Saga 1: What We Witnessed That Day
Arc 1: When the Promised One Calls
Artowen trudged through the village of Haoggen. His short golden hair was matted with sweat and the heavy wood pack he carried sank him further into the dirt road with every step. Despite the obvious exertion, a pure smile rose to his boyish features. The sword tied at his hip was the only designation that he was a warrior.
An ice-cold sweat streamed from his neck and a putrid sensation exuded from the same location. All the joints in his body also felt that disgusting feeling, though less intensely. However, that was what allowed him to ferry this massive load to where it was to be delivered. The amount of times he lugged the resource was numerous, but it made for excellent training.
He passed the rough wooden homes of the people of Haoggen. The forests to the north and south were the lifeline of the villagers, and the woodworkers were always whittling away at some project.
Dropping the load off, he received a clasp on the back from the master woodworker. “Good work, that’s enough for today Arty. Tobain was asking after you, go help him.”
“Of course. I wonder if he needs help smithing, or just looking after Loo,” Artowen said with a chuckle.
“You’re a good lad, most men with a sword would be off fighting or lazing around on our grain, but here you are helping around the village.”
“Soldiering is good and well, but if I want to become the Drawalda, it will take a lot more than brandishing a sword.”
One of the apprentices snickered. The other apprentice and their master seemed barely able to hold in their laughter. Artowen smiled at them in his usual soft way. They meant nothing by it and though it did pain his heart he was used to that reaction. He mustered up his courage and chuckled awkwardly, returning the clasp on the shoulder of the woodworking master, then stepped out of the building.
The smithy was only down and around the corner, but he found that it took time to arrive. Not because he was discouraged, but because he was approached by a different villager at every step. The elders sought aid for this or that, the women asked after his mother, the men tempted him to drink, and the children begged him to play. He met the friendliness with his disarming smile and promises of engaging after his duties had been completed. The villagers were not disappointed, but instead wore expressions of anticipation for when he would meet those promises. This cozy atmosphere was the norm of this sparse village, especially in the fall and winter, when worries of Uxsons or other unaligned Dradris Kingdoms fell away. So long as he didn’t mention the Drawalda.
His dream.
The smithy was a shoddy place. When Artowen approached he could hear the sounds of metal being forged as well as the blabbering of a young girl.
“Loo, how many times have I told you not to bother Tobain while he’s working?” Artowen asked in an admonishing tone.
Instead of being discouraged, the ragged child beamed at him. “Arty! We’ve been waiting for you!”
“Get this miscreant out of here, I beg you,” Tobain pleaded with an exaggerated sigh. The blacksmith was the spitting image of someone who worked day in and out in that profession. “Every time I try and grab the creature she slips out of my palms like an eel.”
Artowen nodded, then tried his best to put on a stern face. Loo was an orphan and while many in the village looked out for her, she was by essence alone. When his mother and he had first discovered her upon moving to Haoggen they had made every effort to provide for her, in both necessities and discipline. The only issue was, that Artowen could hardly fault her for any of her actions or attitude. In all, he had ended up more as her protector, intent not to let any foul being take her. He knew that this world could be cruel.
Loo’s laughter caught him off guard and he frowned as she said, “Arty, no matter how serious you try to be, you look just like a golden grizzly cub.”
Tobain chortled. “That he does. The spitting image of the adorable and innocent bear.”
Artowen sighed. “My mother is probably preparing food about now. If you want to eat with us go help her Loo.”
Far from being beaten down, the child smiled and rushed away without so much as a goodbye to either fellow.
Shaking his head, Artowen eyed Tobain. “Is that all you wanted? This hardly is the right time to call me away for a minor annoyance.”
“Good on you for noticing. We are simply in the dregs of summer and soon it will be autumn. The Uxsons have pulled back and the raiding from the neighboring Kingdoms has lessened. In all respects, this should be a time for calm and celebration. In many a city, the dregs of summer is a festival, a time of merriment that we indulge because we survived the fifth season.”
“So you wanted to discuss this year’s channao, and likely this year’s earlier summer considering how rough they both were for us Drajin.”
Tobain’s eyes grew sharp. “There’s more, I was hoping our future Drawalda would have some information I haven’t been privy to.”
Artowen’s gaze stayed firm. “I will become the Drawalda.”
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The guffaw from Tobain put him at ease. The man never mocked the dream, but would always remind him of the difficulties that came with it. Difficulties were to soft a word. In truth, they were more like impossibilities.
Once Artowen calmed himself, the blacksmith spoke, “Ah yes, the mythical ruler of all of Dradris, who rules over all the Kingdoms and every Drajin; the person who will send the Uxson horde back to their damned isle. You very well know there has never been such a thing. Even being a simple king is not in your future, as you are not of royal blood.”
“That is part of the legend, that even a commoner can rise to become the ruler of everything on Dradris,” Artowen said, then cleared his throat letting his discomfort go. “This is not what you called me here to discuss.”
“Sorry, Your Majesty.”
Artowen stared at him.
“Okay, don’t give me the puppy bear eyes, just tell me if you’ve heard anything. I think it would put the villager’s hearts at ease, and mine as well.”
“They seem fine to me,” Artowen said with a smirk. “You’re trying to get an edge in some way.”
Tobain shrugged. “I’d like to make it out of Haoggen, but my skills are lacking. Anything helps.”
Artowen thought for a moment. He had received a letter from Royce, but it simply went into more detail about the things going on outside of their small village.
“Lenda suffered a crushing defeat during channao,” Artowen finally said.
“There were whispers about that. Do you think the Kingdom will fall?”
“The Uxsons claim more land every year. Next year is projected to be worse and if we don’t do something, I doubt it will only be them.”
Tobain frowned and seemed deeply worried, but Artowen would not mince words with a friend.
After a moment of silence, Artowen smiled broadly. “Leave it to me Tobain. I will surely cast the Uxson bastards away.”
‘Thank you for the peace of mind, my young friend. I believe in you. Perhaps you will become the Drawalda.”
Autumn was upon them, the crispness of the wind only promising to grow colder with time. Welkia always had a mild winter so that was not a reason to dread it, but as he had told Tobain a few weeks earlier the coming year would be bloody. He would join in as a warrior of the people, not for some politicking king. War for my dream.
The wind was pleasant as he chopped wood. He used an axe, but not one like the barbaric Uxsons were proficient with. The cabin he and his mother used as their home was located on the outskirts of the village, near the northern forest. As it appeared he would need more wood, he sauntered to the edge of the forest.
Concentrating his mind he felt that putrid feeling intensely on the back of his neck where a cold sweat began. The energy it produced slinked down both his arms to the tips of his fingers, then willed it down the rest of his body, to his hips. Everywhere a joint was located exuded that sickly feeling, and there he could sense its presence manifesting in this world.
With two swift chops, the thick oak fell.
From behind, Loo let out a sound of wonderment. As he turned around, he could see the child shrink back slightly.
“That frightening, huh?” Artowen asked, already knowing the answer.
“It’s not your fault Arty. Most summoned deities are.”
“Still unable to feel or see yours?”
Loo shook her head.
Guardian deity, or guardian angel as the northland tended to call them, was a grace bestowed upon everyone. A guiding and protecting hand that resided within the back of the neck of every human. Certain individuals could draw upon it, summoning their deity to amplify their ability to fight or complete other tasks. Every human houses a deity, there is no exception.
The degree of visibility lies in the observer’s skill but is not tied to their ability to use or see one’s own deity. In this way Loo’s skill to observe active and inactive deities was amazing, but she had no sight or sense when it came to her own. Artowen was on the opposite spectrum, where he could sense and make use of his deity, he could not see it nor any other deity.
Still, her ability to see was nothing like his Aunt Idwyn’s.
He let the feeling go that controlled the deity, all the putrid sensation that created the special ability disappeared. He could still reach into the back of his neck and call it forth if needed, but for now, he let his protector slip away. Loo would see some of it still, but it would be far less noticeable. Even if it was a mild effort he did not want to make the child unduly uncomfortable.
Letting the autumn air take him, he admired the falling leaves of orange, yellow, and red. The colors danced together, mixing and blending to create the symphony that was the season. This was the natural beauty of Dradris and Welkia, the Kingdom that was his home. He hoped he could preserve it for when Loo became an adult.
“Do you want to be a blacksmith when you grow older?” Artowen asked. “Now’s the time to learn if that’s the case.”
“I do find it interesting, but I’d much rather be like Lady Idwyn. Why?”
“Because you spend so much time with Tobain.”
Loo’s happy expression fell away. “The others don’t like to spend much time with me, but Tobain is always nice and treats me like a friend, even though I bother him when he’s working.”
Artowen placed a hand firmly on her head and tousled her hair. “It’s good he’s your friend, but you have to properly make friends with kids your age too. Also, you need to think about your future.”
She brushed his hand away. “Don’t talk like Mother Ellerie or Lady Idwyn, you’re still a kid too.”
He frowned at that. “I’m of sixteen years, so I’m an adult.”
She stuck her tongue out and ran from him, but playfully giggled.
Tobain is one reason she can be so at peace here. When I think about it many of the villagers look to him. I’ll have to give him my thanks, perhaps with some fine ale.
The darkness of night created an ominous atmosphere. Loo never came back after running off. That in itself was not unusual, but there was an odd air about this night. With that in mind, Artowen kept a tight rein about himself.
His mother was already fast asleep when a hurried knock came at the door. It was one of the woodworker apprentices. When Artowen opened the door, the man scanned the inside warily, getting little information from the lightless room.
“What is the matter? Is it the Uxsons? No, I would have heard screaming.”
The woodworker took a deep breath, then said, “It’s Tobain. He’s betrayed us. He’s betrayed Welkia.”
The words shook Artowen to his core, but his first thoughts were not how or why, or even if his friend was innocent. It was of Loo.
He rushed out of the cabin, pushing the woodworker to the side as he flew down the road toward the village proper.
