Sneak Peek: Chapter One

Posted by Jaime Buckley in Featured Articles, Just for FUN, WANTED HERO | 1 comment

Who are you?

I know that I am the storyteller. I’m the friend, the neighbor, the stranger on the street. I’m the one who watches, contemplates, and observes.

But who are you? Are you a person of great consequence? With great responsibilities? Or are you still trying to figure out who you are and where you fit in this great big world of ours?

Well, actually, we all are. Even those of us who are ‘great’ aren’t the ones who make the world go ’round. They are just louder than the rest of us.

The dry, listless breeze blew across the wide path of rough cut steps climbing the reaching arm to the plateau. Magically enhanced stone stretched hundreds of feet into the air, where the Pinnacle with its diamond hard, red rock surface deflected sands assaulting the barrier; a protection of enchantments cast a thousand generations before, to keep out the biting sand and wind but not the roar of chittering grains echoing from every direction, like swarms of bugs capable of rending flesh from bone. Looking down from the plateau was a chasm spanning a mile to the north, south and west, containing the Sands of Sight where hidden knowledge in the churning clouds of dust revealed its secrets to one who has the gift to see. These sands are fragments diligently collected from a million worlds, connecting the Pinnacle, its chiseled form stretching out like a hand to each native land.

Upon the plateau stood a lone robed figure, hood drawn back exposing his clean shaven head and sideburns. He relaxed in a shoulder width stance, fingers interlaced behind his pear shaped torso. He was called the High Elder, and his position was head of a governing order called the Iskari High Council. They are unique men who, as stewards of special gifts, observe and maintain the balance of good and evil across the thirteen worlds that revolve around the sun, Beletarus. While occasionally…. tinkering, for purely scientific reasons, in a few other outlying galaxies.

He had been standing atop the Pinnacle for most of the day feeding and watching the sands, the chittering chaos whispering its subtle secrets in a language he understood. Looking to his left, a small stone rose from a neatly organized pile and drifted towards him. The stone was coarse and pitted with veins of green lime showing through one end. Nodding towards the of Sand of Sight, the stone launched itself into the great chasm, instantly engulfed by the raging storm. Closing his eyes the High Elder concentrated, reaching out with his mind and heart. Before him the sands shifted and slowly began to take form. Soon the small sphere took its place in the Catalog of Planets. He opened his eyes and smiled.

The High Elder looked forward to his daily ritual of observing events on distant worlds, in what he called ‘essence’. His mind went to the events close at hand and another scene began to take shape. Sands poured in from the chaos towards him. Long streams of grain quickly organized themselves into figures conversing with one another. Yet, one figure was distinctly different than the other. The grains converging where the heart would be were lighter in color than the rest of the formed figures of sand, representing a goodness or purity. The High Elder nodded with approval. These were the life and movements of the young man who had been placed upon a strange world, Earth, to hide him. The High Elder had been watching over him ever since he was a helpless baby, placed in the arms of loving parents who would never know where he really came from. The young man was needed now, to come home, reclaim his birthright and save his people.

It was an exciting time, and the High Elder was honored to be a part. Many generations had passed, waiting for this very opportunity to see the rise of the next ‘Hero’, who would awaken the Gem of the Gods: The Ithari.

Soon, he thought. Soon I will see the face of the Hero! He almost giggled. His old eyes, watching the pulse of the sands, saw unusual strength in this youth. He leaned forward, peering deeper into the magic, once again hoping to see the young mans features, to see the look in his eyes, even though he knew it was impossible. The sands could not reveal detail, with the exception of gender. He sighed and checked his feelings. Tomorrow, he reminded himself.

So unusually distracted by his thoughts and engrossed in the young Hero, the High Elder did not feel someone approach behind him nor did he notice another strand of sand changing from its soothing neutral color to an alarming deep, red crimson, penetrating the enchanted barrier and rise to meet the sands of Earth.

“Father!”

Startled from his vision, the High Elder darted a glance to his side. He immediately felt cramping in his stomach—a sign he recognized as evil being present, and calmly, but quickly, stretched out a hand to wave through the scene and break his link to Earth. The figures collapsed into swirling tentacles of grain launching themselves into the chasm once more.

All except the one crimson swirl that rose higher drawing close to the old man, slowly inching its way around his chest and up to his face and brow. The grains separated to form long, thin tentacles, that reached out to test the presence of the High Elder. After feeling and probing the air, it lingered as if waiting for some sign of weakness. Waiting, the High Elder knew, for his thoughts to betray the young Hero or some hint of his knowledge so it could snatch the information and reveal the youth’s location to its dark master.

Slowing his breath, the High Elder concentrated with a lifetime of practiced skill…clearing all thoughts from his consciousness. He knew he could wait, too. Moments stretched passed. Then minutes.

“Ish-krothi Umballa!” impatiently commanded, Shea, as he punched his hands through the ends of his robe to bring his hands around an invisible ball that he stretched and forcefully thrust toward his father. The sands immediately scattered and with a popping noise, burst into flame.

“No!” cried the High Elder urgently. “The Dark Lord will know we hide something from him!” He looked down at the small shards of glass at his feet, the cloudy crimson red slowly fading from the shining surfaces of the debris. He had been so careful in laying the plans to avoid the Dark Lord Mahan. It hadn’t always been easy to keep the prying eyes of shadow at bay by creating exceptionally strong charms and magical decoys. Weaving deceptions of ignorance and complacency to keep the child safe for the last eighteen years had been necessary. Now, with one irrational breath, the High Elder’s perfectly orchestrated plan had been compromised.

He turned sharply on his heel, a deep frown on his face, pulled the hood of his white robes over his head and started briskly down the steep, winding path towards Sanctuary and away from the deafening cries of the sand.

Shea quickly followed to catch up and keep pace at the High Elders side. When they had walked far enough that he could be heard without shouting, he started “Father, I…”

The High Elder raised his right hand for silence. “Control and unity, my son,” he interrupted, his voice cool and stern. “This is always about control and unity. That is how we defeat the enemy. That is how we maintain the balance between the forces, not by a careless display of personal power and parlor tricks!” He continued down the path, never turning his head as he spoke, until he felt his son’s hand reaching out to him.

“I’m sorry, father.”

The High Elder slowed his pace, his sons tone causing his rigid pace to falter, and then stopped. His wise and piercing gaze studied his son’s expressions. Moments passed, but he said nothing.

“Truly,” Shea said, sounding more humble. “I sought only to keep the child safe.”

The High Elder’s expression softened, the small wrinkles in the corners of his eyes giving a faint smile. He let his breath out in a slow silent sigh. Shea was young. Too young to carry such a burden, in his own opinion, but the people and the Council had spoken and his only son had been called to the Iskari High Council in a life pledge of service. His rights as a father were now subject to the calling of an Elder. Shea was the youngest Elder recorded in their people’s history.

The smile vanished from his face. That is no excuse. I may have lost my rights over him as a father, but I still lead this Council! Youth and inexperience was no excuse for the irrational behavior and stepping outside one’s calling.

“Young Elder, you have forgotten your place—doubted my position and challenged my stewardship.”

Pain registered in Shea’s face, reminding his father of their opposing views on the Council. The youths posture straightened at the formal address and he gave a formal nod of his head. “High Elder, I do not doubt your position NOR would I dare challenge your stewardship,” his voice one of controlled patience. “I have only questioned this decision on how the Hero should be retrieved. I see too much risk involved. Thus I believe his important task should only be entrusted to the Council as a whole. The bloodline will need protection. Our protection.”

The High Elder shook his head in frustration. It was the same argument. The same words he’d heard over and over again in council; meetings continually ending in raised voices and divided emotions. It was weakening the unity and effectiveness of the Council, some of the Elders were withdrawing into themselves over the issue. His eyes studied once again the face of his only son. Too much arrogance and pride in ones own ability and power, he worried to himself. They underestimate the growing power and cunning of the enemy!

“Our calling is to observe, record, plan and organize. We guide by presenting choices and encourage others govern themselves. Yet, this Council would presume to step in and directly thwart the strength of the greatest evil known to mortality?!” The High Elder placed his hands into the folds of his robes, gripping his own wrists tightly. “Insanity!” he snapped. “Mahan has nearly enslaved worlds through his matchless power, were it not for the bloodline! Have you truly convinced yourself of being beyond destruction, or worse yet—corruption? ”

Shea raised his head to the challenge. “What of your plan, Father?” he asked in quick retort. “To send a calloused, free-willed outcast to retrieve our last hope for creation? One who shirks his responsibilities to live in pubs, and returns so intoxicated that he often mistakes the pig pen for his cottage. He can’t even find the bathroom in the dark!”

The High Elder couldn’t help but smile at the rather accurate description of one of Sanctuary’s longest residents. “No. Dax can find a bathroom in the dark…he simply finds it inconvenient when intoxicated, and therefore chooses not to.”

“That’s just…sick,” Shea grimaced, revolted at the thought.

“Nevertheless, it does not disqualify him for the task at hand. We all have a purpose. Remember what has been taken from him and how he suffers. If nothing else, it should soften your heart. He knows the coordinates and exact time to appear to avoid error.”

Shea looked unconvinced. “You misplace your trust in a fool, Father.”

“No,” the High Elder smiled, grateful for the slight change of topic diffusing the old argument. Placing a confident hand on his son’s chest, “I trust a friend.”

The young Elder’s head fell slowly, closing his eyes in resignation.

Patting his son’s shoulder, the High Elder grinned wide. “Have confidence. The Dark Lord will never suspect what is about to happen…and we will do what has never been done before.”

Shea sighed and muttered under his breath, “That’s what I’m afraid of.”

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