The Sunblade Chronicles Ch. 00-01

Aran felt like he'd been shoved into the back of his own mind and something else was operating him. He felt himself smile at the big lug as Brago drew his arm back and then forward. Aran was only a matter of about fifteen feet from the fence where Brago stood, but that didn't stop Brago from putting all his impressive weight behind the throw.

Time slowed down. Seconds stretched into long minutes as the rock left Brago's fingers and sailed towards Aran's face. It was a good throw, and if Aran didn't move, it would strike him fair in the nose and render it into an irreparable mess, most likely. He went to move, but somehow, he could feel what was behind him, could feel old Mistress Boon in her living room in the cottage opposite the Doonan's.

If Aran moved, he was sure the rock would smash through Mistress Boon's street-facing window, with her on the other side. Instead, he found his hand lifting much faster than the rock was moving, until he snagged the projectile from the air, inches before his face.

Brago stood with his mouth hanging open, his eyes as wide as Aran had ever seen them. "So, we have a deal, then?" Aran asked him as he bounced the heavy rock in his palm. The big lummox nodded dumbly. "Here," Aran said, tossing him the stone. "Put this back in your mother's garden before she has your hide."

Brago came to his senses just in time to catch the stone. "How did you-? That rock was almost at you! And your hand..." He waved his own hand in front of his face as if to try what Aran did.

"See you at the feast," was all Aran said in reply before turning back down the street and continuing towards Jered's house.

"Watch your back, Sunblade!" Brago called, obviously having recovered some of his former disposition. "I'm coming for you!"

Ten paces down the road, Aran's rush of exhilaration vanished and his legs tried to give out. Hoping that Brago didn't see, he mentally forced his legs to work properly until he was out of sight.

"What in the bloody Hells is wrong with me?" He muttered to himself as he stumbled to a thick-boled oak just off the narrow road, opposite the Bendin's house. He leaned forward and rested his forehead on the cool bark, closing his eyes for a minute to clear his head.

"I've always thought it was your slow brain," came a voice from above him. "But then I see your face, and I think maybe your brain's your best asset."

Aran looked up to see Jered perched on a branch of the oak, grinning down at him. Dark of hair and eye, Jered was also tall and lanky, and his booted feet swung at the end of his long, dangling legs.

"How observant of you," Aran said flatly, making his friend grin wider.

"I'm very observant, you know," Jered declared. "I see lots, especially from up here." He quirked an eyebrow down at Aran. "I saw what happened with that buffoon, Brago. How in the world did you do that?" He whipped his hand past his face, almost an exact mirror of how Brago had done it.

Aran tried to play it down, not wanting to bring any more attention to himself than he already had. He shrugged casually. "Just luck, I suppose. Doubt I could do it again."

Jered nodded. "You got that right! I don't know how lucky you are, though. Brago's gonna be waiting to get back at you for making him look as stupid as he really is!"

Aran realised with a sick feeling that Jered was right. Maybe he could make a weapon or something to carry around until Brago forgot about today. "Maybe I'll just move away," Aran suggested, only half-joking. "Somewhere where he'll never find me."

Jered hooted a laugh. "You'd have to go as far as Maralon, I reckon, or maybe Beringard! Actually, if you plan on Beringard, I'm coming too!"

Aran found himself grinning at that. Beringard was notorious for its scandalous fashions. Aran suspected they were all exaggerated, but Jered always ate up any tale about Beringard. "Well, I don't know about Beringard," Aran began. "But how about we set out for the woods? I've got a feeling we'll find something good today."

"Yep! Let's do it!" Jered said as he slid from the branch and alighted smoothly on the ground. He ducked behind the tree and came back around with a bulging leather scrip that he slung over his shoulder. "Lunch," he explained when Aran asked him what was in it. Aran felt stupid for not making his own lunch before leaving home. Maybe he could pick some mushrooms or something.

"Don't worry," Jered told him patiently as they set out. "There's plenty for you, too. I know how much you eat."

Aran opened his mouth to retort, but shut it again when he realised his friend was right; he really had been eating more lately. Was it something to do with the strange episodes he was having? Putting it out of his mind for now, he focused on the walk, enjoying the rolling landscape of the farms and pastures that surrounded Korrin. The two young men took the fastest way to the forest, walking to the end of Jered's street and circling around the western edge of the village where there was an old cart path that led southwest through the fields.

Eventually, the pastures gave way to the rolling Sorral Plains, a vast grassland that stretched for hundreds of leagues north and west of the Emerin Forest, encompassing Ironshire and Maralon and a dozen villages and towns in between.

Aran and Jered walked in contented silence for a time, but eventually Jered spoke. "So, what did Brago want?"

"Just to be his usual winning self," Aran replied dryly, bending down to pick up a stick as long as he was tall and a little thicker than his thumb; ideal for walking. "He warned me off Jillia. Told me to stay away from her because she belongs to him. The usual bullshit."

Jered grunted sourly. He was sweet on Jillia, though she seemed not to know, or care. Aran wished Jillia would forget about him and go for Jered; his friend deserved a nice, pretty girl. Well, most of Aran wished that. There was a small part of him that liked the attention, though he tried to squash it down whenever it reared its head.

"I've tried letting her know I'm not interested," Aran said earnestly. "I know you like her. I'll not get in the way, I promise."

"Well you can't be trying very hard," Jered grumbled, frowning at the grass in front of him as they walked. "She keeps mooning after you like a lost puppy. And it's not just her! What is it with you lately? Half the girls in the village are whispering in corners about you and giggling like... Well, like girls!"

Aran almost laughed at the indignance on Jered's angular face, but he shut it down for fear of offending his friend. He spread his hands placatingly. "Whatever it is, I'm not doing it on purpose, my friend," he said honestly. "I'm deliberately avoiding Jillia and the rest of them, but that only seems to make them more persistent!"

"You know," Jered began with a flat look. "Most men our age would strangle their own mothers for that problem."

"Well if I could give it to you, you could have it," Aran muttered. "I'm sick of it! I can't even talk to a girl without feeling like I've been dipped in molten rock, and as for what happened back there with Doonan, I actually wanted to challenge him! It felt exhilarating, and... and right to stand up to him!"

"Well, be that as it may," Jered said with a wolfish grin. "I imagine being cornered by Tessa Mellan would make me feel as hot as molten rock!"

Aran smiled back wanly. True, Tessa was the most beautiful girl in the village, next to Jillia. Tall and slender and golden-haired, Tessa was in her early twenties, and married. A month or so back, Aran had been working in Tessa's father's barn to make some extra coin when he'd turned to find her standing uncomfortably close, clad only in a clinging shift and a hot smile. It was remarkable he'd been able to get out of there without Tessa's father or husband skinning him alive.

"I hope you haven't told anyone about that," Aran said, frowning at Jered.

"Not a soul," the gangly fellow replied, and Aran believed him. Mischievous though he was, Jered usually kept his word.

"Thanks."

"You're welcome, Lord Sunblade."

Aran growled in his throat. "Don't you bloody start that shit again!" That was what some of his friends called him to tease him about his name. 'Sunblade' really stood out among the Bendins, the Mellans, the Sammins and the other similar names of the people of Korrin. His mother said it had a deep heritage, but Aran had never been able to pry any more out of her.

"Of course, m'Lord," Jered said in a suddenly polished accent as he jerked a bow in Aran's direction. Aran raised his walking stick threateningly. "Alright!" Jered yelled, half-laughing and holding his hands up in surrender. "Bloody touchy this morning, aren't we?"

"You have no idea," Aran grated. He forged forward, swishing the end of his stick against the grass as if it were a scythe, trying to work out his frustration.

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CHAPTER 1.3 -- A NOTE

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***MARI SUNBLADE***

Mari was happily working with the other women in the village square, preparing for the Sunday feast. The men had hauled the big tables out and set them up this morning, and now the women were decorating them with small bunches of daisies and marigolds.

Mari didn't know why it was done this way every year, it just was. Nobody ever seemed to question the tradition, and it did no harm to follow along and take part. It was even fun, for the most part. Except when she had to sit there on one of the long benches at the table and listen to big-nosed Carrie Sammin talking rubbish about her Aran.

"I've heard it said reliably," Carrie said conspiratorially, leaning forward so all the women at the table would do the same. "That young Aran has been seeing not one or two, but four different girls, all in the same week!"

Mari opened her mouth to defend her son, but stout and greying Lissa Argan, the mayor's wife, interjected with a snort. "Don't be a fool, Carrie!" She said derisively. "Even you know better than to spout that nonsense. Aran is a good lad. It's not his fault if he's grown half a foot and put on some muscle in the past year. He's a right handsome boy, and he's good to his mother." Lissa shot Mari a quick smile across the table, and Mari returned it with gratitude. "It's no surprise some of the girls have taken notice of him."

Carrie looked irked at being dismissed so effectively, but she said nothing in response. The women resumed idle chatter as they worked, talking about this and that. Mari joined the conversation when required, but her mind was elsewhere. Aran was close to touching his Vala, if he hadn't already. There was enough evidence for that in the way the girls were after him. He was also eating enough for three men, and had the energy of five.

A movement caught Mari's eye. Her side of the table faced the quaint village inn, and over Lissa's shoulder she spotted a cloaked figure ducking back out of sight behind the building. With everyone busy in the square, nobody would be at the inn today, which ruled out the possibility it was a villager lurking about back there.

Excusing herself politely, Mari left the table and made for western road out of the square, which led to her house. Once out of sight, she turned left and circled back round behind the inn. A big oak tree dominated the inn's yard, its spreading branches providing shade at most hours of the day.

The cloaked figure was standing by the tree, face hidden inside the cowl. Mari approached tentatively. Not because she feared a stranger, but because she knew who it was, and why they were here.

"He's ready," a somewhat husky, but distinctly feminine voice said when Mari was close enough. They were standing only a foot or so apart, and Mari could see into the taller woman's cowl. The shadows hid much, but Mari remembered that beautiful face well, despite not having seen it for more than a year.

"I know," Mari answered, her voice trembling slightly. She felt a hot tear running down her cheek. The cloaked woman reached out and took her hand, giving it a supportive squeeze. "Though it is not any easier knowing."

"It is too dangerous for him here, now." The woman's voice was firm, but not without compassion.

Mari just nodded her acceptance, but she felt as if a piece of her heart was being torn from her chest. Before she knew what was happening, the other woman had enveloped her in a warm embrace. "I will watch him, and guide him," she said. "He will be safe, with me, with his own kind."

Mari had dreaded this day from the moment she'd given birth. She always knew she'd have to let Aran go, but she had no idea it would be this hard. A part of her had hoped he had not inherited his father's gifts, but it was not to be. Aran was destined for great things, and Korrin could not hold him, nor would it understand him.

"When the time is right," the woman said. "I will send him to visit, though it will be done quietly."

Mari nodded. "Of course." They stepped back from each other, and she saw the shadow of a smile beneath the black cowl.

"You are strong, Mari. He is fortunate to have a mother like you." A comforting hand touched Mari's shoulder. "Love before hate."

"Always," Mari whispered in reply.

At that, the woman pulled her cowl forward and turned away. Mari watched as she strode off to the west, disappearing in between two houses as if melding into the shadows. No one would see her unless she wished it.

Squaring her shoulders, Mari gathered her composure and rubbed her eyes with the back of her hand. Tonight was the last time she would see her son, at least for a long time. But she would see him again. She would.

***ARAN***

Aran and Jered spent the day fossicking around in the Emerin Forest looking for anything and everything. The Emerin was the biggest forest in all of Ekistair, and was home to a plethora of different trees. Pines, elms, firs and oaks all proudly claiming their own spaces, largely untouched by men for hundreds of years. Aran couldn't help but wonder what secrets and treasures lay buried in a forest this large.

They found some old bones from an animal they didn't recognize, and a clearing full of moss-covered white stones, worn smooth by centuries of wind and rain. Jered thought there was once a city here, but Aran doubted it. There would be more than some old stones if an entire city had been in this spot!

Jered wandered off a bit at one point, and when Aran heard him cry out, he feared the worst, but when he found his friend, Jered was excitedly pointing to a clear pool of water fed by a bubbling stream running in from the west, probably from the Emerindrelle, the massive river that ran from the Karvanis all the way down to the Forgotten Coast in the south, where it met the sea.

Despite the lingering winter chill, Jered had stripped down to his smallclothes and leaped in with a splash. Aran couldn't help but join him, not caring if the water was cold or not. This pool was the best thing they'd found in the Emerin yet!

"One day, Aran," Jered said lazily as he floated around on his back and stared up at the canopy above. "We'll see Elves here. I know it!"

"That would be something," Aran mused as he slowly paddled around. "Which kind, do you think?" He was humouring Jered's boyish fantasies; Aran doubted there were any Elves at all this side of the Wild Sea -- the ocean that separated Ekistair from Palistair. Aran's mother said that despite its name, the Wild Sea was actually usually quite calm. "Tar'elda? Mor'elda? Eryn'elda?"

Jered thought for a moment. "Well, I would say Eryn'elda. Surely Wood Elves would live in a forest, wouldn't they?"

"Makes sense to me," Aran agreed, unable to argue with such impeccable logic.

"There's supposed to be a hidden Eryn'elda city somewhere in the Emerin, you know, Jered explained, as if Aran had never heard the legend of Ildernass, the City in the Trees.

"Although, the Tar'elda women are supposed to be the most beautiful ones," Jered added.

Aran had heard that, too, last year from a merchant who had travelled through Korrin on his way to Dun'Arghol, the Dwarven lands to the east and south. That merchant had shared several stories with the village boys about women from around the world, at least until some of the mothers found out. The poor fellow was promptly chased out of Korrin and told never to return, but not before several young minds -- Aran's and Jered's included -- were filled with images of beautiful, mystical women of all shapes, sizes and colours dressed in scandalous clothing and willing to serve a man's every desire. Not surprisingly, every adolescent boy in the village had hung off this merchant's every word. Some of the older men had, too, which might be another reason the women chased him away.

"What about the Dwarves?" Aran asked casually, anticipating what reaction he would get. "Their women are meant to be beautiful, too."

Jered scoffed indignantly, and turned to Aran with his mouth open, promptly filling it with water and making himself choke and splutter. Aran grinned broadly as Jered splashed around.

"You think women with beards are beautiful, Sunblade?" Jered retorted when he recovered. "That's your problem. I'll stick to gorgeous Elves, myself!"

Aran guffawed at that. "You don't actually believe they have beards, do you?" Neither of them had ever seen a Dwarf; they were a very reclusive people.

"They do!" Jered protested, putting his feet on the pond bottom and standing, putting his chest and shoulders clear of the water. "Marwin Holme saw a Dwarven caravan ten years ago on the Ironshire Road! He said the women had chests like this -" he held his hands out in front of him to demonstrate a simply enormous bosom "- and beards like this!" He moved his hands to stroke an imaginary beard that came down past his monumental imaginary breasts.

Aran hooted with laughter at the mental image. "Well, it's no wonder they're such a secretive people, then, is it? They're probably embarrassed!"

Jered chuckled, but then his expression became more serious. "Hey, Aran, when I'm eighteen, why don't we go explore the world? I've had enough of talking about what's really out there! I want to see it with my own eyes!" There was a light of excitement in his dark eyes, and Aran could almost believe he was serious.

"That sounds like a great idea," He said to his friend. "I'm in." He didn't think it would ever happen; Jered would probably forget about the idea by this time tomorrow, but Aran didn't see the point in squashing his enthusiasm. "On another note, it's probably time for us to head back."

Jered nodded, and they climbed from the refreshing pool, letting themselves drip dry in the cool afternoon air for a while before pulling their clothes back on. It was then that Aran noticed a note folded into the pocket of his tunic. Curiously, he unfurled it.

'I have the answers you seek, Aran. Return to this place at midnight tonight, and I will be here.'

There was no signature. Aran was about to turn and accuse Jered of a prank, but the handwriting was distinctly feminine, flowing elegantly across the small strip of parchment. He quickly discarded the suspicion that Jered had somehow enlisted the help of one of the local girls; the shape of the letters was much too sophisticated. It's what Aran imagined a noblewoman's hand would look like.

"What's wrong?" Jered asked, trying to look over his shoulder.

"Uh, nothing," Aran said, hurriedly stuffing the note back into the pocket and bending to pick up his cloak. "Just a note from Ma telling me to stop by at the Weston's for some eggs on the way back." He didn't want anyone to know about the note if he could help it. He wasn't sure why he felt the need for secrecy, but his gut was telling him just that.