The World of Terra

Wild black-brown hair fluttered in the wind as his fists clenched and unclenched on his hips. He stood with his feet shoulder-width apart. His young brow furrowed as his chocolate gaze swept from the ancient man to the buildings and grounds around them. He glanced over his shoulder to see the receding backs of his parents.

A firm hand on his young shoulder drew his attention back to the man before him. “Come, boy,” he instructed. “Let’s . . .”

“Kaine,” he interrupted. “My name is Kaine.”

The ancient man chuckled and smiled, “Come, Kaine. Let’s get you settled into your new room. The evening meal is still a few hours away. I’ll have Kou show you around. He’s about your age.”

He offered a sharp nod. Then, his nose wrinkled as his gaze fell on a dark-haired girl sparring with a smaller boy. “A girl?”

“You don’t care for the fairer sex?” Ryohei chuckled softly. “That’s perfectly natural.” A boy slightly smaller than him hustled over. “Kou, this is Kaine. Would you show him around?”

The other boy pressed his right fist against his left palm and bowed, from the waist “Yes, Master.” He turned to Kaine, picked up the small sack on the floor beside him, and hooked a thumb over his shoulder, “this way.”

At that, the two started off across the plain toward the two-story building.

A soft sigh slipped from the ancient man as he watched the pair. He shook his head and turned his attention to the bamboo building behind him.

“How long have you lived here?” Kaine asked.

Kou shrugged and bobbled his head. “I just came a few months ago.”

Kaine scowled. “Did your parents not want you either?”

“Of course they wanted me,” Kou replied indignantly. “They want me to become a strong warrior. After I master Kenchido, I’m to join the imperial military academy.”

“Oh.” At that, he fell silent and followed Kou around the rest of the grounds.

The evening meal was a quiet and simple affair. White rice and steamed vegetables. Everyone helped clean up and wash the dishes.

More tired than he thought possible, Kaine collapsed onto his pallet. The black nothingness of exhaustion swallowed him up.

Her gaze narrowed as she adjusted her grip on the spear shaft. With a soft growl, she charged her opponent. A slight smile tuned up the corners of her mouth as he moved to strike. She uttered a word and a ball of light exploded in front of him. Not slowing, she dropped to one knee, her lead leg extending out in front, and leaned back parallel to the ground.

His strike swished harmlessly overhead.

Using her knee, she popped back up behind him. The spear tip pressed firmly against his ribs. “You are beaten,” she declared.

Pressure against her left thigh. “Not quite, firefly.”

She stared sullenly at the practice blade and uttered a curse.

He chuckled and patted her shoulder. “That was a clever move, firefly. Were I anyone else, you would have had me.”

“But you weren’t anyone else,” she stated.

He flashed a wry grin at her. “Then I suppose you’ll just have to train harder. Think of more clever ways to use your magic and fighting techniques together.”

Her gaze flicked over his features. A fierceness danced behind her dark orbs.

“Come, firefly,” he coaxed as he draped an arm over her shoulder. “It’s time for you to get ready for the evening meal. Your mother will have my head on a pike outside the front gate if you aren’t presentable in half a candlemark.”

She threw her hands in the air in surrender and uttered another curse.

“You’d better not use that language around your mother,” he scolded. “She’ll forbid me to train you and blame me for your poor manners.” He took her spear and urged her along with the butt end. “Go!”

Hundreds of tiny braids bounced off her slender shoulders as she fidgeted under the attention of the women dressing her. The gown restricted her movements and confined her gestures.

“That’s enough, Skyden,” snapped a strong feminine voice from the doorway. “No daughter of mine will be seen at a state dinner dressed in anything less than the finest silks and brocades.”

“Then let us be thankful that this will be my last state dinner,” she shot back.

“What?”

She shoved aside the two closest women and snatched up a scroll case from her desk. With a defiant smile, she thrust it at the woman.

The older woman grabbed it up and skimmed the parchment. Her eyes widened. Face blanched and cheeks flushed. Her hands trembled as they fell to her sides. “Harland,” she hissed, spun on her heels, and was gone.

“Enough,” Skyden demanded, as the women moved to finish their work. “There’s nothing more to be done for me now.” She started down the corridor to the great dining hall where her family and a handful of guests awaited. “Apologies,” she offered, with her best curtsy.

One of the younger women giggled.

The woman, clearly her mother, slapped her arm with her fan. “It’s not polite to laugh at those who were born different from you.”

“But . . . her arm,” the girl protested.

Skyden fixed her with a withering gaze, and the girl shrank back. A wry smile turned up the corners of her lips as she took her seat to her mother’s right.

“You look lovely, firefly,” her father murmured, from his place at the head of the table. “Doesn’t she, Harland?”

The warmage seated across the table from her mother flashed a wide smile. “Radiant.”

Her mother huffed at the man.

“Why, Etheria, my beloved,” he gasped. “Whatever is the matter?”

She noticed the parchment in her mother’s lap and glanced to Harland.

He met her gaze, studied her dark orbs, and stifled a snort.

“Brother?”

Harland waved his napkin in front of his face. “Apologies, brother. I must have breathed in some of my wine.”

“Later, my beloved,” Etheria hissed.

At that, he let the matter drop and the meal commenced.

She sat in a meditative pose: soles of her feet pressed together, backs of her hands resting lightly on her knees with a muladhara mudras held in intense focus, eyes closed, back straight and tall, and breathing slow and steady. “La-a-a-a-am,” she chanted.

Behind her, a figure swept in from the doorway.

Quicker than the assailant could follow, she was on her feet, standing directly in front of him, left palm resting lightly against his naked chest. As her eyes flew open, a flame burst forth, launching him into the air.

With skilled grace, he flipped midair and landed in a crouched defensive position. “Well done, firelily,” the man praised as he straightened to approach her. “But what are you doing here, by yourself? Instead of with the others your age celebrating Warna?”

She folded her arms over her chest, shifted her weight to her back foot, and regarded him with a slight scowl. “So I can have one of the boys who snuck a little too much hashish or alcohol paw at me? Or perhaps so I can have one of the older girls look down her nose at me?”

A gentle, knowing smile turned up the corners of his mouth. “Would it make you feel better if I told you it’s all because they’re jealous of your gifts, ibna,” he offered. “And one day, when I’m gone, you will be the one to take over for me. You will teach the younglings the way of the flames.”

She heaved sigh and shook her head. “I didn’t think that was something you were able to decide on your own.”

He placed a reassuring hand on her shoulder. “The shaman and I have spoke about this often and at length. There is no one better than you.”

After several moments of silence, she relaxed and inclined her head slightly. “I’m honored.”

“Go, Hasna,” he said with a gentle nudge, “enjoy yourself. Just remember that they are still foolish children. It may sting, but it will pass. Yours is the heart of a true pyromancer, unlike most in our tribe.”

She hesitated for another minute. Then, she left the room and started down the corridor toward the music and clamor. She rolled her shoulders back and lifted her chin as she entered and those closest to the door turned to watch her. Slowly, her gaze swept over the crowded space. With a deep breath, she plunged into the press. Caught up in the music, she danced with those around her.

A shout of delight erupted as powders of a myriad colors filled the air. They showered all in proximity with a fine dusting of pinks, blues, greens, and yellows. The noise reached a deafening cacophony. Someone grabbed her by the shoulders, slammed his mouth against hers, and kissed her breathless.

Her eyes widened with rage. Realization hit her and she smiled, closed her eyes, and leaned into it, wrapping her arms around his neck. As he disentangled from her, she glanced over his shoulder to see a figure in the corner, casually leaning against the wall, smiling broadly at her. Hasna inclined her head and then returned her full attention to the youth still in her arms.

His young muscles strained as he brought the hammer down on the piece of metal over and over. Sweat poured from his brow as he worked until he was satisfied, and submerged it in a bucket of water. A soft growl slipped from his lips as he returned it to the furnace to reheat and continue his work. He clenched his teeth as the rage built within him. At last, the metal writhed and twisted into an unusable mass.

With an uttered curse, he threw the metal aside. He dragged a sooty, sweaty arm across his brow. He removed his gloves and slapped them across the anvil. Growling, the youth spun on his heels and stalked toward the side yard where he watched an older man work through a series of elegant and graceful movements that flowed one into the next.

As with the metal, the youth finally shouted out a curse.

The man finished his movements, offered a graceful bow to the unseen opponent, and turned to face the youth. “Yes, my boy? What has you so upset?”

He balled up his fists. “I’m done doing your work for you, old man. I won’t touch another piece of metal until you teach me properly.”

A slight smile turned up his graying mustache as he raised a salt and pepper eyebrow. “You haven’t done any work for me yet, my boy. I’ve seen the metal you’ve discarded.”

His dark eyes flared. He muscles in his jaw twitched. Curses in every language he knew rolled from the youth’s lips.

The older man shifted his weight to his back foot and folded his arms over his chest. He waited, silent and patient.

At last, the youth stood before him, thoroughly deflated.

“How many times must I tell you before you’ll believe me, my boy?” the older man asked. “You cannot allow your rage to control you. It will always end badly, if you do.”

With another growl and uttered curse, the youth spun on his heels, stormed out of the property, and down the crowded street. He bumped into several individuals before slamming hard into a large, solid form. Another growl and uttered curse followed an angry glare.

“What did you say, boy?” the burly man demanded.

The youth stumbled several steps down an alley. He found his only exit blocked by the large warrior.

The big man drew a pair of long swords. He had them spinning in intricate pattern as he advanced on the youth.

With a curse and a shout, flames leapt from the youth’s open palms. He lunged forward, gracefully dodged the blades, and grabbed the man’s forearms with a scream.

The man stumbled back with a startled shout and dropped his weapons. His garments went up in flames. After flailing wildly, he fell to his knees and dropped to his face. The fire went out beneath his girth and a weak, whimpering groan slipped from his lips.

A stifled cry escaped the youth and he stumbled off into the flow of traffic. Curses and shouts from the big man’s companions followed after him.

He awoke with a start. Sounds downstairs brought him to full awareness. As he entered the dining room, two figures bolted out the front door. A soft groan drew his attention to the form laying near the cooking stove.

“No,” he protested, grabbed a cloth, and tried to stem the bleeding.

The man placed a firm hand squarely on the youth’s chest. He muttered a phrase in his native tongue. A final breath escaped him and his hand fell to the floor.

Daylight and voices brought him groaning to consciousness.

“What happened?” demanded a powerful, magically enhanced voice.

“I got into a fight yesterday,” he mumbled, “and hurt a man. His companions sought revenge and killed my uncle.”

After several long minutes, the priest placed a firm hand on his shoulder. “I’m truly sorry for your loss.”

Tears streamed down her face, tracing lines in the dust. Her legs ached and feet throbbed. She stumbled blindly down the road. At least, she thought she was still on the road. It was difficult to tell. The sun had long since set.

She had no idea where she was. No idea how long she had been walking. No way to defend herself. No plan or purpose to her movements. All she knew was that she had to keep going.

As the leagues rolled by, she felt herself drawn. Nearly dragged, at some points. She still had no idea of where she was or where she was headed.

Then, out of the darkness, a form rose on the horizon. A small sound of surprise slipped from her lips as her bleary gaze traveled the length and width of the form.

As the sun lightened the eastern horizon, she stumbled through the main city gates. The guards barely glanced her way.

The early morning traffic threatened to overwhelm and swallow her.

At last, she stumbled up a set of stairs. She staggered through the space with a wave of murmurs and whispers in her wake. There, at the foot of a towering statue, she collapsed and the black nothingness of sheer exhaustion consumed her.

She was unsure how much time passed. She thought she remembered waking once or twice to a figure hovering over her. She knew time had passed, but was unsure how much.

The early morning sun danced over her face, bringing her fully awake. She sat bolt upright and looked around. Her surroundings were unfamiliar. She pushed herself to the edge of the small and simple pallet, and tried to stand. Her legs trembled and her knees threatened to buckle. As she dropped back to sit, her stomach voiced its disdain.

A gentle knock sounded at the door. Before she could answer, it swung open wide. A lithe figure entered balancing a tray and carrying a pitcher.

“Oh,” breathed the figure as she turned to face the girl, “thank the goddess you’re awake. You had us terribly worried. I was going to fetch the high priestess if you didn’t wake by midday.”

The girls brow furrowed. “Who are you? Where am I? How did I get here?”

The rich aroma of roasted meat filled her nostrils and again her stomach complained.

Color shot through her face and she clamped her arms around her abdomen.

“First things first,” the older-looking woman replied and placed the tray on the bed in front of her. “I’m Priestess Sophia Brooke and you’re in the temple of Jade in the capital city of Debash. We have no idea how you got here, where you came from, or even who you are. Three days ago, at dawn, you stumbled into the sanctuary and collapsed at the feet of the statue of our blessed goddess. Now, eat. I’ll return when you’re done and then we can talk.”

The door closed behind her with barely a sound. The girl was left alone. Ravenous as she was, she ate slowly. She washed everything down with long sips of cool water from the pitcher. As she ate, she took in the simplicity of the room. Gray stone walls stood unadorned. A small wash basin and pitcher stood in the corner, next to a small chest with three drawers.

Sophia returned and dropped onto the bed across from the girl. “Now, lovely girl. Do tell . . . who are you? Where did you come from? And why are you here?”

“My name is Lirin Vibert,” she answered at length. “I’d rather not talk about my past, if it’s all the same to you. Not yet, anyways. I don’t know why I’m here. I just know that I had to get away, and this is where I was led.”

After several long minutes of silence, the priestess nodded. She stood and motioned for Lirin to follow. “Come, I’ll show you your new home.”

Back to back the pair stood. One wielding a pair of elegant scimitars, the other a powerful long sword. A half dozen orckind surrounded the duo.

“Not exactly how you planned your first day out of the citadel, is it Darius?” the one with the scimitars snickered as he turned aside a violent thrust with his left blade.

“You’re enjoying this a little too much, Tarak,” his compatriot shot back and brought his sword down in a powerful overhead chop that opened the creature from shoulder to hip.

Twin blades glittered in the shafts of midday sun cutting through the heavy clouds. With matching thrusts, he lanced two creature through opposing eyes. “What’s the point of doing something if you don’t love your work?”

An uttered curse slipped from the man as he turned his sword to deflect a downward strike. His arms trembled beneath the force of the blow and he clenched his teeth.

A volley of arrows rained down on the pair from the man’s left.

It took all his companion’s considerable skill to knock them aside and keep his opponent at bay. “Hakuma be damned,” he grumbled, invoking the god of war. “Where did these ugly beasts even come from? And how’d they get reinforcements so quickly?”

A response formed on Darius’ lips when a figure sprinted past the pair and disappeared in the direction of the arrows.

Tarak set his left blade spinning while he thrust repeatedly with his right, driving the two creatures back. As fluid and graceful as a dancer, he sliced across the left monster’s throat, spun, and brought both blades down from right to left opening a bloody pair of gashes that finished off the second creature.

Darius, meanwhile, not nearly so practiced or elegant, finished the final orc with his sword through its lung.

“Your man has impeccable timing,” the half-elf praised, as he wiped his scimitars clean on the nearest orc. “I didn’t even hear him coming.”

The man shrugged and bobbled his head. He followed his companion’s lead and sheathed his long sword. “I often forget he’s about. We’re lucky he’s such a skilled swordsman and familiar with this land.”

Tarak thumped Darius soundly on the shoulder. “Let’s head back toward camp. Our relief should be along shortly. You look in desperate need of a strong drink and a soft woman.” With a bawdy laugh, he motioned the younger man to follow.

“You acted recklessly, my lord prince,” stated a voice behind him as the pair made their way toward the citadel. “What would you have done had I not arrived when I did?”

Darius dismissed the concern with a wave of his had. “Tarak and I had everything under control.”

An exasperated sigh and an uttered curse followed them down the corridor.

Tarak chuckled to himself and shook his head.

He pulled his cloak tight around his shoulders as the wind raced down from the northern reaches of Morgath. An uttered curse slipped from his lips as he checked his blade to ensure it did not stick in its sheath, should he need it. His gaze moved along the tree line nearly half a league away. “What creature in its right mind would be out here in weather like this?” he grumbled through chattering teeth.

“There are easier ways to dispatch yourself, my lord prince,” stated a voice behind him. “More pleasant and comfortable as well.”

His blade stopped inches from the big man’s throat. “I could say the same to you,” he shot back.

“Why are we here, my lord prince?” the big man persisted. “You weren’t expected to begin your service for another five years.”

The youth dismissed the comment with a wave of his hand. He returned his sword to its sheath with a heavy sigh. “You know why.”

Thick, wool-covered arms folded over a broad chest. “Remind me.”

He levelled his gaze at the bigger man and then matched his posture. “I couldn’t stay in that castle. There were too many memories. Too much sadness. Too much death.”

“Death is a part of life, my lord prince.”

“Thank you, Sol,” he glowered. “You know, you don’t have to stay with me. I’m perfectly capable of protecting myself.”

A deep, rumbling laughter bubbled up from the man’s chest.

The prince continued to glare.

Sol raised his hands and patted at the air in an attempt to calm the prince. “I’m well aware of your skills as a swordsman, my lord prince. But the Titans’ Guard is hardly the place for someone who has seen too few battles.”

“If I should fall in service to the kingdom, my father still has my sister,” he retorted.

“Harrumph,” the big man trumpeted as his arms crossed his chest once again.

He dismissed the big man with a wave of his hand. “I plan to stay until my commander sends me home, or my father summons me. And we both know which is more likely to occur.”

A low growl of disapproval rumbled behind him.

“You might as well start a sheltered fire. We’re here for the long haul.”

Artwork by Rachelillustrates

She lounged comfortably on the curving slope of the roof with her feet propped against one of the dragon sculptures that doubled as a downspout. A slight, amused smile turned up the corners of her mouth as she watched the maids rushing about calling her name. She stifled a giggle as their tones turned frantic.

“Keiko,” the voice came from behind her and above.

A heavy sigh slipped from her lips as she half turned and glanced up at him.

“Your father would not approve of you teasing them like this,” he scolded.

She pushed herself to her fee. “My father isn’t here. Therefore, he doesn’t get a say in my actions.”

He slid down the tile and stopped in front of her. His arms folded over his chest and he glowered down at her.

With an uttered curse, she a sigh and threw her hands in the air. After another minute, she jumped down and landed in front of the younger of her two maids.

Th slightly older woman screamed in dismay and stumbled back several steps.

A moment later, something soft but solid connected with the back of her head. “That was unnecessary, Keiko,” her older maid scolded. “Your father will hear about this.”

She shot a glare up at the figure receding from the edge of the roof. “If he was that concerned about me and my behavior, perhaps he should . . .” Her words fell away as her gaze fell on the figure striding through the front gate. “Dah,” she breathed and hurried toward him.

With a single, fluid motion, the samurai general swung from the saddle and pulled her against his lacquered, banded-mail chest. “Why do your maids look so distressed?” he asked in her ear. “Especially Aiko.”

She did her best to look innocent.

He frowned and held her out at arm’s length. “Keiko.”

Her brow furrowed to match his. “What? My studies are complete. I even spent time training. Why is it so wrong that I wanted a little time to myself?”

A heavy sigh exploded from his lips and he shook his head.

At that, Keiko took the reigns of his steed and led the animal to the stables. She turned her attention to grooming the horse until Aiko came to call her for dinner. “I’ll be there in just a minute

Artwork done by Rachelillustrates