The Sunblade Chronicles Ch. 00-01

***PRESENT DAY - ARAN SUNBLADE -- Korrin Village, Western Ekistair***

"Aran! Supper's ready!"

Aran Sunblade straightened from the stack of wood he'd been piling up, wiping the sweat from his brow with a shirtsleeve. "Coming, Ma!" He called, quickly stacking the last logs and leaning the axe against the wall under the eaves, where it would be out of the weather. It was a good pile, almost as high as his chest and as wide as he was tall. He was proud of the size of the stack; a year ago he would not have had the strength to cut wood for so long without a break, but he'd filled out much of his formerly skinny frame in the past twelve months, putting on plenty of lean muscle.

There should be plenty enough wood to last until the weather warmed properly. It was already spring, but the air still carried a fair chill in the mornings and evenings. A gust of wind reminded him of that very fact, and his sweat-soaked shirt absorbed the cold immediately, pebbling his skin and making him shiver. "Bloody Hells!" he muttered, hurrying inside through the back door. By the feel of the air inside, his mother had already lit the fire, and the small cottage was much warmer than outside. His stomach rumbled at the smell of hot stew.

"Take those boots off before you come in!" His mother shouted from inside the house. "I won't have you tracking mud all around my floors again, boy!"

"Yes, Ma," he grumbled, lifting each foot in turn to pull off the offending articles and place them beside the door. He loved his mother, but she could be a stickler for tidiness at the best of times. As he entered the main room of the house -- a cozy area that held a small table and chairs and a fireplace against one wall -- Mari turned to regard him, her eyes darting to his feet first before gracing him with a warm smile. She was aging gracefully, his mother Mari, with graying hair tied up in a bun and a pretty face that was lined from years of smiling. She held a wooden spoon in one hand, wet from stirring the stewpot that was suspended over the fire.

"I hope you're hungry, son," she said as she turned back to the stew. "I made too much, I think."

Aran's stomach rumbled again. "I could eat as much as a Noroth, Ma," he said confidently. He had heard stories of Giants and how much they ate, but he doubted they were true.

His mother scoffed at his boasting. "I seriously doubt that, my boy. Have you ever seen a Noroth eat? It's quite a spectacle."

Aran laughed at her joke. "Somehow I don't think you're old enough to have seen a Noroth before they were all chased off to Palistair, Ma." After the Great War, a thousand or so years ago, the Heralds of Dawn had dispersed the Orcs and the Giants and the Dark Elves, chasing them off of Ekistair entirely. Some people thought the Heralds had actually wiped them all out, though nobody knew for sure. Aran had asked a Herald once, and the man had clipped his ear for talking out of turn.

Mari turned to look at him, her face unreadable. Her clear brown eyes searched his for a moment, and then she grinned and spread her hands in surrender. "I concede. You're right, son. I'm just a lowly widow conjuring up fantasies."

"There's nothing lowly about you, Ma," Aran said genuinely. "I don't know what I'd do without you."

"You're a sweet lad when you want to be, Aran Sunblade," Mari chided gently. "Too much like your father sometimes, I swear."

There was an opening there for Aran to ask about his father, something that rarely happened, but Mari continued before he could get a word in. "Now go change your shirt and we'll eat dinner." Feeling the moment had passed, Aran did as he was told, quickly going to his room for a fresh shirt and dumping the dirty one in the washing bucket near the back door.

He thought about asking Mari again about his Pa, but he decided against it. It obviously upset her to talk about him, though when she did, she spoke well of the man. Aran knew little except that his blue eyes came from his father, as well as a likeness in the face.

When he came back to the table, a wooden bowl of steaming rabbit stew was awaiting him, complete with a side of crusty bread. His mouth watered at the sight. His mother was already sitting in the opposite place.

"So what adventures did you embark on today?" she asked him with a knowing look as she tore off a piece of her bread and dipped it in the stew.

"Well, Jered and I went hunting," Aran replied around a hot mouthful. Jered was his best friend. They'd grown up together. "Though we didn't get anything with our slings. Jered got a rabbit, though. He's good with snares."

His mother eyed him critically. "You didn't go into that bloody forest, did you? That Jered always seems to dragging you into some hare-brained scheme or another."

Aran hated lying to his mother, but he also didn't see the point in upsetting her. "No, Ma," he answered, keeping his eyes on his spoon. The Emerin Forest was a vast wood that lay to the southwest of Korrin, maybe half a day's walk away. The forest was the source of many myths and legends, ranging from an underground Mor'elda city to a tribe of men that could turn into huge animals to a beautiful witch that would appear wearing no clothes. The witch -- according to Jered -- lures men back to her cave deep in the forest and then kills and eats them.

Aran and his friends did sometimes enter the forest against their parents' wishes, though they certainly had not found anything more exciting than two years ago when they dug up an old bow left behind by an Eryn'elda - a Wood Elf. Jered had claimed that particular prize as his own, despite the fact that Aran had seen it first. Aran had let Jered have his day in the sun as all their friends made a big fuss over the bow, at least until he and Jered's mothers had found out where they'd gotten it from. There had been a sound whipping for the two boys that day.

"Good," Mari said. "Have you given any thought to young Jillia?"

Aran dropped his spoon into his bowl, effectively splashing hot stew onto his shirt. His mother looked amused. "Leave over, Ma." He pleaded. It wasn't that Jillia Bendin wasn't pretty -- she was gorgeous, with those big dark eyes and that silky black hair, and creamy pale skin -- it was that Aran always felt uncomfortable around pretty girls. His mother said that was normal for a young man, but Aran wasn't so sure.

"You could take her for a walk tonight, if you wanted," his mother suggested for the hundredth time. "Master Bendin has given his blessing. He thinks you'll be good for one another."

Aran wanted to groan. That was all he needed; Jillia's father siding with his mother to force him in their intended direction. Not that he would need much forcing; Jillia was very attractive, and not shy about letting him know she felt the same about him.

In fact, over the past year or so, Aran had been approached by several girls, all of whom had expressed some interest in him. Some of them had been shockingly forward about it, and Aran had turned them down simply for of the fear of their fathers finding out. Well, that was one reason. The other reason was that something seemed to happen inside him when he was near a girl. He would look into their eyes, and his heart would start to race, and heat would flood along his veins, making him feel both alive and terrified at the same time. Every time, he had fled before that heat could reach its peak, fearing that he had some curse or some strange physical ailment. He hadn't told his mother for fear of worrying her. He wondered if she knew he hadn't so much as kissed a girl, yet.

"She should walk with Jered," Aran suggested. "He likes her." It was a constant sore point for Jered that Aran seemed to be getting all the female attention, even more so because Aran wouldn't so much as kiss any of them.

Mari snorted. "The girl has half a brain, son. She's not going to take Jered when she can have you."

Aran sighed and stirred what was left of his stew around with his spoon, his appetite somewhat diminished. "I can't, Ma," he said softly. "I want to find a girl, but I can't."

"What's wrong, son?" Mari asked gently, pushing her bowl aside and leaning forward. "From what I hear from the other mothers, you're certainly spoiled for choice lately. Seems all their daughters talk about is you. What have you been doing to these poor girls?" She posed the question with humour, grinning at him slyly.

"That's just it, Ma!" Aran groaned. "I don't know. I've never even kissed any of them, as embarrassed as I am to say it." He paused for a minute, debating whether to tell her about his problem. He decided finally that he was too uncomfortable talking about it, especially to his mother.

Mari clucked her tongue and reached across the table to put her hand on his. "Relax, my boy. It will get easier, with time."

Aran didn't think so, but he nodded and smiled so she would think the matter closed. Aran cleaned up the bowls and the stewpot before retiring for the evening. His room was in the back of the house, opposite his mother's, the two doors separated by a narrow hallway. The Sunblades were not well-to-do, though Aran's father had left Mari enough money to get by without having to work herself to the bone. Aran's room was unremarkable, but it was his and he was happy with it. It had a small square window above the bed on the far wall from the door, and a comfortable bearskin rug that took up much of the stone floor.

Climbing onto the bed on his knees, Aran pulled open the shutters. He liked fresh air, and would put up with a bit of cold to get it. He got undressed and climbed beneath the covers, but he wasn't ready for sleep, yet. He lay staring up at the thatched ceiling slanting above him. Was it all in his imagination? Were these strange sensations just normal fare for a young man? He hoped so, but in his heart, he feared it was something much more serious.

------------------------------------------------

CHAPTER 1.2 - Lord Sunblade

-----------------------------------------------

The next morning, Aran was up as early as the sun. He and Jered had planned on heading into the woods today, though they had kept the fact just between themselves; it wouldn't do for their parents to find out.

Today was Sunday, the day that the Great War ended, when the Heralds of Dawn finally conquered the Order of Aros and rid the world of the evil Arohim -- an ancient order of men and women that used sorcery to dominate people's minds and bodies -- or at least, that's what the Heralds taught. Most people believed them, and Aran supposed it was all likely true, but every Herald he'd met had possessed a haughty, pious quality that Aran couldn't bring himself to like. Today being Sunday, Heralds would be out in force, and Aran intended on being as far away from the village as he could get.

Sunday was a work-free day, and all but the most essential chores were undertaken. There would be a feast at dusk, and drinking and merriment to follow into the evening. Today all the men in the village would each bring an armload of firewood to the town square and gather it all into a huge bonfire, which would burn until morning. The long feasting tables and benches would be dragged out from Jered's father's barn and lugged into the square and set up so there were enough seats for everyone.

Aran planned on being absent for the Sunday preachings -- it was Herald law for every town and village to read the Tenets at Sunday, even if most folk sat through it with barely-restrained impatience -- but he would be back just in time for the feast, if he timed it right. This year was the first year he was old enough to drink with the men, too, and he did not intend on missing out.

Aran was surprised to find his mother already gone when he left his room. On the table was a still-warm plate of ham and eggs with some leftover bread from last night. There was a note scribbled on a piece of paper beside the plate.

'Blessings upon you on your birth day, son. May you enjoy it as you no doubt will enjoy your breakfast. Love always, your mother.'

Aran smiled at the note. She was always making fun of his appetite. There was a small addition at the bottom of the paper.

'I know you're going back to that forest today. I don't like it, but be safe. You're a man now, and can make your own decisions. And always remember: Love before Hate.'

'Love before hate' was something his mother sometimes liked to say, almost like a talisman. He shook his head ruefully as he reread the letter. She knew him too well. Also, she was right; he really was a man now, in his eighteenth year as of this morning. Jered would be jealous; he was still seventeen, and his birth day wasn't for another two months.

Eager to get going before the day grew any longer, he sat down and tucked into his breakfast. Ham and eggs were a rare treat indeed; food fit for a birth day. Once done eating, he cleaned up and stepped outside into a fine morning. The blue sky was dotted by a few puffy white clouds here and there, but was otherwise clear. A perfect day for exploring. There was a short, paved path leading from the front doorstep to a small stone fence with a gate set in it. On either side of the path were Mari's treasured flower beds, boasting marigolds and tulips and daisies, all of which Aran had weeded many a time in his youth.

Aran's house was on a small street with two other houses. This street sloped upward in a westerly direction from the town square, and Aran could see from his front gate that people were already bustling around in the square, getting ready for tonight's celebrations. Grinning to himself in anticipation, he slipped out the gate and into the dirt street, headed for Jered's house, two streets over. The distance was much shorter if you cut across Master Bendin's yard, but Aran stayed to the road in case Jillia was home. He loved looking at her, and speaking with her, but this damn problem, whatever it was, kept rearing up when she was around, making it impossible to do anything but rush off.

His grin slipped as he saw who was coming up the street from the town square. He made a left turn to take the shortcut after all, but it was too late; she'd seen him.

"Aran!" Jillia called. "Aran, wait!"

His feet stopped of their own accord, though he tried to will them to keep going. 'Damn me,' he muttered as he turned. "Hello, Jillia! Sorry, I didn't see you, I was off in my own world."

"You're always off in your own world," Jillia said with a friendly laugh as she walked up. "Where are you headed?" Her eyes were like liquid pools trying to draw him in, and he felt his body start to warm. Jillia was wearing a white cotton dress with quite a low neckline, and Aran struggled to keep his eyes away from the pleasant expanse of pale cleavage she was showing.

"I, uh, well Jered and I are going exploring for the day," he said before wincing. He wasn't supposed to tell anyone, and here he goes blabbing to Jillia two seconds into their conversation!

"Oh, really?" Jilla exclaimed, excitement on her pretty face. "Got room for a third?" She bit her lip as she watched him, and Aran saw her face flush. What was wrong with her? Was she embarrassed about something? Aran felt like his own face was as red as the sun. A deep, warm vibration began in his gut, then moved lower, to his privates. He had to get away or he would die of shame in about ten seconds.

"Actually, no, sorry," he said quickly, not caring if he sounded rude. He started to walk by Jillia, but turned to face her once he passed, so he was walking backwards. "It's boys only, you know how it is." As an afterthought, he added, "but please don't tell anyone! It's supposed to be secret."

"Oh," was all Jillia said. Her crestfallen look cut Aran like a knife, but he had no time to console her.

"Have fun preparing for the Sunday feast," he offered feebly as he backed away. "We'll be back before dusk, so I'll see you at the bonfire?"

She seemed to perk up at that, her eyes brightening and her full lips curving into a smile. "That sounds nice, Aran!" She called after him. "I'll look for you!"

Aran exhaled as he finally turned and quickened his step, the feeling of liquid heat in his veins subsiding as he put distance between himself and Jillia. What in the Hells was wrong with him? And why did Jillia even still bother to talk to him? All he ever did was try and get away from her as quickly as possible.

He sighed as he reached the place where the narrow lane met the town square, then he turned left toward Jered's street. The Bendin's house was at the top overlooking the square much like Aran's house, though the Bendin's was much larger, with two stories and enough room for the family of five that lived there. Jered had two younger sisters, much to his own dismay. Jessi was twelve and Lani was ten. Aran didn't see them much, they were usually busy doing whatever girls do while Jered and Aran amused themselves out on the plains or in the woods.

Aran was so caught up in his thoughts that he didn't see the rock coming. The size of an egg, it shot past his face, barely an inch from his nose. He followed its trajectory and quickly found the thrower; a heavily muscled brute with a square jaw standing in the front garden of a cottage, leaning casually on his elbows on the low wooden fence. He was in his shirtsleeves, and his thick arms bulged beneath the thin white material.

"Careful, Sunblade," Brago Doonan sneered menacingly. "That rock nearly got you."

Aran's stomach sank. He was hoping not to run into Brago this morning, as Brago had a problem with all the attention Aran had been getting lately from the village girls, no matter that Aran had done his best to stay away from them!

Brago was older than Aran by only a few months, but he'd always been bigger and stronger. Even more so after taking up after his father at the smithy. He'd been a large lad before, but now he was massive, and strong to boot. "Stay away from Jillia at the feast tonight," the blacksmith's apprentice warned him, his round face hard. "She's mine, you understand?"

Well, that was absurd. Everyone knew Jillia wanted nothing to do with Brago, but there were plenty of girls that admired his shoulders and arms -- Aran had heard some of them talking about him -- or at least, there used to be until Aran's weird situation started happening.

Aran would much rather avoid a fight than get into one, and he opened his mouth to take the peaceful path and tell Brago he would indeed stay away from Jillia, but something about that close miss with the rock and Brago's sneering tone, piled atop all of his embarrassment and frustration with what happened inside him when girls were near, all of that boiled together into hot, fierce anger that pumped through his veins.

He spun to face Brago, staring the much bigger man in the eye. "And what if I refuse?" A small part of him panicked at the thought of antagonising Brago Doonan, but the rest of him felt completely in control.

If the larger man was taken aback by Aran's response, he didn't show it. He shrugged his enormous shoulders. "Then I'll throw another rock, and this time I won't miss." He chuckled deeply, amused for some reason.

"Why don't you try it," Aran told him softly. He felt strange, almost like he did around girls lately, except this was different. Instead of the hot energy vibrating in his middle and his loins, it flowed through his muscles, making him feel like he could crush Brago's meaty head in his hands. "But if you miss, you leave Jillia alone. For good."

The ox-like fellow did start back a little, then, his heavy-lidded eyes widening in surprise. He studied Aran for a moment as if seeing him for the first time. "Ha!" He barked finally. "You must have a screw loose, Sunblade, but alright, if you're game, I'll play." He bent to scoop another rock out of his mother's front garden and hefted it in his broad hand. It was bigger than the first one. If it hit Aran at speed, it would probably break a bone.