced over at both Mythaen and Elwin who were wounded. He went over and tied it to the horses and wagon himself.

  “What is that green stuff made of?” Elwin asked.

  Nayland glanced over at him, his dark almond-shaped eyes squinting. He looked back to the horses, while never giving an answer. “It will hold long enough to get you home. And I will help you get the water. Come, least another Balska strikes. For where there is one, sometimes there is another. And I do not wish to play savoir twice in one day.”

  Elwin looked troubled, seeming to dislike Nayland from the start.

  After the barrels were full, they made their way back to Loreladia. When they entered the city, everyone was so busy preparing for the festival it made it hard to pass through the streets.

  Statues of graven images in animal-like forms and those of elemental-type gods were being rolled out on wagons by the men. Women carried bundles of flowers ranging from white, blue and purple irises, to yellow wood sorrel, marsh marigold, luscious lilacs, and beautiful pink and red tulips. Little girls were following behind while carrying floral filled vases. Horses were pulling loads of wood for a great bon fire. Tables, chairs, and other colorful decorations were also being transported to the festival location.

  All of this seemed unimportant to Nayland. He appeared to be more interested in the great stone castle in the far distance.

  It stood about five hundred feet high, having three levels and multiple square towers on all sides, north, east, south, and west. Loreladian guards were everywhere upon it, as if prepared for an invasion and determined to protect their home until the death. A mighty fortress it looked to be indeed.

  “What is that castle?” Nayland asked.

  “Castle Lythar, the home of King Loreus the Second, King of Loreladia. It is also home of the nobles, yet some of the noble men and women have chosen to live among the common folk down here. The king is a very just man. Would you like me to introduce you?”

  “No, no!”

  “All right—but that’s where the festival is being held tonight. In the courtyard of the castle.”

  Nayland looked around the city, and many unfriendly eyes shifted to him. “Mythaen, may I use your land to take care of this lizard?”

  “My pleasure.”

  They made their way west along the crowded marble-paved road, passing multiple houses made of mud-brick or wood. They arrived at a structure entirely different from the rest, a log cabin with two levels and over half a dozen windows.

  “Here we are.” Mythaen nodded.

  Stepping into the yard, Nayland approached the cabin and slid his hand down and then across a few logs. “Smooth; well fashioned.”

  “My uncle and I built it last year.”

  “I helped too!” Elwin added.

  Nayland rolled his eyes. “No reason to gloat. It’s no masterpiece. Just, I haven’t seen one in many years; reminds me of a place long ago—Eh,
doesn’t matter. I need to gut my lizard.”

  “I have all the land you need,” Mythaen offered, waving his hand toward the acres of luscious green. “Right now, Elwin and I need to replenish our well with the water we brought back—”

  “Right now you need to take care of that Balska's bite,” Nayland snapped annoyance in his tone.

  “...of course, and then maybe afterward, you might be able to help us with the water—”

  Nayland stormed off with his back to them, pretending not to hear a word.

  “I'll take that as a no.” Elwin shrugged.

  “Ah, he did enough. It’s our problem anyway—”

  “Your problem, you mean,” Elwin retorted with a smirk.

  “Really? So, next time I make a few batches of Uncle Alaric’s brew, guess who gets not a single drop?”

  “Hey, hey, I’m only kidding here!”

  They chuckled.

  “We best do what Nayland says and clean ourselves up,” Mythaen prompted.

  “Aye, I wouldn’t want to get yelled at again.”

  ~~***~~

  To Nayland’s surprise there seemed to be an abundance of land to explore. Feeling finicky, he wandered around, looking for a particular spot away from all eyes. He found it about twelve acres from civilization, beside a few golden willow trees with a pleasant amount of shade.

  He threw down his prey. Untying the lizard with a knife taken from his girdle, he next cut out its teeth, drained the venom glands into little metal containers and sealed them. Then he sliced off its claws and put everything in his backpack. Finally, he cut open the belly, drained the blood and cut out the meat.

  When he finished, he ventured around the land, gathering up all the fallen wood left over from the dead of winter he made a fire. Cooking his and eating kill. Afterward, he took out a pipe, filling it with tobacco, sat back and smoked, watching the glowing coals of the fire.

  “There you are!” Mythaen approached with fresh rice cakes and honey. His long red hair tied back while he wore a fresh tunic and breeches. His wide oval brown eyes with thick dark eyebrows stood out even more so than before. His right wrist still bandaged. “I’ve been looking all over for you. Never thought you'd venture this far. I brought you these to make you feel welcomed.”