FicWad

In another world, a caravan made its way through dry, rocky hills, heading west of the port city. It was a small caravan, with only ten travelers, not counting the caravan leader and his guards. Few caravans traveled west nowadays, what with the Ashari bandits running loose in the east and rumors of demon attacks in the west. It also didn't help that the caravans' routes took them across the Deadlands, a broad expanse of gray sand, huge boulders and small streams of reeking, black slime. The villages closest to the Deadlands had named it, somewhat inaccurately though, because there were things living in the Deadlands. Every now and then, hunters would come upon a creature unlike anything they had ever seen, a ghastly travesty of some animal, all horns, teeth, eyes, claws and unpleasant disposition. The caravan leader himself had seen one or two of the beasts, both mercifully dead. Villagers touched with magic claimed that the creatures in the Deadlands come from another time and place altogether, where a great corrupting force reigned, and after what the caravan leader had seen, he was prepared to believe it.

But hundreds of years ago, the caravan leader would recount to his fellow travelers making the arduous journey westward, the Deadlands was once a river that flowed through the heart of a kingdom. But the king violated a sacred oath, and as punishment, the kingdom was broken into pieces in a great tide of destruction. Now the place was what it was, a wasteland and a lesson to all who would dare disobey the commandments of the gods.

It was a story the caravan leader trotted out during evenings by the fire, and it never failed to entertain travelers. But the first night on this journey when he'd begun to tell the tale, he noticed the expressions on at least two of the travelers' faces. Prudence reigned, and he abandoned the story in favor of a less contentious tale about the moon goddess and her adventures.

Like everyone else, he'd been watching these travelers closely ever since their dramatic entry into the group. They had all witnessed the incredible events that took place at the edge of a marketplace, and if he'd known he'd be harboring wanted criminals, he'd have thought twice about accepting that woman's gold. And a sizeable amount of gold it was, too. On the other hand, the caravan leader shared none of the Mizakans' abhorrence for magic-users, and after that display at the marketplace, he understood the reason why these four people had to flee the city.

They were the strangest travelers he'd ever met. They were all young, one of them looking as if he still had several years in the schoolroom left, although his companions insisted he was all of fifteen. Despite the mud and grime that covered them, he couldn't help noticing the quality of their clothing, not to mention the chains around their necks. Real silver, not that polished junk they sold in the alleys. Two of them looked like members of some street gang, but their manner of speech as a whole was too refined for common criminals in Mizaka's Outer City. And then there was all that gold the woman paid for their passage westward. These four were from the Inner City, no doubt about that, but how they ended up traveling with a lowly caravan and with only the clothes on their backs, if one discounted the gold...The caravan leader knew a good story when he saw one, and these four travelers were worth at least several nights of good entertainment.

He was especially curious about the dark-haired girl with the sunny smile and the amazing ability to turn even camp food into a hearty feast. Such a sweet girl, the most ordinary-looking of the four. Why, if he hadn't seen her level an entire marketplace all by herself, he wouldn't have thought her capable of harming a fly.

The girl herself seemed a bit confused about what happened. She remembered nothing after the guards pounced on her and the fireworks began. When her companions told her what happened after she'd finally regained consciousness-how she'd floated up in the air in a dazzling whirlwind of white and blue light, how she'd sent guards, rebels and stalls flying with a flick of her hand-she'd turned worryingly pale and sat with her face in her hands while her friends comforted her. Slowly, over a period of several nights and to the caravan leader's delight, the story of the four companions began to unfold.

Sohma. Now there was a name straight out of the time of kings and legends. The caravan leader had no idea he was traveling with members of the most powerful and aristocratic family in two cities, a fact underscored by an incident in one of the fishing villages the caravan had passed through. They were met by five tall, cloaked men on horseback, who offered their services as escorts for the small caravan. The caravan leader's own guards had bristled at their arrogance and would have started a brawl right then and there, when the men suddenly threw back their cloaks to reveal the insignia of the Duke of Ryuukama emblazoned on their armor. They knelt before the four young travelers and presented their swords as a symbol of their commitment to serve and protect, leaving no doubt as to the identities of the caravan's distinguished guests.

And to the dark-haired girl, the knights presented a small, bejeweled scroll. With trembling hands the girl took the scroll and read it, and the expression on her face was a mixture of trepidation and steely determination.

The caravan rolled swiftly and steadily westward, and it occurred to the caravan leader that maybe some legends were just about to begin.