(no subject)
Prologue
“Where did you say you were from?” the ancient, wizened man asked, his voice raspy from the dust of teh road. His brown hood rustled as he turned to glance at his companion.
“From Tethe’varda, sir. My father was the librarian at the Great Academy,” his companion answered. He absently brushed his thick black hair back from his face. “It’s very far from here,” he said, gazing up into the starry night sky.
The ancient man stopped walking. His eyes keenly searched the side of the old dirt road, peering into the overgrown forest. Spotting a fallen tree that would serve as a bench only a short way into the growth, he hobbled over to it. As he walked he motioned for his companion to follow.
“Yes, Raysten, I’m familiar with Tethe’varda.” He turned to his companion. Raysten wore a steel broadsword at his side and a suit of chainmail under his cloak. “I’m surprised a man-at-arms such as yourself came from the City of Enlightenment.”
Raysten sighed. “Yes, well desparate times have called for desparate measures.”
“True enough,” the old man said. They both glanced towards the southern sky. Even across four hundred miles the glow of the vast forest fires could be seen.
“Where are you from, Old One?”
The old man’s bushy white eyebrows furrowed. “I was born far, far away. Farther away than you’ve ever been, you can be sure of it.”
“What is this place called?” Raysten asked.
“It doesn’t have a name, at least not one that I can remember. The earliest place I have memories of is a small fishing village called Leth’el. You’ve heard of it, of course?”
“No, I haven’t,” Raysten replied. “Should I have?”
The old man was so surprised that he inadvertantly inhaled a cloud of dust. Despite the horrible fit of coughing, he managed to retrieve his waterskin from his belt. He drank deeply from it, then returned it to his side. “Leth’el was where the twins were born.”
“Ah, the twins . . .”
“I see you’ve at least heard of them. Living in Tethe’varda I would have assumed you’d learned something.”
“Well, truth be told, I was never one for studying.”
“That’s apparent,” the old man said, indicating Raysten’s clothing. “Do you know the story of the twins?”
Raysten blushed. “Probably not as well as I should, right?”
The old man let out a raucaus laugh. “Correct. You should have gone to school; you’re a quick learner!” Raysten looked to the ground. “Don’t worry, I’ll tell you all you need to know.” Raysten started to speak but the old man cut him off. “Here now, sit down. I’ll tell you about the twins.” Sitting down, Raysten made himself comfortable.
“I’ll never forget the night the twins were born. It was the middle of summer. I had been in Leth’el for a few days. I was traveling to S’Arai and my horse threw a shoe. I stopped to get it fixed by the local blacksmith.”
“You don’t seem like the horse riding type, Old One,” Raysten interjected.
“I’m sure I don’t seem like a lot of things, child,” the old man retorted. “Now do you want to hear the story or not?”
“Yes, sir. Sorry.”
“As I was saying, I had been in the town for a few days and made friends with the blacksmith. He was their father, you know.” The old man again lifted his waterskin and took a drink. “His wife was quite a beauty. She had fiery red hiar that fell halfway down her back, and eyes the color of emeralds, and just as brilliant. He had hair just as red. They were both from the far east. The fishing village of K’lynos, they said.”
“Village?” Raysten asked. “K’lynos is a huge port town!”
“Not back then it wasn’t.”
Raysten seemed incredulous. “Just how long ago were these kids born, anyhow?”
“Long enough ago for K’lynos to just have been a small fishing village, all right?” The old man could tell by the look in his eyes that Raysten wasn’t believing him. “It was long enough ago that the great Forest of Kel had not yet born its first sapling. I have lost track of the centuries.”
Raysten stared in amazement at the old man. “What are you, Old One?” he asked.
“I’ll tell you later. Can I continue with the story?” Raysten could only nod his head. He was still amazed at what this crazy old man he had met just hours ago was claiming. “That night, in the middle of summer, she went into labor. As soon as she did, a storm came up out of nowhere. It was the worst storm anyone could remember. The winds were so strong that trees were ripped from the ground. The thunder was deafening. It never stopped. As soon as one peal ended another had already started. And the lightning! Boy, I have never seen stranger lightning before or since. One second it was red, then the next it was blue. It went through every color of the spectrum. Like the thunder, it never stopped.”
“I’ve read of this storm! They call it The Gods’ Quarrel!” Raysten said excitedly.
“You’ve no idea,” the old man murmered. “Who’s telling the story here, any way?”
“Sorry.”
The old man continued: “There were voices in the wind. No one but myself heard them, but they were there. I heard them as clearly as I hear my own voice now. They were . . . beautiful. And angry. So very, very angry. The voices were arguing. Not with me; I just overheard them. They were arguing with each other. I could only understand but one word in twenty, but of them arguing I have no doubt. I felt it in my heart.”
“What were they saying?” Raysten asked, leaning forward. He was eager to hear more.
“At the time I wasn’t sure.. All I could make out was ‘raven,’ ‘dove,’ ‘roaming souls,’ ‘fate,’ ‘balanced’ and ‘End of Days.’”
Raysten appeared to be contemplating. “You said ‘at the time.’ Does that mean that you know now what they said?”
“I know now what they said. They were arguing about a prophecy that was ancient even back then.”
His eyes lighting up in excitement, Raystean asked, “A prophecy? What did it say?”
The old man sighed. “The prophecy read like this: Under the pulverizing hammer of the longest sun, in an arid land of former majesty, the heavens will wage a war as gods lament in wicked voices. At the zenith of the assault there will be two born to a flame-haired peasant's daughter: a raven and a dove. With them will return the lords of the Old Ones, their roaming souls housed once again. The fate of the world will be balanced on the fulcrum of the two, for when arrives the End of Days, one will rise while the other falls."
For several long minutes the two men sat there, each lost in their own thoughts. Finally Raysten broke the silence. “Has the prophecy come to pass?”
The old man shook his head. “No, it has not yet come to pass.”
“Who prophesied it?”
“A very mysterious man. He appeared one day in the court of the emperor of Crayg.”
“Crayg?” Raysten asked. “Where was that?”
“Crayg was a vast empire that spanned half of the continent. It’s capital was located several miles from where Leth’el was then, and is now.”
“Hmm, I see,” said Raysten.
The old man laughed. “I bet you do. Anyway, this man appeared one day out of nowhere. He was garbed in a black cloack over silver chainmail. His only words were to announce who he was then speak the prophecy.”
“What was his name?”
“Hmm, let me think . . . ah, yes. His name was Raysten Chirad.”
Raysten took several minutes before he realized what the old man said. “His family name was Chirad?”
“Yes, I’m sure of it,” the old man said.
“But that’s my family name!”
The old man peered up at Raysten and examined him for a moment. “Curious,” he said. “Very curious indeed. Perhaps he was an ancestor of yours?”
“Yes, perhaps,” Raysten said, rather confused.
“As I was saying, the labor was a difficult one. It lasted all night and Tyria was in such pain; horrible, horrible pain. None of the usual potions would work, and none of the herbs we gave her had any effect. I still hear her screams sometimes in the night. I’ll never forget her screams.” Raysten nodded his head. He had had too many friends die in his arms, and he too lived with their screams.
“Shortly before sunrise the twins were born. A boy and a girl. We were all shocked at what we saw. The boy had hair as black as pitch with eyes such a pale blue they appeared white. The girl was the exact opposite; her hair was as white as the driven snow with eyes as dark as night.”
“Didn’t the parents both have red hair?” Raysten asked.
“Yes, they did.”
“Strange.”
“Indeed it was. After the twins were cleaned up by the clerics they were given to Tyria to see and hold. As soon as she held them the storm stopped. Abruptly as it started it stopped! The silence throbbed in my ears. It took me a second to realize that the voices had stopped arguing. Now they were talking quickly in what I can only guess was a whisper.”
“What were they whispering about?” asked Raysten.
“It was more about the prophecy,” replied the old man. “As Tyria looked at the twins, the voices started chanting the same thing over and over.”
Raysten leaned forward. “What were they chanting?”
“They kept repeating ‘The raven and dove have come.’”
“The birds from the prophecy!”
“Exactly, or so it would seem.Tyria had but one look at her children. As she looked at them, they looked back at her. Her eyes glazed over and she started mumbling something very rapidly, very quietly. I realized immediately it was the same thing that the voices were chanting, in whatever language it was.
“The voices stopped. Her eyes closed and she died.”
Raysten’s head snapped up. “She died! From what?”
The old man hung his head. “Nobody knows. Even with the labor being so painful, it shouldn’t have killed her.”
“That’s so sad.”
“Indeed. It gets worse, though. The next day a score of armed and armored horsemen arrived from the north. They took the girl from her father by force, then rode back to where they came.”
“Where were they from?”
“We weren’t sure. They bore no insignia. They didn’t speak a single word, so I couldn’t tell what dialect or accent they used.” The old man took a drink from his waterskin then passed it to Raysten.
“That’s quite a story, Old One,” he said. Taking a drink, he handed the waterskin back to his companion.
“Aye, and every bit of it true, by the Twins.” The old man’s face suddenly became very sad.” Their story is a tragic one. Extraordinary, but tragic.”
“Will you finish it, sir?”
“Yes, Raysten. I shall finish telling you the story of the twins.