Prologue: The Lost Child
The Roadside Temple of Weyveliste, South Central Korleen
The Central Continent of Ashra, Terrus Proper
483 N.E.
Tired and worn out after a journey whose length no living person knew, the tiny creature known as Marik slept in a makeshift crib. A breadbasket with a few loose towels was a poor excuse for one, but beggars could not be choosers.
Orphans had to settle for what was on hand, especially in the threadbare Roadside Temple. Desmond Rodian, the red-haired acolyte of Weyveliste who had been made responsible for his welfare, checked on him one more time before he stepped back and moved out of his sparse quarters. There was no better place for one of his kind, though. Travelers and those left without a home could only call upon the road, and to Weyveliste, the guardian of the paths. His mother, whoever she had been, had chosen well.
He emerged outside of his room and found himself face to face with Headmaster Williamson, the Roadside Temple's ruling authority. The old man had a few more wrinkles on his face as morning came on them.
"How is he, Desmond?" The gray-haired, gray-robed figure inquired.
"Alive, but tired." Acolyte Rodian replied, barely remembering to bow slightly at the end. "And his mother?"
"The rain stopped an hour ago. We will bury her at midday. Not in our cemetery, of course."
Rodian nodded. As she wasn't of the order, she couldn't be interred in the plot of land set aside for the Traveler's own. "So where, then?"
"I was hoping you might have an idea, Desmond." Williamson said. "You found her, after all. You brought her in."
"Headmaster, it was the right thing to do."
"Perhaps. Perhaps." His superior conceded. "But I've heard rumblings from the rest stationed here. They do not approve so readily. After all, Marik is an…"
"He is a child, Headmaster." Rodian interrupted, firmly denying the argument. "She asked for our protection, and you gave your word he would have it. It doesn't matter what the others think. Let them decide out of fear and ignorance. No, he will prove them all wrong."
Williamson smiled broadly at the claim. "It seems I was right to make you his guardian, Brother Rodian. He will need a strong advocate in the years to come, someone to learn from. Do your best by him."
"I will." Rodian promised. The younger man thought for a moment, then gestured to the bulge in the side pocket of Williamson's robe. "What have you learned about that amulet?"
"It is a medallion, Desmond." Williamson pulled the object of interest out of his pocket and held it up, becoming lost in the sparkles of gold, platinum, obsidian, and emerald. "It has strong magics in it, but the power it possesses does not advertise itself."
"She insisted that Marik was to receive it."
"And so he shall, when he is old enough to hear her story and understand it." Williamson tucked the medallion away again and folded his arms. "To give him a life worth living…That's what she said."
"What do you think it means?" Rodian asked.
"I'm sure I don't know." Williamson shrugged. "It might mean nothing at all. Perhaps she just wanted to know he would be safe before she went."
"And is he safe?" Rodian pressed.
The Headmaster hesitated for a moment before speaking again. "He is safer here than anywhere else he might have been brought to. But there will always be danger, because of what he is. And you cannot shelter him here forever, Desmond."
"I know. But he deserves a chance, doesn't he?"
"Everybody does." Williamson agreed. "Life is a gamble, and we all have one turn at the dice. Raise him, teach him well. His mother wanted him to have a life worth living. He will have to find it himself."
Rodian nodded, and had another thought just as his superior started to walk away. "Oh, sir?"
Williamson paused and looked back. "Yes, my son?"
"His mother." Rodian said quietly. "There is a tree at the top of the cemetery hill across the highway, a half mile from here. It is close to the cemetery, but not officially in its borders. We should bury her there, so she can always watch over him."
The Headmaster nodded at the sense of it, then walked off. For every living being at the Roadside Temple, morning had come.
