The first human settlers in the region had endured many hardships to establish and grow their settlement. After their arrival, the people of that first village had been plagued with drought and disease. Crops were small, if they survived at all, and everyone knew they wouldn’t last. The men had finally given up on their harvest and formed a hunting party to enter the woods in search of food for the coming winter. Javi, the chieftain, organized and led them into the surrounding forests. It was during that first hunt that they encountered the fairies in a war with a band of wandering goblins. Casting their own purpose aside, Javi joined forces with the fairies and led the settlers into battle with the goblins. The nasty creatures were no match for the well-armed humans, and the conflict ended quickly.
As thanks, the fairies later delivered the golden staff to the settlement. The hilt of the Scepter was adorned with a cluster of gems: a ruby from the Lands of Sand to the south, an emerald from the fairies themselves who lived in the woods to the southwest, a diamond from the leader of the mountain clans to the northwest, and a sapphire from the king of Lethe, an island that controlled all naval activity in the Great Lake, which formed the eastern border. From that moment, peace and prosperity spread quickly, and almost immediately the small village flourished, quickly developing into a city and later a kingdom.
King Rai was a direct descendant of Javi, the first king to take the newly established throne. Standing before the Scepter that symbolized the noble history of his people, he wondered how this travesty could have come to pass. He’d been a fool to ignore the warnings and cursed himself under his breath.
“Beautiful, isn’t it?” came a voice from behind him and to his right. King Rai spun and found himself face-to-face with Argyle.
“A present of purity and love to be certain,” replied the king. “It is the source of all that is good in the kingdom. We are forever indebted to those that bestowed so great a gift upon us.”
Argyle shook his head slowly, an evil grin spreading across his face. Brushing his long black hair from his forehead, Argyle raised his staff, and with a small enchantment whispered under his breath, small cracks began to form in the Scepter. King Rai watched in horror as the jewels broke out one by one and fell to the floor. He scooped them up and placed them gently back on the altar as his face flushed red with fury.
“That shall be the end of our relations with the gnats in the forest,” Argyle proclaimed. Turning swiftly, he strode across the room to the throne and sat, smoothing his robes around him. He reached over and grabbed a lemon from a basket that sat next to the king’s chair. Argyle took a bite and smiled. Some of the juice dribbled down the sorcerer’s chin and dripped onto his shirt. He brushed briefly at the drops before relaxing back into the deep cushions of the throne. King Rai noted the change from Argyle’s regular white robes to skin-tight, blood-red shirt and pants with a black cape that fell to the floor behind him. It brought to Rai’s mind the image of a black widow. He shivered at the thought. “A new rule begins today,” Argyle sneered.
The guards took their cue and began closing in on the king’s position. Knowing what was to come, the king took action. In a last noble effort to defend his people, the kingdom, and himself, King Rai lunged at the closest guard and quickly disarmed him. A great battle ensued. King Rai moved swiftly and gracefully among the hostile mercenaries, blocking blows and delivering thrusts of his own. His training served him well as he shifted deftly between attacking and defending, using the open space of the room to keep is assailants at bay. But eventually the king was overcome. Breathing hard and bleeding, he placed his left hand on the altar to brace himself so he could keep fighting. He lashed out at his attackers, swinging his sword to and fro to keep them away, but they could sense his diminishing strength and stayed just outside his reach allowing him to waste what little energy he had left. At last, he dropped to his knees and collapsed, leaning his back against the altar. His lungs were racked with a series of violent bloody coughs. Wiping his chin clean and gasping for air, he drew a ragged breath and let out his last words.
“My people.”
“MY people,” Argyle taunted. He got up from the throne and tossed his half-eaten fruit to the floor. He crossed the room to where King Rai lay before the altar. “MY people,” Argyle repeated as he knelt down in front of the wounded king. Rai saw a quick flick of Argyle’s wrist, and his eyes opened wide in pain. He convulsed, his chest heaving in his struggle for life, and with one last shudder King Rai fell still.
Within the next few days, Argyle and his guards purged Castiglias of those the new king deemed unfit. Only the fairest, tallest, and strongest were allowed to remain. They were forced to pledge their allegiance to the New Order, and only then were they held to be part of the “Elite.”
The rest were considered “Outsiders” and were forced from their homes into the surrounding countryside. They made homes where they could, building new houses, living in caves, anywhere they could find food and shelter. Some struck out in caravans to get as far away from Argyle as possible. Some gathered together, and new towns sprang up throughout the realm, while others chose to live a life of seclusion, opting to build by themselves out in the woods or prairies. The inconvenience of their isolation was a small price to pay for greater freedom and less intrusion from Argyle’s men.
Disease took many lives, the worst being Witch’s Breath, an often-fatal ailment that struck mostly children. The disease would begin innocently enough, just a bit of a cough and a fever, but it would quickly escalated as the person’s temperature continued to rise and the phlegm grew thicker. Sometimes, the symptoms subsided and life returned to normal. And sometimes, just sometimes, those who survived developed special skills. Most abilities were for the most part trivial, such as being able to see farther or a heightened sense of smell. A blessed few of the survivors, however, were endowed with powers that held incredible potential. For those rare individuals, the indications of their newfound talent usually showed up within a month or two of the fever breaking. Aidan and Daniel’s parents, Troy and Imogen, were lucky enough to be blessed with two such boys.
Troy and Imogen had been part of the second generation born outside the kingdom, which still suffered under the reign of Argyle. They’d had two sons, both of whom had survived early brushes with Witch’s Breath. Daniel was now favored with incredible speed. He’d contracted the disease when he was only six months old, and his gift developed rapidly. He was running by the time he was nine months old, beating his father in foot races by age two, and the disparity only increased as he grew older. By the time he was ten, he could move faster than the human eye, becoming less than a blur, disappearing from one spot and reappearing in another. His reflexes were just as quick, and one of his favorite pastimes was catching arrows his father shot at him. Obviously it hadn’t started with his father shooting them at him, but when he’d proven his abilities, it became a way to spend time together. His father never ceased to be amazed at his son’s incredible ability, and Daniel never tired of trying to hone his skills. Together they spent many hours in a clearing not too far from their home, Troy firing arrows as fast as he could nock and shoot them, Daniel either dodging or catching them.
On occasion, Troy would use Daniel’s ability for more than entertainment and send him to town or to a neighbor’s house to retrieve something he needed in a hurry. The family’s few friends grew quickly aware of Daniel’s abilities and, while at their homes, he would usually linger for a bit to perform a stunt or two to demonstrate his skill. Nobody ever tired of seeing his various tricks.
Aidan’s ability wasn’t quite as well known to anyone outside the family. He’d caught the usually fatal ailment at the age of two, and sometime over the course of the next year, he’d developed a kind of psychic link with animals. When he was three years old, Aidan was outside playing in the yard in front of their small home when a hungry bear had wandered into the clearing in search of food. Seeing the small child, the bear charged, starvation eliminating its fear
of humans. Aidan sat calmly in its path and looked into its eyes. The bear slid to a stop a mere foot from the toddler. The boy slowly reached out his hand and touched the cold nose. The bear knelt down to allow Aidan to scratch its head.
Their father had burst from the house, gun in hand. Drawing the rifle to his shoulder, he hesitated when he saw the bear roll onto its side and his child climb on top of it. He watched, mystified, as his son pulled on the bear’s ears and nose while giggling uncontrollably.
Rare was the day that this same bear didn’t come back to visit Aidan at their home, and the two developed a very close bond. Birds, rodents, wolves all seemed to respond to Aidan’s look, his feelings. Eventually, at about the age of seven, Aidan could not only “touch their minds” as he liked to say, but influence their behavior. He described it to his parents and Daniel not as controlling them, but making them aware of his wants. The animals all seemed to desire nothing more than to make Aidan happy.
It wasn’t much later that he discovered the most dramatic of his abilities. It was on the morning of his eighth birthday. After collecting water for the family, Aidan came across a squirrel in the forest. He could feel the poor animal’s thirst as it searched out a small puddle of water from which to drink. Aidan gently set his bucket down to allow the creature to take a sip. Watching the squirrel, he realized that he was thirsty himself and so drank from the same bucket. With that small act, he discovered his fascinating gift. After taking his drink, Aidan sat staring at the squirrel, wondering what it was like to be one. Suddenly, his body tensed and the world went dark. He felt as if a hood had been thrown over his head. He clawed and struggled to get free. When he finally found daylight, he saw not his hand in front of him, but a paw. He looked at where his other hand should have been and saw the same thing. It took him a few minutes to figure out what had happened. He was now a squirrel! He chattered and ran. He climbed and leapt from tree to tree. He did all the things he’d seen squirrels do before dropping back to the forest floor and shifting back into his human form, exhausted and excited by his experience. He tried to change into a frog, but no luck. A dog? Again, no luck. Bear, wolf, bird? Nope, nope, nope. Squirrel? In a blink, he was back to being a squirrel. It took him about a week to figure out that the sharing of water with the animal was the key to his transformational abilities.
His parents had a difficult time keeping him out of the forest after that, as he spent any free time he had searching out new animals with which to drink. By the time his ninth birthday rolled around, he could transform into just about any creature in the woods. Only when he spotted a werewolf creeping though the forest outside his bedroom did he realize there were limitations to his powers. He could not make contact with the wild animal, nor could he feel its life force. After the animal had moved on, Aidan asked his parents about it.
“Werewolves are an abomination of nature,” his father answered. “It doesn’t surprise me that your gift doesn’t work on their kind. They are the true embodiment of evil, killing for the pleasure of it, poisoning those they don’t kill, and dooming them to the same miserable existence.”
“Your father’s right,” his mother responded when he’d shifted his look to her. “They aren’t natural. You should do what we all do and stay as far away from them as you can.”
Aidan nodded in agreement. Still, he tried a few times more when he had spied them from the safety of his home. It never worked. Not surprising. He was shocked, however, when he discovered that werewolves hunted throughout the month and not just at night during a full moon as he remembered reading in a book. While on a stroll through the forest one summer day, he had spied one feasting on a small doe in a clearing below. He couldn’t believe his eyes, but crept forward and confirmed that a werewolf was out in the middle of the day. He’d transformed into a squirrel and escaped into the trees when he saw a few more trying to sneak up on him. He made sure to tell his parents and brother when he arrived home, to be sure they knew to be careful, to keep up their guard at all times.
It had been a wonderful childhood. Both boys had shared in the household chores for as long as either could remember, but it never seemed unfair. Each member of the family did the tasks that were best suited to their abilities, everyone pitching in to make life easier for the others. When someone needed help, the others always chipped in where they could. Living away from others, it was important that each carry their own weight. Occasional injuries or sickness sometimes made things tough, but when that happened, the family always pulled together and made it through by trying to focus on their natural talents.
Their mother, Imogen, handled most of the baking and cooking, though sometimes Daniel chipped in as well. He wasn’t as good as she was, but she was always thankful for the break and so he kept at it. He would sometimes just sit and watch her to try to learn something new, like some new herb or spice maybe. She also processed most of the meats brought into the house as she seemed to be able to make the best use of the meat and skins. She did most of the cleaning inside the house as well and tended to the small garden out back. They’d spent many years nurturing their plot, and it now actually provided almost enough food to feed the family. When she wasn’t working around the house, Imogen focused her attention on her two boys. She was a loving, gentle, and kind woman. Forever patient with her two boys, they usually ran to her when they were hurt or scared.
Troy, their father, had been the one to enforce the rules, and although stern, he was always just. There was no playing of favorites. There was no goofing off when there was work to be done. A hearty respect for their father had kept them in line. Whenever either of the boys was feeling particularly “grown up,” his strong physical presence helped remind them who ran the household. A farmer/hunter by necessity, he was a very muscular and fit man, lean and darkened by long days spent out of doors. The boys always marveled at their father’s strength and seemingly endless supply of energy. He did a majority of the hunting, though Daniel began helping as he grew older. Aidan refused to do any hunting given his connection with the animals around them. After a few lengthy discussions, Troy had conceded the point. Troy also did the foraging since he’d grown up in the same forest and knew all the best places to look for the fruits and vegetables they couldn’t grow in their garden. He took Aidan on most of these trips too. If unwilling to use his gift to hunt, Aidan could certainly use his gift to help them find other food by tapping into the nearby animals’ sense of smell. But Troy’s talents didn’t end there. Having opted to live with as little contact as possible with others, Troy’s carpentry skills were also ever developing. Their house was old, and Troy was forced to spend many an afternoon mending the exterior walls and roof. He’d also become adept at masonry when he’d built the fireplace and well, and his knowledge of medicine continued to grow as he and Imogen cared for two growing and active boys. He was a man of many talents, and he passed that knowledge on to his children.
But Troy wasn’t just a man that labored all day and then went to bed. He played just as hard as he worked. Even after a long day working their small field and hunting in the woods, he always took the time to play with his sons. The boys had an unfair advantage in hide and seek, given Daniel’s great speed and Aidan’s ability to transform, and yet their father almost never declined a game. Mancala was another game they played together when the fatigue of the day or weather kept them inside. Most evenings were spent by the fire, reading one of the books that had survived the years since their ancestors had been exiled from the kingdom.
Though schools were no longer in existence, both Imogen and Troy were insistent that the boys learn to read and write. They were also taught to hunt, gather, and sew while constantly studying and practicing everything from farming to carpentry, and even medicine—anything that Imogen or Troy had knowledge in. From an early age, both boys could identify plants useful for treating various ailments, as well as identify breaks and sprains. They could even successfully treat most of them. This knowledge, for the most part, was born
out of necessity. With the lands growing wilder and Argyle’s men growing more ferocious, children needed to be able to take care of themselves from an early age, just in case. It was rumored that Argyle was collecting people to work as slaves in his mines, slaves to find the jewels to pay for his mercenaries, and slaves to find his precious cinnabar, which he used to strengthen his magic powers. And so Imogen and Troy taught the boys everything they thought would be useful, for rumor had it the time would come when both parents would be taken and would no longer be there for the two youngsters. To help in their studies, Troy would often trade part of their crops for books at the local marketplace. Though they didn’t know it, their household had accumulated the largest library outside the kingdom. So they read.
Usually the boys would pass the book back and forth between themselves, reading aloud while their father whittled in his chair and their mother worked a piece of leather or sewed a new piece of clothing for her growing boys. They read adventure stories, botany books, medical books, stories of the heroes of old, anything and everything Troy could find for trade. It didn’t matter, they enjoyed them all. Before retiring for bed, they shared their best and worst moments of the day. Then Troy and Imogen would kiss the boys and tuck them in to bed to rest up for another day of chores and fun.
All those moments that had become their lives ended the day their parents were taken. They had been kidnapped by a party of mercenaries and forced into slavery due to the continued decline of the kingdom. Daniel had been eleven at the time. A beautiful, bright autumn day had turned quickly darker with the arrival of the gathering party.
Daniel’s mother had just finished the stitching on his winter coat. She sat in a chair by the front window to make use of the sunlight that tumbled in through the thick pane. She held the garment up for him to admire. A smile crossed her face when she saw his eyes light up.
Claws of Doom Page 63
