Secret of Mana pseudo-Medieval: The Boy's story
Waterfall Creek
The tall, lean boy halted and looked around sharply, attempting to procure a better view of his surroundings. The steep, narrow road he traversed cut through the height of the mountains. It was a dangerous trail, shadowed by the sparse foliage of twisted-rooted trees, which clung tenaciously to the walls of the mountain that rose on the boy's right. On the left side of the path the cliffs plunged sharply down for some twenty feet to the narrow bent of the trail below. One false step, and a traveler could be plunged down with unpleasant results. But the boy was not worried. He was, after all, a native of the mountains, and knew the area better than most travelers. Still, at this height, he felt a little puzzled. Just a little.
He had a companion, a boy of about his own age- sixteen or so- who trailed after him rather reluctantly. This boy was burly, with closely-cropped hair and thick features, and his expression was normally sullen and obtuse. Now, however, he seemed ill-at-ease, in marked contrast to languid air of his friend. Noticing the other's momentary indecision, he halted and whispered nervously:
"Timothy! Do we go farther from here- to the waterfalls?"
Timothy did not reply for a moment. When he finally spoke his tone was dry, and slightly acrid:
"I believe that this was the original purpose of our expedition."
The burly boy swallowed his reply, then ventured, hesitantly, "I didn't know it would have been so very-"
"Dangerous," the other boy completed his sentence, unemotionally. Then he continued:
"Yes, we are in the right direction. I can tell, by the increasing coolness of the air, that we are closer to the waterfall. Let's go."
Without looking back at his companion, he proceeded along the steeply inclined path. The second boy hesitated, then followed him with his sluggish pace. He was obviously dragged on this journey against his inclination, and was now propelled forward by the other boy's stronger will, and a reluctance to betray his mounting terror.
The distant rumbles of the waterfalls soon turned to a deafening roar. Much too soon, to the taste of the burly boy. The breeze that blew in their faces was fresh and moist, intensifying the chill in the atmosphere. They were very close to their destination: the waterfall near the top of the mountain.
Timothy turned around the corner of the road, then halted suddenly. They had reached the waterfall's side. He was now afforded a full view of the gaping crevice through which the waterfall plunged, surging for several miles below. The crevice was spanned by an unsteady-looking wooden bridge that swayed in the wind erratically. The sight of the rushing waters was a magnificent, unnerving sight, and Timothy stood very still for several minutes, staring. As for the second boy, his face instantly turned a livid shade. It was some minutes before he could brave himself to look at the falls without an overwhelming desire to throw up.
Timothy's thin countenance soon assumed its usual nonchalance. "Well, then," he said with his customary curtness, "we're here. Let's cross this bridge."
His friend seemed overwhelmed by the idea. "No- way!" he managed to utter, after a rather prolonged pause.
Timothy glanced at him disdainfully. "You're afraid of breaking your neck up here, Elliot?"
"I'll go where you go!" Elliot instantly replied, turning red with shame and anger.
"Good," said Timothy shortly. He made a motion as to start walking, when he was cut short by the sound of someone hailing him from behind.
At the sound of the new voice Elliot jumped nervously, and Timothy turned round, his sharp features assuming an unpleasant expression. This expression intensified when he perceived the figure of the person who had hailed them. It was a slim, brown-haired boy of about fifteen or sixteen, clutching a crude wooden staff in one hand. The presence of the two others evidently surprised him more than his own greeting startled them.
"Timothy! Elliot! What are you doing here?" he cried, coming up at them. In his face was surprise, and a little curiosity. His look was friendly, but his eyes looked at the two boys inquisitively.
"Damn, what's HE doing here?" whispered Elliot. "That weirdo. On his usual excursions, probably."
"Apparently," said Timothy sharply.
"What a leech," said Elliot, glad at the opportunity of venting his former ire with Timothy on someone else, more susceptible. "Want me to get rid of him?" He waved his hefty fist, grinning in anticipation.
"Nah," replied Timothy, his countenance relapsing into inscrutable indifference. "He might blab. Let him stay."
Elliot shrugged at the reply and lowered his hand, disappointed. The new boy had meanwhile caught up with them. "I saw you from afar," he said. "And I was wondering what you are you doing here."
"A funny question, coming from YOU," sneered Timothy. The boy understood his meaning, but he did not seem disconcerted. "Yes," he said. "I sometimes venture into the mountains."
"Your expedition had become quite infamous," Timothy said derisively. "Didn't they, adventurer-boy?"
"Well, then, what are you doing here?" the boy questioned quietly, ignoring Timothy's tone.
"Guess what?" said Timothy. "We're on a voyage of exploration. Off to find a treasure."
"Treasure?" the boy appeared surprised.
"Don't pretend you don't know about the treasure," Elliot struck in. "Or the ghost."
"I've heard about it," the boy replied cautiously. But his look became thoughtful, and he was apparently displeased at this discovery.
A short pause ensued, but Timothy was obviously becoming impatient. "Well, we're off," he said abruptly. "Come on, Elliot."
Without another word he started towards the bridge. Elliot followed, swallowing hard and trying not to look into the gaping crevice. The boy stayed put, looking after them.
"This bridge is dangerous, you know," he called after them. "I've never dared to cross it myself."
"And I suppose that you never will," said Timothy dryly.
"Think he's too scared," said Elliot scornfully, in an effort to mask his own visible trepidation.
The boy hesitated. Something wavered across his face: something like fear, mingled with strong fascination. He seemed to know something that the other boys didn't, that he was reluctant to disclose. He was quiet for a brief moment, then seemed to make his decision. Walking slowly, he began to follow the two boys.
Elliot, who happened to look back the next moment, tugged at his friend's sleeve and whispered. Timothy turned his head. "So what?" he said impatiently. "So he's coming with us. Should I care?"
Elliot eyed the boy with dislike; but the boy ignored his look and joined them at the bridge.
"Where then are you planning on finding this treasure?" he asked, as soon as he was close enough for the other two to hear him above the roar of the waterfall.
To his slight surprise, Timothy answered his question. "It's not far from here. I'm sure that there's something near the falls. Why else are we forbidden from approaching this place?"
The boy appeared to ponder this for a moment. He walked slowly after Elliot, who was trying not to look anywhere beyond Timothy's back, least of all down. The rising winds swayed the little bridge in quite an alarming manner; a fact that seemed to bother Timothy very little, and the boy not at all.
"If there's anything," the boy said at last, his voice very quiet, "it has to be in the lake below. I was often here, and I observed a glimmer coming from the waters, a bright glimmer, when the sun shines."
"We're in luck, then," said Timothy, apparently unmoved by this revelation. "We'll find the treasure, make our fortune, and get out of that stinkhole village of ours. What do you say, Elliot?"
"Sounds capital," Elliot growled. "If you can believe HIM."
"Besides, if it's true, then we are going in the wrong direction," Timothy continued. "We should have been going DOWN."
"He's first!" said Elliot with a sudden, malicious grin. He turned around and gave the boy a rough shove. His sudden action had the effect of swaying the little bridge dangerously, and the boards creaked and sighed in the winds.
"Stop it!" cried the boy, his face paling. "It's dangerous!" Elliot was strong enough to make him unsteady on his feet, and he fell back, landing on his knees on the boards, one hand clutching at the rail. For a few moments, the three boys were strangely still. Elliot, realizing the effect of his action, likewise paled, and even Timothy looked discomposed. When the bridge appeared to steady he turned on Elliot.
"Right," he said curtly, his voice breaking the stillness. "Elliot, if you do that again, I'm throwing you down."
"Shuddup, Tim!" said Elliot, though a little unsteadily. "I ain't scared of you!"
"Of course not!" Timothy returned, his voice dripping venom. "But I'm sure that you're scared of breaking your neck, which is exactly what will happen if we fall off here because of your stupidity."
"Damn-" began Elliot; but he was silenced by the sudden gust of winds that flooded at the three. The floorboards creaked in an ominous manner. The boy, who had half-risen, and was still clutching at the rail, fell to his knees again. His alarm, although considerable, suddenly turned panicked when he realized what was happening. The floorboards were giving way under the weight of his body. The other two could only clutch at the ropes as the winds shrieked again, and watched with horror as the boy slid through the rapidly widening opening and fell through, hurled helplessly into the frothing void below. His last cry for help was choked through the noise of the water.
There was silence for some time. The winds, as if their rage had been spent, quieted a little. Elliot looked at Timothy, and gasped:
"Damn, NOW we're in trouble."
"We've seen nothing, hear?" said Timothy, through clenched teeth. "Let's go back."
The two struggled off the bridge, back towards the mountain trail.
The Valley of Shadows and Light
Sunlight dazzled him, penetrating through his eyelids in fantastic bursts of pink, swiftly turned red. Its heat beat on his cheek in a comforting manner. But the next moment he felt the chill through his cloths, that enveloped his body; the unmistakable, invigorating chill of icy mountain waters.
The boy opened his eyes.
He was lying in a pool of water, shaking in the severe chill. The first sensation was an unspeakable relief, and it baffled him. He thought it over quickly, then realized that his last waking memory was the sensation of falling towards what he thought was certain death.
But he was alive.
He sat up slowly, groaning at his cramped and aching limbs. A quick look around confirmed his suspicion. He was lying in the shallows of a large lake that collected the mountain water. The waterfall roared in the background, and the sun made the waters sparkle despite the shadows. The surrounding meadows were green and misty and quiet.
The boy shook his head. Something baffled him, then he realized what it was. He looked down into the lake's water again.
"How did I SURVIVE it?..." he whispered.
He took a deep breathe, and rose to his feet. Maybe, he thought, he really was dead, and this was the valley of shadows that welcomed the dead. If it wasn't for the icy water that drenched his clothes and made him shiver, he could almost have believed it.
There was only one direction to go, one dismaying in its implication: back.
The hazy valley opened before his eyes as he walked out of the lake's shallows, which appeared serene under the warm sun. Randy trudged across the shallow waters, which were formed of hundreds of tiny channels breaking from the lake and flooding the deep grassy meadows. The ground was moist no matter where he set his feet, and so was the air. An unnatural silence hung about the place. Nothing seemed to stir in the mist, and there was no sound, not even of birds.
He raised his eyes to the towering forms of the mountains that presided majestically over the scene. He had always longed to scale their heights. Adventurer-boy, they called him, because he dared to go to the places that they did not. All his life he was like this, and he was made to feel the consequences of having a quicker, warmer blood flow in his veins; the blood of an adventurer, an offspring of outsiders.
He halted suddenly. The atmosphere remained as quiet as before, but his senses sharpened to a danger he could tell was ahead. Then he proceeded, his pace slow. But he stopped again as he nearly blinded by a sudden, bright glimmer of the sun, that seemed to be reflecting off an object. From the quality of the glimmer he could tell that it was made of metal.
After a moment's hesitation, he decided to investigate the source of the glimmer. After all, he thought, he was armed only with a staff; and what good was a staff against the dangers of the unknown wild? If the object in question was made of metal, it could be of use.
And then he thought of the mysterious glimmer that he could sometimes glimpse down below, always shining from a point in the distance, as he explored the mountains. Could it be—
Despite his unease, and the sense of the danger, he knew that he could not resist the lure of solving the mystery that had haunted him for some years now. He retraced his steps towards the glimmer, crossing a narrow brook.
The meadows opened their misty vista, and the boy could see an object consolidating in the distance. He finally stopped. He could now clearly perceive a large, narrow, metal object protruding vertically from the water-soaked ground. It was a sword.
He approached it slowly. There was silence except the sound of running water, and as he came close, the sword did not appear unusual. When it was at his feet, he halted, and knelt to examine it. He could now see it was rusted by time, and there was no sign of a silvery glimmer through the brown coast of rust on the blade. Old, he thought. Very old.
-And if so, what, then, made that glimmer of light…?
The strange wind whispered again, and the boy raised his eyes. A change came over the lake, as the mist parted before a sudden blaze of the sun. The water turned a surprisingly blue color. The boy stared, dumbfounded and awestruck.
A sunbathed white apparition of a man clad in heavy armor, his thick hair bound up, consolidated before the boy's eyes. The noble visage turned towards him, its featured misty and marred. The mouth opened and a voice, sad and hollow, spoke to him.
"Take... the sword..."
The boy stood petrified. The apparition faded after an instant. A ghostly voice fluted once again:
"Remove the sword..."
Mechanically obeying the voice, the boy clutched the sword's hilt between his hands and, after a determined tug, wrenched it free. The light became so bright that he could not see for a moment.
"Oh!" he gasped.
But the brilliant light was gone in an instant.
Notes
This is one of my earliest pieces of writing, and it shows. My intention was not to rewrite the story in a pseudo Medieval setting, but in a more "realistic" fantasy setting—which turned out effectively the same. Some characters (like Timothy) are wildly out-of-character to accommodate this setting; instead of a boy in a clown hat, he is an unpleasant, acerbic character. Elliot, on the other hand, is largely the same. I revised it very slightly since I honestly have no idea how I can improve it without extensive revisions, which it does not really merit.