I guess it's hard to imagine a life without Allanon. He's been with me from the beginning. A beginning that was never meant to happen. It never would have happened if I had just left well enough alone. If I had never picked up my pen and paper. If I had just done my homework and let it all be.
But I had to write, I everything was so clear and set in my mind all I had to do was write.
But when I awoke the next day it wasn't in my bed or even in my room. It was an open field the morning sky spreading out and filling my vision with wispy clouds and flocks of birds. For a moment I thought I was dreaming again until the silhouette of a horse's snout filled my vision. It snorted in my face and reached down to pull up a bed of clover by my ear. I sat up and saw the horse was humongous and black, with an even darker rider, swaddled in dark robes.
"Are you the arch-Scribe?" He asked in a deep voice that caused my hair to stand on end. I could feel his eyes pierce my very flesh. He knew who I was. Why did he even bother to ask?
"I am," I answered. Arch-Scribe was the pen name I had given myself.
He regarded me coolly as if expecting someone else. He then nudged his great mount forward till he across from me. Leaning down he extended his hand, "We have much to discuss," He said simply in a tone that made me feel all the more childish. Some how I knew to trust this dark man. If I could only place him.
I took his large brown hand and felt great power in him. With little effort he lifted me up and helped me in to the saddle behind him.
"who are you?" I asked, finally finding my voice. He looked back on me, the sun piercing the shadows of his cowl. Eyes darker than ebony and sharper than shattered ice stared back at me. I knew who he was before he spoke.
"Allanon," He said simply, and snapped the reigns. The great steed leapt forward and I gave an squeal, grabbing the druid around the waist as we galloped across the landscape. I had my face pressed into his back for most of the trip, inhaling the scent of his robes. He smelled of the wild woods, of dusty pages and stone halls, or berry brambles and sunlit fields. I could inhaled the swirl of aroma's forever, but soon he was talking to me, causing me to take my face out of the back of his robes and answer back.
"I trust you know why I brought you here?" He asked sounding irritated and I shook my head.
"No, I don't"
"Well, Arch-scribe-"
"Meia, my name is Meia," I said softly and heard him give a sigh.
"Well, Meia, your writing has distorted and destroyed our world. As we speak, the once valiant hero of the Four Lands awaits the birth of his monster son, Brona, the creature he just killed!"
I winced at the crack in his voice as if he just brandished a whip.
"I-I was just writing, everyone writes and makes stories. Why should mine be any different?"
"Because you are different," He answered, "You have great powers, Arch-Scribe, and you have just created the greatest evil the Four Lands have ever seen,"
I buried my face back into his robes, but now not even the medley of scents could comfort me. Had I really written the doom of the four lands with my own hands?