Thunder clouds spun atop a small mountain in the Wild Lands, west of the Broken Blades called Meark Norith. Flashes of lightning sparked and then dimmed in the thick, convulsing, dagger like clouds. A tinge of green blended with the dark grey sky. With each flash and boom, the cloud cover twisted tighter, spiraling downward towards the mountain. A tornado formed and crashed into the peak. Sheets of ice and snow slashed through the air, but at the center of the storm, a greater power stirred.
The Faye, the energy that creates life, laced itself down to the base of the tornado. The air was still in the center of the storm as strands of the Faye’s energy swarmed like a hive of wild bees. The green energy compacted and twisted tighter, taking the form of an infant and a wooden staff. Lightning struck the green mass, forming a crater around the two forms. Then the twister quickly retreated into the sky and the storm moved east.
The faeries that sought refuge from the sudden storm listened. A baby cried in the crater the twister created. Inch by inch, the small, blue-winged creatures floated closer to the new born babe. It cried again.
Rellam, a faerie whose beard was as long as he was, flew into the crater and stood on the baby’s chest. “Tis a sign, the boy lives! Take him to our dwelling below the tree line and keep him warm!” Instantly, faeries flew down to their camp, and returned with what to them was a large canvass, but covered the child just enough. Carefully, the blue winged creatures wrapped the infant, lifted him into the air and the carried him below the tree line. Others stood on the crater’s rim, observing the creation. As the child was lifted and taken into the woods, Rellam hovered in the crater next to the staff and beckoned those who watched him to his side.
“The boy is not what the greater sign is, 'tis that!” He said, pointing at the white staff. A woman faerie touched the staff and closed her eyes.
“I sense nothing, but we ought to take it to the other elders to be sure.” The faeries lifted the staff out of the crater and laid it next to the boy who was now wrapped in small squirrel furs, blankets, and any other warm thing the faeries could find and combine into a blanket with their magic.
Both ends of sticks were shoved into the ground in crisscross patterns and then covered with moss, beehive husks, and pine needles, creating a dome like structure. There were dozens of the dome shaped dwellings tucked underneath the low and far reaching branches of evergreen trees. As the baby cried, other faeries came out from their homes. The elders, who had long white beards, and matriarchs, whose hair was long, frizzy and white, formed a circle around the boy and the staff.
“We sensed nothing within the staff,” Rellam said, “and the boy is placed in our stewardship. Ought we take care of him, and I would assume, teach him our ways?”
“What else is there to do?” one asked, though not expecting an answer. “Let us raise our hands to the Faye, and find this boy’s purpose.” The group of faeries lifted their hands and chanted softly. A green, glowing string floated from the sky and fell on the boy. A woman faerie picked it up and spun it in her hands, breathing slowly and deeply.
“The boy,” she said, “is to learn of our ways and protect us and other Creatures of the Faye. His staff,” She took a breath again as she turned the strand in her hands. “Its destiny is to be his decision.” At her last word, the green strand vaporized into the cold air.
“It is decided! The Faye gave us a child. Let us take this blessing with open arms.” Rellam cheered. The faeries brought the boy and the staff into one of the larger shelters and closed the door. He stopped crying and slept.
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The storm rolled over the mountain range that divided the Wild Lands from the eastern desert. The high peaks scraped the clouds, gashing into the moist, static mass. As the storm passed over the Broken Blades, the cold, dark clouds pillowed onto the desert ground. Wind screamed over the desert foliage, kicking up dust and sand as the storm continued to travel east. Again, green light spun in the sky as the tornado slowly reappeared.
As it touched the ground, the sand raced around it, shrouding the twister in darkness, and then moved eastward.
Day after day, the storm grew in strength, blocking out the sun and tearing a vicious, jagged scar across the sandy ground. The heat from the sun combined with a cold, damp wind from the south, strengthening the storm. The cold front pushed the twister northward.
A guardsman stood post at the Gate tower of Noiknaer and saw the dark red cloud emerging. He sounded an alarm and the Gate was closed. A chorus of bells that warned the citizens of the coming storm rang throughout the city. As the windows and gates closed, the Dark One materialized from a slight gust of wind and sand outside the main gate. A black, heavy hood covered his face. His gloves were tipped with iron points. His boots were plated, coming to a barbed point at the toe. The wind ripped his tattered cape, cutting holes in the already threadbare fabric.
The Dark One reached into his cloak and pulled out the vile filled with thick, tar like liquid. He knelt, dug a hole in sand, poured the liquid into it, and placed his left hand over it.
“I give you a portion of my gift, memory, intelligence and power.” A purple stream of lightning shot from the palm of his hand and danced over the surface of the liquid. It hissed and began to boil.
Slowly, the liquid solidified into two distinct shapes. One shape formed into a staff and the other, an infant. The Dark One looked behind him, seeing the storm approach. He closed his palm and wiped the tar from the child’s face. It breathed, but did not cry. The staff was crimson and radiated a heat of its own.
“Child, you will release me from my prison with the gifts I have given you,” the hooded figure said as he twirled his robe around the boy and himself. The storm passed over them. The sand and wind tried to break into the protective cocoon. The twister screamed next to them, but the dark figure’s power protected him and his new creation. As the twister traveled over them, green bolts of lightning stabbed and smashed against the hooded figure, but he didn’t budge.
He looked at the boy and stretched his hand upward towards the storm. “My last gift I give to you is life,” he said as he shot another beam of purple energy from his palm. The purple beam struck the cloud and exploded in a purple flash of lightening. The storm died, the dust and sand softly settled, and the hooded figure disappeared in the lessening wind.
The boy cried. The city gates opened. People surrounded the child and looked at each other. There were a few moments of silence.
“I will take him,” Mearto said. She bit her lower lip and stroked her red hair braid with her hands as she looked longingly at the child. A small smile graced her lips and tears filled her misty blue eyes. Her voice was soft, but penetrating. When no one objected, she rushed over to the child and held him in her arms.
“Shhh, my little one, it’s alright,” she said quietly, a soft smell of lilac and sea salt filling the air. The infant cooed and fell asleep.
“Mearto,” Daius said as he walked through the crowd, “we have no idea how he got here. This is too odd, don’t you think?”
“He is a child Daius, he has a right to life as any of us would. What is not to say that he was taken from his home?” Her voice carried above the gentle winds.
“Then how do you explain that staff,” Daius said, pointing to the crimson wood.
“Perhaps it was blown here as well. It might be the only attachment he has to family.” Mearto walked into the small hole and pulled the staff from the sand that began to cover it.
“Listen to yourself, you are being foolish! I will not allow this,” Daius said. “This is not what we meant by our agreement.”
By this time, the teachers had formed a circle around Mearto and faced the crowd. Each lifted their hands towards the populace and began to chant softly and slowly. The people all at once turned and walked away.
“I said I will take him. I am a creature of honor, integrity, and great wisdom. Your secrets are known to me Daius, and do not think for a moment that pain does not
escape you.”
Daius glared at the woman, and Mearto stared back stoically, unmoving, holding the babe tightly to her chest.
“As you wish,” Daius said as he relaxed his gaze. Mearto nodded and took the child into the city.
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