DragonReborn

Well, I am going for a while, so I'll post ch.2 here too. I guess this is dedicated to Chrispian, thanx for everything!



Chapter Two: The Tear of the Angels

Owen shifted uncomfortably on his makeshift bed. For some reason he could not find sleep. Everyone else was, though. Everyone that had been saved. Only a hundred and fifty survivors were left, due to the town’s stubbornness. None of the buildings were now standing. And Illi was dying, due to her ignorance. She had not been the right Village Circle leader.
“Owen?”
Berran’s soft voice came from Owen’s left. “Yes, I’m here.”
“You can’t sleep either?”
“No.”
Silence followed for a minute, then a soft rustling of leaves. Owen turned over, and Berran buttoned his coat up, then put his axe to his side; he seldom went anywhere without it. “What are you doing?” asked Owen.
“Going for a walk. Come on, come with me.”
Owen decided to go ahead, and, making the least noise possible, he was close behind Berran, buttoning his wool coat over him. It was cold.
Leaving the camp of the survivors, the two strode downhill towards the ashes of the town, observing in silence the damage the Dragonolls had done. Not a building was standing, and the stables had been burned, leaving the horses either dead or off in the forest. The bright, full moon made it easy to observe the damage. It was obvious they had been looking for something, as Elaya had said, but what was the ‘tear’? Owen dug the crumpled paper Cortt had given him out of his pocket, observing it.
And with a yelp, dropped it.
Snatching it up, Berran looked at it, and his eyes widened. He turned it to reveal the paper glowing white, figures as clear as glass. A stone—clearly Fale’s Rock—sat just on the edge of a hill—clearly Fale’s Hill—in the edge of a forest—clearly Emyrwood—and on that rock, a small crystal-shaped figure sat ‘drawn’. All Owen could make of it was that it had something to do with Fale’s Rock.
“You don’t think…” Berran said. “You don’t think it has something to do with this ‘tear’, do you?”
Owen pondered that for a second. Perhaps a tear could be a crystal. Maybe that’s what everyone was searching for. He nodded and took the paper, stuffing it back into his pocket. “Let’s go.”
* * * *

Owen easily slithered into the small cave, then almost vomited. The smell of death and something rotten filled the air, and Owen knew it was the Dragonoll he had killed. With Berran’s help, he dragged the stinking monster out while holding his breath. Flies followed after, and Owen went back into the cave. It didn’t smell as bad, at least.
“Now,” he muttered. “What do we do?”
The two pondered that for a very long time. They had made it, sure, but they didn’t know what to do. Each idea they had failed. Maybe there wasn’t anything to the thing. Maybe it was just a coincidence or something. Perhaps Fale’s rock wasn’t even the right place.
Berran dozed off eventually, and Owen nearly followed him. On the brink of being asleep, a thought popped into his head. That’s it!
“I’ve got it!” he exclaimed, and he jumped to his feet the same time Berran did. He had scared him awake. After taking in what had happened, Berran stood with staring at Owen. “Well,” he said grumpily, “out with it, or I’m leaving.”
“Reut am avig!”
And the ground shook softly beneath the boy’s feet. Owen grinned triumphantly, and Berran laughed a little. They had done…what had they done?
The answer to that came. Two small doors, no taller that a couple of feet, opened to reveal a stone pathway, slanting down at quite a slope, with a pale blue light showing the way along. Beyond that, Owen could not see. Owen started in.
They were forced to crawl, for the ceiling was only as tall as the doors. The path was made of solid stone, and ancient figures marked the stone walls. The blue light lit the whole tunnel, and a hazy mist blurred whatever was forward.
Owen was beginning to wonder if it went on forever when it curved down to the left. Finally, when turning, the low ceiling left, and they were in the most magnificent place Owen had ever seen.
The ceiling stretched high, and the hazy blue mist was more spread out, making it easier to see. The stone pathway led down into a room in which a slow waterfall fell from a river upon a stone cliff, ending in a clear pool of water where, in the center, a stone dragon about three feet high rose. Stone columns climbed up high to the ceiling, stone columns with a language that was not familiar to Owen engraved in the sides with sparkling gold letters. But what caught Owen’s attention was the purple crystal in the center of the room, sitting on a clear crystal stand. So this was the tear.
Owen approached the crystal with Berran following closely behind. They had actually reached it!
Berran shouted something, and Owen turned, drawing his sword. There, at the top of the slope, three Dragonolls stood snarling at them, two with curving swords, and one with a bowstring drawn. The one with the bow let the arrow fly at Owen.
Berran pulled him to the ground, but the arrow still buried itself deep into Owen’s shoulder. With a scream he fell, his shoulder burning as the poison was injected into him. His vision blurred for a moment, but he managed to see Berran scramble up the path and kick the bowbeast off of the top. With a screech it fell nearly thirty feet. Then, it landed on its head with a sickening crunch. Owen had to help Berran.
With much effort, and most of it coming from anger, Owen charged up towards the two sword-wielding monsters. Berran was just being pushed back when he neared the top. With the two of them, the Dragonolls were soon forced on the defensive side, and they desperately fought to regain their former position.
Owen could feel his body weakening. No, no, he told it. Not now!
He gave one of the Dragonolls a kick, and it went sprawling back onto the ground. The other was too absorbed with Berran to notice. With a final cry, Owen stabbed right into the center of the skull the size of a man’s fist that sat on the beast’s chest. With a howl, it died. But not only that.
Owen flung himself down as a white, ghostly figure left the body of the animal, a figure without any shape save a face, screaming for mercy as it floated away. Owen gasped in horror when a small gateway came out of nowhere, and the figure entered a fiery inferno of a place. The gate sealed itself behind it.
With the other Dragonoll’s attention diverted, Berran hacked wildly at it with his half-bladed axe. A leg was severed, and the beast fell with a howl. With one last effort, he swung the spike of his axe down into the chest of the beast. It lay still.
Owen felt very weary, and he was certainly not strong enough to face the other five Dragonolls that came through. With a shout, Berran hurled himself into them, screaming, “Owen! Get the crystal and run!”
He did as he was told to. Berran had managed to draw the group of Dragonolls back down so Owen could escape, but so far none of them were down. With all the effort left in him, he bolted up the slope and dove into the tunnel. He hoped others weren’t coming.
Behind him, he heard footsteps. They sounded much like Berran’s, but how could he have gotten away? Pushing the thought behind him, Owen hurried forward. The pain in his shoulder where the arrow still was had now stopped stinging; his muscles felt numb. He had to get help.
As soon as he was out, Berran was behind him, and Owen croaked out a “Ruet am avig!”
The gates closed, leaving the Dragonolls inside, howling at their loss. They had made it.
* * * *

Elaya met Owen halfway to the camp. By then, he had begun to see things, and was tripping over himself. Berran had had to help him most of the way. The poison was already working.
Owen barely remembered being slung over Minloc’s shoulder, or of the murmurs of “hold on” and such. But that is what he did: held on.
As they lay him down onto some blankets, he held out the crystal, and heard a small gasp from Elaya. Her voice seemed so…distant. Taking the crystal from him, she put it aside, then immediately began working at the arrow, trying to somehow get it out, all the while Gham and Berran hovering over him.
When she finally did get it out, his chest, his stomach, everywhere—they all were stinging like a thousand bees, but Owen was too weak to scream.
Except for once.
Elaya’s hand went to his shoulder, and his entire body exploded in spasms, the pain multiplied by a hundred. Owen certainly screamed then. It seemed to go on for an eternity, and still was when blackness overtook him.

* * * *

When Owen awoke, the sun was just rising over the horizon. The pain was not totally gone; he still had a dull ache in his body. But it was better than what he had faced. He shivered at that thought of her hand going to his shoulder. She should have found a less painless way. Nonetheless, he was healed, and was grateful.
He sat up with a groan. His head pounded like a blacksmith’s hammer, and silver specks danced across his sight. Despite the pain, he got to his feet, and looked around. He was in the spot he had been when him and Berran left, and Elaya, Gham, Vince, and Berran sat by. They were grateful to see him up.
“If you would like something for your head,” Elaya said, “here.”
She handed him a cup made of silver with a sort of purple liquid inside. For a moment he forgot his headache and need for medicine altogether; his eyes were on the cup. But Elaya’s comment on how he needed to drink brought him back to reality. He took a swig, and his eyes widened a little. It was surprisingly sweet and tasty, unlike Taaryn’s medicine woman’s concoctions; they were horrible. This tasted of plums and a hint of orange. Owen drank the rest in a gulp.
After about an hour his head was fine. The sun was up, then, and the birds just beginning to chirp. He was glad for it; he needed the cheer. He was still slightly weak, however, and Berran and Gham would often help him to his feet or walk around. Vince was there when he could be, but the remaining survivors looked to him for direction, even Owen’s mother and father, who had both survived.
“What happens now, uncle?” asked Owen when he got a chance to talk to Vince.
“I suppose, boy, we’ll have to re-build. Either that or move to Therim Hill.”
Owen grimaced. Therim Hill was just a few miles from Taaryn, but those living would likely think it hardly worth the walk. Taaryn folk and Therim Hill folk never got along, every since anyone could remember. Both towns blamed the other for starting the conflict; however, no one really knew. Owen himself didn’t mind them, but almost everyone else did. He shook his head. “Rebuilding.”
It was mid-day when the others began to chop with the few axes they had at Emyrwood. First, a large shelter would be built, where the children and elderly and a few mothers to watch the young ones would stay, then a few small cabins. Owen was proud of his town. It hadn’t given up yet. A few people who didn’t mind were sent to get food and supplies from Therim Hill. They would be back by nightfall.
“Come on,” said Owen when Berran and Gham were together. “Let’s go down to the river and see if we can catch anything.”
The two set off towards the Taaryn River, the one river near the town. They planned on having something to eat soon.
Owen was walking behind Gham when his brother stopped dead in his tracks. Assuming the worst, he slowly got into a crouch, and silently drew his blade. Then, tiptoeing to where Gham was, he followed his brother’s gaze. And went numb with fear.
A gateway, identical to the one Owen had seen when he had killed the Dragonoll in that cave, was opened, and inside lava flowed and flames shot high. Ten or a dozen Dragonolls stood by the gateway. Waiting. Owen could tell they were nervous, and…afraid? Dragonolls were never afraid! It was unheard of!
Standing in the front of the others was who Owen presumed their leader. It looked the same as the others, but wore a golden chain about its neck. The chain hung down just above the skull that sat on its chest, and on it was a fox eating a rodent.
But Owen realized the reason they were afraid when a black-clad figure stepped out of the gateway. It wore jet black clothes, a black coat and cloak. It was just like the man he had seen in both of his dreams. “Don’t look into his eyes!” Owen whispered fiercely into his two companions’ ears. They nodded silently, but Berran wore an excited smile. Then the black figure began speaking.
“Lutsyurc se araw?”
The Dragonoll leader trembled a bit. “Te avu yath.”
The leader gave the Dragonoll a punch with his iron-plated hands. “Areph tua oiy akem lew! Tria phi mocs!”
The leader licked its “lips”. “Te dineph nuc, dril yem, neugu am tsort, in.”
Turning to leave, the black figure replied, “Ravaroph…sherap lush oiy ri, am riph te tag!”
Then it turned and left through the gates, and they shrank into nothingness. The Dragonoll, clearly glad for the man’s departure, turned and yelled at his nine followers. “Avom!”
Owen heaved a sigh of relief when they left, and Gham was visibly shaken. Something beyond Dragonoll greed was controlling them. Another race was controlling them. Who would have thought? The Dragonolls usually take orders only from themselves. Motioning for the others to follow, Owen bolted down to find Elaya. Maybe the Starchild had answers.
* * * *

“You saw what?”
Owen explained about the whole incident with the gateway from beginning to end in detail. And, afterwards, he put in about his dreams. The Starchild almost seemed unsure. That was a strange thing indeed.
“The only thing I can think of…” Her voice trailed off. “But it would have to be…Thank you, Owen. This information could turn the tides of the world.”
As Elaya turned to leave, Owen asked, “Elaya Starchild…what does a black skull on a Dragonoll mean?”
The Starchild froze, then turned, eyes wider than normal. “A black skull? Are you certain?”
“Yes, I am. I stabbed through, and—”
“A gate opened, and a ghostly figure came from the beast and was drawn inside?”
Owen nodded.
Elaya stopped for a moment, then started again. “A black skull, Owen, is the sign of Dialo’din.”
Owen let it sink in. Dialo’din? The ancient demon-man who was created by a Starchild? What did that mean? “Well, I don’t know if Dialo’din—”
“And,” Elaya interrupted, “the commanders of the Dark Armies were described to be dressed in jet-black, with blazing red eyes. There is much to explain, Owen. Come.”
They went and seated themselves among the trees, and Elaya began again. “Long ago, a Starchild whose name was Jeriam ne’Rol, broke off from the Four Towers and lived alone in a forest. He became too idle, and before he knew it, he was creating things with his power. First, he created harmless creatures that already existed, for example, a house cat. But he went to new heights, and then he was creating new animals. His first creations were what he called Kellin, which are known today as goblins. Then, after many new creations, he created…Dragonolls. At first, they followed his commands, but later became rebels against his will and took off after their own desires. And then, finally, he made the biggest mistake. He created the Dark Armies. One of his many creations in that section was Dialo’din himself.”
That was enough to make Owen shiver. But she went on.
“However, the Starchildren were able to destroy Dialo’din. They sent him to Saph’iam, which in elvish—which was the main language back then—meant “Home of the Flames”. There, he was said to be kept forever. He rules as he wishes there. It is said to be sealed, but if the Dragonolls have figured a way to open it, the world may be doomed. When you killed that Dragonoll by piercing the skull—which is a sort of solid tattoo that one gets when pledging their soul to Dialo’din—you not only killed it, you sent it to Saph’iam to burn forever. You see, if one pledges himself to Dialo’din, as many did long ago, say you chop off the monster’s head. Due to the ‘reward’ one gets from him, it will go back to a pool to be reborn—the pool is Dialo’din’s creation. But if you pierce the skull, Dialo’din takes it that the beast didn’t do enough to protect the precious tattoo, and he takes it as blasphemy. He pulls the beast’s soul into Saph’iam. Again, if the Dragonolls have opened it, we may be doomed. But then again, we have the Tear of the Angels.”
“What,” said Gham, “is this ‘tear’?”
Elaya nodded, as if expecting the question. “Long ago, there was a city called Thriphi’il—Halo of Thor’s Light—but the Dark Armies took it in the First Age, and it fell. The ruins now lie in the Barrens. But in that city was locked the Sword of Halor’ian, which is now a common story. Those stories tell everything about the sword, what the bearer shall do, what power it is capable of, and others. What the stories do not tell you is how to get into the Throne Room, where it lies in a crystal case. That throne room is locked with magic; before the city fell, Ben Mybithia and Brooke Mybithia, whose nicknames among people were ‘Angels’, locked it. Then they created the tear. This is the map, and the key.”
All three gasped at the sound of that. No wonder the Dragonolls had been after it! If anyone not of the Dark Armies took it, it would mean doom for them.
“And, as you know,” said Elaya, “when the sword is sheathed with the sheath that lay next to it, it will bring the great general Alex Battlestone back from the dead to lead us against Darkness.”
Owen shook his head, which still ran with questions. But excitement shone through his fear and questions.
They had the key to salvation.

__________________
The lions sing and the hills take flight.
The moon by day, and the sun by night.
Blind woman, deaf man, jackdaw fool.
Let the Lord of Chaos rule.

There IS somone watching out for us...

Vixen

Argh. I'm having a tough time finding ch 1. Could you p.m. me with a link for it? I really don't feel qualified to critique you work unless I've read the first Chapter.