Ravenwild: Book 01 - Ravenwild (76 page)

In a few minutes she found she had company. But, she noted, they clearly did not appear to be of this world. They were translucent, flitting shapes of dark and tatter that flew on gossamer wings, their diaphanous forms drifting in and out of shadow in a ghost-like way. For a while they did not seem to make a sound as they floated out of the surrounding plant growth to escort her along. And they made no signs of approaching her, merely drifting along beside her on either side of the trail. On she walked. Then she began to hear … or did she imagine it … tiny voices calling to her. No, there they were again. What were they saying? Bits and pieces.

Near the center of the valley she saw, off in the distance, a small house set high in a solitary tree.

There came a point when the trail forked, with the obvious continuation to the treehouse off to her left. Her guides drifted around in such a fashion that she was unquestionably being told which way to go.

Standing underneath it she noticed a stout ladder nailed in place that went all the way to the base of the structure. Up she went, finding that the ladder provided her with a sturdy, stable, safe climb, at the end of which she entered the underside of the house by a trap door that opened inward on its own.

Inside was a cozy two-level home. The room in which she found herself was a sitting room of some sort. There was a long table that sat low to the floor with brightly colored cushions spilled all around it. At the head of the table floated another of the wraith-like creatures. It beckoned her to sit.

A soft voice, which she had to struggle to hear, said, “Welcome to my home, Stephanie Doreen Strong. I thank you for coming. I am the Dukkar. It is said that I rule here in the Enchanted Northland... from sea to sea. Then again, people say a lot of things, don’t they?

“There is much you need to know of this land, but that is for another time. For now, you will have good food and juices to revive you and a warm, comfortable bed in which to sleep. You will have the opportunity to bathe and enjoy a brief respite from the rigors of your trip across time to our world.

“Then you will learn, girl. Then you will learn.

“Please make yourself at home. It is time for me to sleep.” The creature disappeared.

Doreen sat, bewildered for a few moments at this altogether crazy turn of events. She had expected this entire journey to this enchanted place would be one struggle after another in the freezing cold, and here she was about to enjoy a brief little vacation in a thoroughly delightful, moreover warm, setting. She was also confused at this strange name that the Dukkar had called her, but was too tired and too hungry to give it much thought.

She sat and ate from a large bowl of fresh fruits that were on the table. Taking her time, she savored every bite and must have eaten half the bowlful when her nose directed her to some roast, and crisp potatoes, together with a delicious dipping sauce. She washed it all down with glass after glass of the sweetest, most delicious nectar she had ever tasted that she poured from a large, frosted glass bottle into a matching glass of pure crystal. There was a cake, from which she sampled a small slice since she was so full of all that she had eaten.

Then she slept. Too exhausted to bathe, she figured it would be alright if she waited until she woke up. She bet it would be a
warm
bath. She drifted off.

In her dreams she saw a family of five cutting down a Christmas tree. All were smiling the happiest of smiles and cheered loudly when it fell to the ground. Then, in the way of dreams, they were suddenly all inside a log home opening presents as she watched through a window. Another young girl appeared outside, walking up the driveway and carrying presents up to the house. Off to her left was a small lake. There was a beaver swimming around in it. There were beaver pups. She tore her eyes from the beauty of the scene and tried to concentrate on the face of the girl carrying the presents. She couldn’t make it out.

It faded.

She woke up.

For a second she was completely disoriented, and then she remembered where she was and why. Her dishes had been removed. Other than that, the room was the same, except for a small tray of pastries. She reached for one and changed her mind, the sound of running water causing her to stir and walk towards it, through a doorway, and into a short hall. The first room off to the left was a bathroom in which was a large, round tub and a tiny, walled off privy, complete with a sink and running warm and cold water. The solid gold fixtures gleamed brightly as she stood there with her mouth hanging open. She was looking at herself in a large mirror. She could not remember her face ever being so dirty. Her hair was all matted and tangled, her clothes were caked with mud, as well as ripped and torn everywhere, and she saw several bloodstains scattered all over her.

After a brief stop in the privy, into the tub she went. The water flowed constantly into her bath from a never ending stream, and out through a drain. So all of the filth that covered her was washed away as she scrubbed and scrubbed. For most of the morning she lounged about in crystal clear, warm water, in which she soaked and napped, and soaked and napped, and got out feeling as refreshed as she had ever felt. She made her way back to the lounge where she snacked on fresh fruits and nuts, and a plate of tiny, frosted cupcakes, every one of which she consumed with relish.

Now toweled dry, and dressed in a new warrior’s outfit, including leather body-armor, and with her sword honed to a razor’s edge, she strolled down the hall that led away from the lounge. Bigger and bigger it became. This puzzled her, insofar as there had been no such appearance to the small house in the treetop as she had approached it.

The tunnel ended at a gigantic dome of rock, the ceiling soaring hundreds of feet above her. It was illuminated by untold numbers of lights emanating from bioforms that flickered and tossed their luminescence all about, showing off the grains and sparkles in the crystal structure of the granite.

At the far end of this massive stone cavern sat what reminded her of an altar, and she struggled to remember how or why she had thought that. Instinctively, she reached for her necklace, touching the stone. There was what appeared to be a tabernacle. She stared at it, trying to remember what it was called. What it was for. She knew it was something important but … she couldn’t remember. In her mind’s eye she tried to put faces to the ones she knew subconsciously she had once-upon-a-time gone to church with, but they would not appear.

She stopped. It was no more than a hundred yards to the altar-thing, and she wanted to pause and breathe a bit. She felt a little foolish when she suddenly thought what a shame it was that she smelled so nice, and nobody was there to smell her.

She started walking forward again, slowly now. Sensing danger, a malevolent presence, her hand instinctively reached down to check that her sword was loose in its scabbard. This feeling of impending doom descended upon her like a great weight. She smelled something horrible. Something was terribly wrong. She felt Death’s black hand wrap itself all the way around her, with menace, with a savagery unthinkable. Feeling the sheer evil within its grasp, she struggled to slow her breathing, for while she could still move freely she could also feel this sinister force squeezing her tighter and tighter. She drew her weapon; there was a noticeable hissing sound, like something that might come from the mouth of a great serpent, followed by a slight crackling noise as tiny bolts of lightning appeared at the tip of her sword overhead. She sensed the power in it grow, running down her arm like warm water, the sensation spreading through her entire body.

The surge of power and well-being that coursed through her caused the malevolent presence to recede as quickly as it had taken hold of her. And she felt, for the second time that day, washed clean.

Only
this
clean went to her very soul, and she felt uplifted and, suddenly, she
was
uplifted, and found herself rising from the floor! She somehow sensed right off what might be happening, so she willed herself forward and forward she went. Next, curiously, she willed herself back to the ground, where she centered herself until she felt perfectly normal, taking a few hesitant steps forward towards the altar-table. But as soon as she had done that, she took right off again, flying high and fast and doing loop-de-loops. Laughing with delight, she soared towards the ground with blazing speed, flying over it within inches and stirring up a wake of small dust trails. She flew and she flew, all around in the great dome. It was pure exhilaration, and she treasured every second of it.

After she had tried out her newly acquired talent to her satisfaction, she touched down about thirty feet from the stone table and knelt on her right knee with her head bowed in respect.

“Do not bow before me, Stephanie Doreen Strong. Arise and take your seat here in front of me, for I would speak to you if you would have me.”

Doreen looked for the source of the voice but couldn’t see one. Yet it sounded as though it was coming from the chiseled stone slab straight ahead. Then she spotted it. It was the same wraith-like thing that she had met in the sitting room. It was an ever-shifting, ever-changing amalgam of translucency melting away into transparency. There was no color to it, only shades of charcoal and black that faded in and out slowly. She spied the head of this otherworldly apparition, although it was so washed-out in its appearance she could never quite see all of it at once. Then, she found the eyes. It was strange in that in order to see them, she had to unfocus her own eyes a little and, suddenly, there they were. Dazzlingly blue, they were as clear and perfect a set of eyes as she had ever seen. What was stranger was that this perfect set of eyes was set in the face of this being, this life-force, this spiritual essence that she could not seem to bring into any reasonable focus. Yet, amazingly, the eyes did not seem at all out of place. It was bizzare.

The same voice that she had heard when she first entered the Enchanted Northland, spoke.

“You have had and passed your first lesson in the Bindu-ward art of magic and spell. I am pleased that you seem to enjoy flying.”

Doreen was more than a little unsettled by all of this, but got control of her own voice and said, “Begging your pardon, Ma’am, but, if I may, who are you? I know you told me you are the Dukkar, but what exactly does that mean?”

“I go by many names, depending on the circumstances of things. Most refer to me as ‘The Old One’. In the same book of Prophecy that mentions you, I am referred to as
the
Dukkar which, believe it or not, translates, ‘the Old One’.” The wraith laughed, which sounded somewhat like the tinkling of tiny bells. “Imagine that,
just because I’m older than anybody else
,” her tone changing to that of a two year old stamping her foot in a tantrum.

“I have been since the beginning of time on Inam'Ra, so I suppose the term does fit. I lost my body so long ago, I don’t remember what it is like having one, but now … having had nothing to do but experiment and study for a few million years, I can somewhat control things. I do these things entirely with my mind of course. Storms and such, those are child’s play. Impelling free-minded creatures to do things, now
that
is where it gets interesting. In different parts of the world I carry different names. The names change, but, for better or worse, I do not.”

“I
think
I get it,” said Doreen. “So… well, first of all, it’s an honor to meet you.” She bowed her head again. There was a brief silence.

“Why am I here?”

“To fulfill the prophecy that was penned after the Great War, when the survivors used methods of that day to look into the future and know you would come. After your arrival, they were unable to see any further out. The visions wouldn’t appear for them after that. So, despite making a concerted effort to author the prophecy of your coming, taking great pains to write it down in many places I might add, when nearly all of the books were burned, the prophecy only showed up in a few hidden texts. In books saved and secreted away by men and women of great courage. I find it compelling that it survived enough that word of mouth has managed to carry it down through the centuries. And remarkably unchanged, I might add. Interesting, don’t you think?”

“I suppose.

“But as I see it, the only thing that really matters right now is that the Trolls are soon going to completely rid this planet off all of the Humans, Elves, and Dwarves. Then, when they see fit, they’ll probably get rid of the Gnomes too, although using them as slaves serves them well enough right now. Or so I am told … have learned … whatever … ”

“Do you see yourself as having a part in that whole mess, given the choice? What I am asking you is, are you willing to risk your own life to try and save the free races that are being systematically massacred?”

“Of course,” said Doreen. “No
question
.” She lifted her sword in its scabbard.

“Well then. You have passed your second test in the Bindu-ward art of magic and spell.”

“Wow,” said Doreen. “Way cool. What was the first?”

“When you sensed danger a few minutes ago, you reached for your sword. It is the first commandment of the Bindu-ward art of magic and spell: that all creatures have a right to do what is necessary to protect themselves. It sounds simple enough, but it is often forgotten by those who think in terms of profit, greed, even murder … opportunists who feed off of the efforts of others.