Categories > Original > Fantasy > The Chosen Comes--First Book of the War of the Necromancer
Ch 1--Ariena Lost
0 reviewsAriena finds herself lost in the woods during the storms--but worse than rain lurks in the dark forest...
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Ariena sat by her meager campfire, drenched and frozen. She felt that she would have given anything to be warm, to be out of this icy rain and in dry clothes again. She had, at least, managed enough control of Flame to start this inadequate fire and unsatisfactorily cook some of her rapidly diminishing provisions. When she had left the village she had "grown up" in, she had pilfered many items of clothing and food supplies that she had thought she could use, but her vast inexperience was quickly proving wretched at selecting the appropriate items she had needed. Beginning with her clothing selections--she had felt envious for years of the nicer clothing the villagers had kept stored away. In her flight, she had raided many of the more prosperous homes and made off with several expensive ensembles, including those worn for dealings with the merchants that occasionally visited the tiny hamlet. But she had never thought that those expensive and comfortable clothes would prove so ineffective at containing warmth or resisting the terrible weather during this, the Season of Storms.
She'd watched the children gathered by the nearby river, on the beach, being taught their lessons for the day by the village Matron--while Ariena did the village laundry on the rocks. She always tried to place herself near enough to hear, and sometimes even see, what lessons the children were learning. She knew she was smart--many of the lessons that were repeated to the older children, she already understood with little effort. She memorized everything she heard, and sometimes was even able to rush over and see the markings in the sand left by the Matron's stick after they'd left. She knew mathematics, as much as they taught; she knew about dealing with merchants from observing the Elders deal with them--always from a distance, and never in sight of the merchants. They always made her stay hidden when visitors came, like a shameful secret. She only had a child's grasp of letters and reading, though; she was never allowed access to the few precious books the village kept.
Today's lesson was about the Elements. The Matron carefully sketched the symbols of the Elements into the sand, symbols that had been used for so many centuries no one still alive knew even the history of how those symbols had come to be. The single-line drawings slowly came into being in the sand, arranged in their traditional circular pattern. The inverted-cone shape of Gust, the teardrop-within-teardrop of Wave, the leaf of Nature, the hard and angular shape of Mineral, the hooked--tooth shape of Flame, the rounded cloud shape with the sharp spear of Bolt, and the tilted four-pointed star shape of Virtue in the center. She listened with great interest as the Matron discussed the powers of the Elements; the discussion eventually turned to the Elemental Principles, the seven characteristic traits of each of the seven Elements.
Ariena listened in rapture as she absorbed all the information. Little did she know that one day, not too far removed, she would begin blossoming as a caster, and the villagers would then have yet another way to use her for their own ends...
Ariena still remembered the day she first learned she was a caster. She'd tried hard to hide it, but the burning shrubbery was a little hard to miss, even for the thicker-than-average villagers she worked for. Once they'd learned that she could cast, it was a rare day that she didn't spend most of her time running around to "help" the villagers with chores; aiding them by lighting the cook fires, furrowing the fields, even condensing the moisture from the air to drink, during dry seasons when the river was mud. Anytime they learned something that she could accomplish, it became more work. And, as much as she hated the extra work, she could never seem to stop herself from learning. She had found from an early age that she craved information about everything; that she longed to study the world and make its knowledge hers.
Well, she was on her way now, wasn't she? She was learning that any roof over your head is better than none; that no matter how meager the fare, it's better than starving; that no matter how lousy the company was, it's usually better to have some than none at all. Yes, she was learning all sorts of new things.
She has also learned not to toy with her abilities. This horrible storm, pounding for three days now, was her fault. She had seen the first storm of the Season approaching, and had reached for it, hoping to affect it in some way--but she'd never expected this. It was a monsoon, drenching rains that lasted for days on end. The villagers had abandoned their homes, taking what provisions they could, to hide in the reinforced stone shelter under the nearby hill. She had seen her chance then--no one had kept their attention on her, and she had seen her chance to escape. She quickly rummaged through the items the villagers had left, and found what she'd thought, at the time, to be a discarded treasure trove. Fine clothing and rich food she'd packed in abundance, and taken off just before the first real storm had hit.
And she was now learning how badly she'd bungled. The nice clothing was terrible for keeping her dry or comfortable; the food was fancy and not holding up to the rigors of her travels. Squashed dessert items and tasty candied fruits and meats--what she wouldn't give now for the pressed wheat cakes and dried meats she was used to. Or the dried fruit compotes--those foods filled one up, and quite nicely at that. These rich foods just made her stomach hurt.
Suddenly, she could feel eyes on her. She heard the distinctive click of claws on the rocks nearby, as she realized her danger. She looked up to find a bequitas, one of the reptilian felines of the forest, watching her. His lower jaw was slightly extended, and she could see the dull color of its teeth in the dim light of her fire.
She panicked. She reached out to grab one of the burning stick in her fire, but when she yanked on the stick the fire pit was torn to pieces; her fire was out in a matter of moments. The bequitas, now no longer needing to hide from the fire, advanced on her with a purpose. She noted, in the part of her mind not consumed by fear, that it looked very lean and underfed. Accordingly, the rest of her mind panicked all the more--this animal was looking for food, and she didn't think he'd want any cakes.
In a last desperate measure, she threw her hands out in front of her. Tried to picture the heat drawing together, tried to add the last dying sparks of light from the fire, compress, compress--"/Infirus!"
/With a loud whoomph the flame burst into being before her, a wild and undirected burst that nevertheless singed the bequitas quite well and frightened him away from her. As she collapsed back against her tree she could hear the beast's hard claws clicking against rocks and cracking branches as it sought to flee.
When she finally raised her head, she saw that many of the branches above her were burning from the burst of flame moments ago. She quickly rolled out of the way, as the largest branches came crashing down in front of where she'd been sitting. She stared, wild-eyed, at the boughs that nearly seemed to have missed the constant rains. They appeared to have burned the moisture in them dry. Had her uncontrolled flame been that powerful?
She pondered this as she used her previously defunct torch to push the burning boughs into her fire pit, with other nearby (and seemingly miraculously) dried wood piled on top, and huddled under the thickest cloak she had for shelter. She would sleep tonight no matter what./
/Her last thought as she drifted off was, Next time Idecide to run away, I'm stealing a TENT.
As she set off toward the nearest town the next morning, still damp from the terrible storms that seemed to have finally abated, a strangely garbed man stood upon a nearby cliff.
“She is mastering herself, however slowly,” he spoke gravely to the large falcon perched on the top of the walking staff he carried. His skin was nothing but a terrible scar, burned almost beyond recognition. Still, there would have been kindly eyes to match his saddened countenance, if not for the scrap of graying white cloth announcing his blindness. “But I fear it may already be too late.”
His winged companion cocked his head to the side, a sign between them of agreement. The falcon took to flight at the stranger’s lifted arm, and the stranger followed suit, his talons now carrying the staff.
She'd watched the children gathered by the nearby river, on the beach, being taught their lessons for the day by the village Matron--while Ariena did the village laundry on the rocks. She always tried to place herself near enough to hear, and sometimes even see, what lessons the children were learning. She knew she was smart--many of the lessons that were repeated to the older children, she already understood with little effort. She memorized everything she heard, and sometimes was even able to rush over and see the markings in the sand left by the Matron's stick after they'd left. She knew mathematics, as much as they taught; she knew about dealing with merchants from observing the Elders deal with them--always from a distance, and never in sight of the merchants. They always made her stay hidden when visitors came, like a shameful secret. She only had a child's grasp of letters and reading, though; she was never allowed access to the few precious books the village kept.
Today's lesson was about the Elements. The Matron carefully sketched the symbols of the Elements into the sand, symbols that had been used for so many centuries no one still alive knew even the history of how those symbols had come to be. The single-line drawings slowly came into being in the sand, arranged in their traditional circular pattern. The inverted-cone shape of Gust, the teardrop-within-teardrop of Wave, the leaf of Nature, the hard and angular shape of Mineral, the hooked--tooth shape of Flame, the rounded cloud shape with the sharp spear of Bolt, and the tilted four-pointed star shape of Virtue in the center. She listened with great interest as the Matron discussed the powers of the Elements; the discussion eventually turned to the Elemental Principles, the seven characteristic traits of each of the seven Elements.
Ariena listened in rapture as she absorbed all the information. Little did she know that one day, not too far removed, she would begin blossoming as a caster, and the villagers would then have yet another way to use her for their own ends...
Ariena still remembered the day she first learned she was a caster. She'd tried hard to hide it, but the burning shrubbery was a little hard to miss, even for the thicker-than-average villagers she worked for. Once they'd learned that she could cast, it was a rare day that she didn't spend most of her time running around to "help" the villagers with chores; aiding them by lighting the cook fires, furrowing the fields, even condensing the moisture from the air to drink, during dry seasons when the river was mud. Anytime they learned something that she could accomplish, it became more work. And, as much as she hated the extra work, she could never seem to stop herself from learning. She had found from an early age that she craved information about everything; that she longed to study the world and make its knowledge hers.
Well, she was on her way now, wasn't she? She was learning that any roof over your head is better than none; that no matter how meager the fare, it's better than starving; that no matter how lousy the company was, it's usually better to have some than none at all. Yes, she was learning all sorts of new things.
She has also learned not to toy with her abilities. This horrible storm, pounding for three days now, was her fault. She had seen the first storm of the Season approaching, and had reached for it, hoping to affect it in some way--but she'd never expected this. It was a monsoon, drenching rains that lasted for days on end. The villagers had abandoned their homes, taking what provisions they could, to hide in the reinforced stone shelter under the nearby hill. She had seen her chance then--no one had kept their attention on her, and she had seen her chance to escape. She quickly rummaged through the items the villagers had left, and found what she'd thought, at the time, to be a discarded treasure trove. Fine clothing and rich food she'd packed in abundance, and taken off just before the first real storm had hit.
And she was now learning how badly she'd bungled. The nice clothing was terrible for keeping her dry or comfortable; the food was fancy and not holding up to the rigors of her travels. Squashed dessert items and tasty candied fruits and meats--what she wouldn't give now for the pressed wheat cakes and dried meats she was used to. Or the dried fruit compotes--those foods filled one up, and quite nicely at that. These rich foods just made her stomach hurt.
Suddenly, she could feel eyes on her. She heard the distinctive click of claws on the rocks nearby, as she realized her danger. She looked up to find a bequitas, one of the reptilian felines of the forest, watching her. His lower jaw was slightly extended, and she could see the dull color of its teeth in the dim light of her fire.
She panicked. She reached out to grab one of the burning stick in her fire, but when she yanked on the stick the fire pit was torn to pieces; her fire was out in a matter of moments. The bequitas, now no longer needing to hide from the fire, advanced on her with a purpose. She noted, in the part of her mind not consumed by fear, that it looked very lean and underfed. Accordingly, the rest of her mind panicked all the more--this animal was looking for food, and she didn't think he'd want any cakes.
In a last desperate measure, she threw her hands out in front of her. Tried to picture the heat drawing together, tried to add the last dying sparks of light from the fire, compress, compress--"/Infirus!"
/With a loud whoomph the flame burst into being before her, a wild and undirected burst that nevertheless singed the bequitas quite well and frightened him away from her. As she collapsed back against her tree she could hear the beast's hard claws clicking against rocks and cracking branches as it sought to flee.
When she finally raised her head, she saw that many of the branches above her were burning from the burst of flame moments ago. She quickly rolled out of the way, as the largest branches came crashing down in front of where she'd been sitting. She stared, wild-eyed, at the boughs that nearly seemed to have missed the constant rains. They appeared to have burned the moisture in them dry. Had her uncontrolled flame been that powerful?
She pondered this as she used her previously defunct torch to push the burning boughs into her fire pit, with other nearby (and seemingly miraculously) dried wood piled on top, and huddled under the thickest cloak she had for shelter. She would sleep tonight no matter what./
/Her last thought as she drifted off was, Next time Idecide to run away, I'm stealing a TENT.
As she set off toward the nearest town the next morning, still damp from the terrible storms that seemed to have finally abated, a strangely garbed man stood upon a nearby cliff.
“She is mastering herself, however slowly,” he spoke gravely to the large falcon perched on the top of the walking staff he carried. His skin was nothing but a terrible scar, burned almost beyond recognition. Still, there would have been kindly eyes to match his saddened countenance, if not for the scrap of graying white cloth announcing his blindness. “But I fear it may already be too late.”
His winged companion cocked his head to the side, a sign between them of agreement. The falcon took to flight at the stranger’s lifted arm, and the stranger followed suit, his talons now carrying the staff.
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