Chapter 1: Camel and Cactus Herding
Camels with razor sharp talons unsheathed from its furry paws are the most unusual creatures I have ever seen. Wait. Sand swimming sharks are the most dangerous fish alive in the desert. I plan to find one once I am allowed to explore the ports. After this day I will be allowed to do whatever I please...well almost do whatever I please.
I sit leaning back against the chilly sand-coloured wall of a building. The shade is one of the things you need in a desert, besides water. I sit there with bare feet, near my rugged boots, watching passer bys pace the streets of the market. People go on about their business, and along with them is an assorted array of friendly humanoid beasts, from dwarves and koopa turtles, to walking river fish and hooded goblins pulling their carts of commodities. I spot a horc in the crowd wearing a bard's feathered hat pulling a cart that sells exquisite music instruments. It is rare to find a friendly horc; they are usually territorial at their fort, isolated from human villages.
My feet are beginning to heat up again so I wash them off at the nearest puddle. The early morning is very relaxing and it takes me a while to get up and put on my boots. I leave the sanctuary of the shade and enter the bustling black market.
The sun burns and the crowded path make air stuffier by the minute. I squeeze out of a mob gathered around a vendor who was wearing black robes. He must be the man who travels north to Greengaurd's capital, Battleon, where he sells rare merchandise.
When I was born –at a place now forbidden, says my mother- a war was going on at the eastern lands. I was just beginning my baby steps at a village near Swordhaven when my mother and I immediately immigrated to Willowcreek at Greengaurd. Apparently, I was too young to understand anything about the war and my mother placed me in the dark. But that did not stop me from eavesdropping on conversations. I learned a few things about the ongoing war as I grew older and every gossip is still in my memory.
The Cold War is what they called it, still happening today for fifteen years, involving eastern lords. The name I constantly heard was Lord Sagittarius's, a man hungry for land and power, ruling the eastern mountains with an iron fist. He is widely supported by the humans and elves residing there and he still lives to sit on the corrupted throne. Sagittarius is a man without fear of traitors and with him are four other eastern lords. The DwarfholdMountains are currently conquered by these lords and they extremely guard the place like it stored all the riches of the world. A decade ago the good king of Swordhaven died, and then the eastern lords were appointed. The lords took advantage of this death and took over the kingdom. There were no heroes to help. You'll find their statues maintained at Battleon's Grand Museum of Lore.
When I was four we travelled to Battleon, the capital of Greengaurd near Willowcreek. My mother was preparing me for more lessons in spell casting one morning, and she and I stopped near the GrandMuseum built by the square plaza. I sneaked into the museum while my mother was busy in a Magic Shoppe. At the front was a polished golden statue of Artix, the Great Paladin. Not only was his statue there, but surrounding it were statues of the Lady Safiria, Lord Cysero, Lady Beleen and so much more sculptures of heroes who lived five decades ago. But what clearly stayed in my mind were the honoured men and women with pointy ears, they were elfin heroes of the past.
I believe in dragons, faeries, vampires, werewolves, river folk, ninjas, pirates, robots and skeleton men, among them other beasts but elves? My mother would tell me elfish stories for bedtime until I turned three when I started questioning her, the stories stopped. Elves do not exist anymore. Their kind has died off, she said. My box of questions reopened after I found the elfin heroes at the GrandMuseum.
When we travel to places, I see many demons including cacti with jaws, but no elf as if I were under a spell, cursed not to see a single one. My mother would sing me a lullaby to sleep every night when I wonder about elves and faeries. Years later, I made her stop singing me to sleep because I realized they were spells. What kind of a mother would constantly curse her child to hide elves? That question haunted me, until training lessons occupied my mind. My brain snaps back to the present.
A large tusked-camel crosses my path and I avoid it, I am too busy playing with one of my arrows. It ignores me and grunts away believing that its master is somewhere in the crowd.
Trespassing wild beasts, excluding those who come to trade, inside the gates do not bother people. The wild uncivilized creatures are pests and humans ignore them or shoo them away. When it comes to being in a guarded realm the chances of getting attacked by unrefined intruders are rare, like getting hit by a lightning. When you venture out of the walls of a city you are in danger in their territory. For the most part, if you are seeking a bite out of the untamed you simply go up to them and ask for it.
It is a usual day of training in the desert oasis, where palm trees provide cool shadows, and traders huddle underneath the shade of fabric. I walk out from underneath a large leafed palm tree and stop at a distance away from the main stone gates where my company awaits.
The sun is beginning to bother me. Although the humid is painful, you survive the heat since there are puddles of water all over the city - which conveniently heats up every evening, then cools during daylight. There is also the breeze from time to time.
I reach the gate where two people stand waiting. I carry bow and arrow in hand ready to practice with my step father, the loving Gregory Sabor. His goatee twitched with a charming smile and he opens his arms for a hug. No wonder mother fell for this guy. I hold out my bow and arrow to show him that my hands are full but he hugs me anyways.
"This noon," he says above my head, as you can see I'm trapped in a bear hug pressed to his authentic rogue blouse. "You'll be finished with your training as a ranger. It is a big accomplishment. You excited?"
"I thought I was already finished." I hug him back with the bulk of my weapons.
When I was really young my mother taught me spell casting, she had not shown me her ancient spells yet, but I will continue to nag her about it someday. Now I know enough sorcery to defend myself and I don't mean to boast but I am pretty good at it. She even taught me healing spells which I find boring. I forget to heal myself most of the time. Magic has never been my "forte" and I only use them when I feel trapped during combat.
I turned nine and mother introduced me to a man named Raul, a merchant of the seas, who I thought was a pirate. I was old enough to use daggers and he even taught me how to be cunning with the sword, whip and knives.
I prefer my former teacher, Mr. Sabor over here. He's a skilled rogue with double swords behind his back and a flintlock that carries accurate bullets. He's also good with hand to hand and bow and string. He taught me archery and now this class is almost over. We have agreed to extend my skills with swords and guns when we travel to Greengaurd tomorrow. I am all ready good with a sword but he still thinks I'm too impulsive. He says that mastering many skills takes years and he's right. Though I pride over my skills, I'm barely amazing with any spell or weapon. I cannot wait for this extended training, because I want to master the sword.
He releases me so I can see Wiolina beside him, my mother. Through all these years I have suspected her of deception. She always hid something from me, from news of the Cold War going on at the east, to the truth about elves and to the truth about my father.
She is wearing a large hood, loose enough to provide her soft red curls shelter from the heat, an intricate jewelled belt shined along her hip holding together a beautiful long-sleeve dress.
Mother wears dresses all the time, the finest ones were especially sewn for her. Very rarely will you find a dress in her wardrobe without intricate patterns and gold linings. I somehow got purple eyes from my absent father and my red hair from her, which I added my own flair of zebra stripes - she called me a peacock after that.
"Go on now darling," says mother, so graceful and composed. My relationship with my mother has always been a roller coaster and I wonder if she'll ever tell me anything about my real father. I turn away to focus.
My right arm strings the bow and I place my back on the cool stony gate wall. I spot a couple of camels and four grim cacti on the far left. The camels are busy trying to find grass on the sand. Or are they eating the sand?
A cactus sees me running to the nearest sand dune. Roll, string, let go. Hit. The cactus's three prickly roots come off the sand and its friends turn to follow. I quickly shoot it with another arrow and then another and another, killing it, mid stride. Its friends cantering closer, my back hits the gate wall. Rule number one: don't let the prey make you their victim. I graze the wall to avoid a prickly charge. My parents must have seen that.
Running to another direction, away from the oblivious camels I load my bow again, this time I'm going for speed and height.
The best rangers can shoot more than a dozen of arrows per minute, if you're that good. My record is nine precise arrow shots a minute. I'm too slow to be the best, but I'm descent enough to survive. String, let go, hit. String let go, hit. Yes, another cactus down. The prickly body shrieks and lands a foot away from me. At close range, I shoot its head to terminate the functioning brain. Close. One more creepy plant to go. I pull myself together, a little queasy but I've grown used to killing enemy beasts.
The third cactus leaps at me. Stumbling back, I run up to a sand dune hill to get a better shot at the third cactus. Its three-legged roots climb up. Clumsy, but it is approaching fast.
I swear there were four cactuses earlier. I hear a shriek and a gurgle from behind and I roll aside as the fourth cactus stamps a thorny root on the sand where I was. I swing my bow at it to block the open jaws. Few pricks scrape my arm, I can live with that.
The plant's jaws snaps at the tip of my bow, showing me its thorns which I believe are thicker than my finger. I swing my bow to break it away from the beast. Some of its three inch teeth fall off from the sudden swing. Recovering fast, it bites close to my left, I struggle backwards avoiding it. The other cactus behind me stomps to my right, trying to prick my side using its thorny roots. I am trapped by these two; if I reach for an arrow on my back, the fourth would be close enough to bite it. I am not allowed to use magic or force field spells for this challenge, only bow and arrow and whatever is around the belt, says Greg.
I grasp my belt for a dagger and swung my bow at the fourth again. It dodges but backs away enough for me to escape. I feel a brush of its pricks along my sleeve, not enough to pierce my other arm. Dagger on one hand I slide down the sand dune to escape the pair of beasts, only to encounter the camels. I spit out sand and slip the bow around me. I hold the dagger on one hand and I find the other pair.
These two knives were given by my step father. He always makes sure I was prepared for any close combat. I can feel the bow string pierce my shoulder as it hangs on. The fancy golden bow feels heavy and the bowstring is making a red line along my abdomen.
One camel was faster and it rears so near to me that I can feel the hot breath and the talon-like claws slicing the air above my head. Sweating, I cross the long-bladed daggers in front of my face to avoid plunging camel claws. It shrieks feeling the painful encounter of the two knives. The camel backs away, not ready to surrender but ready to bite me with its two tusks. It must have magically inherited those two teeth from an elephant or a sabre-toothed tiger. Another camel charges at my unguarded side and succeeded in pushing me to the sandy ground. I land underneath the first camel and quickly barrel-rolled over to attack its belly. It goes down groaning as the two knives leave its flesh.
The other camel's claws thump near the bloody belly of its friend. I scramble out of the way so hard that it made my head spin. It must be the sun's heat. Growling, the animal with no sense of rationality anymore bites forward encountering my dagger's blow. It stopped thinking straight after the sight of its friend's slaughter, I reckon.
The cacti are cautiously sliding off the sand dune where I left them. I sigh and sheathe my blades. I applaud them for trying to charge at me again, bumping against one another so much that it amuses me. Using my bow again I string a few arrows and quickly finished off the beasts from a distance. I leave the scene with just a bruise on the side and several cuts and pricks along my right arm. Yes, I can't stop glowing with pride and then my back ache interrupts the moment. I remember barrel-rolling with a bow and a quiver. That was stupid thing to do but I survived, I felt worse.
The sand is really inviting, I drop to my knees and I urge myself to face plant on the sand but I can see a blurry figure of my step father running to my direction.