Prologue (The Travelers)
Ven and Sark

The end of summer was in the air, in the very way the light hung heavy and golden over the Korsyt Meadow. Clouds drifted lazily through the brilliant blue sky, and yellow long grass waved with little puffs of an easterly breeze. The wind had yet to acquire the mild bite of cold that spoke of winter coming, but it would not be long before people would be tending their fields for harvest. Even for a tepid afternoon such as it was, the country road was empty, all the nearby villagers and farmers suspiciously absent.

A shadow fell over a cracked rock on the roadside. It was not a special rock, not particularly big or small. However, a small spot of blue paint was on its face. Incidentally, the crack in the rock ran right through the middle of the spot.

A man, the owner of the shadow, pondered the rock, his hands fisted on his hips. “So what do you think now?” His features marked him as a foreigner to the country, his face round and browned by the many years he had spent in the sun and wind. His vivid sapphire eyes were almond shaped instead of round, though they weren’t as slanted as many of his own people’s were. His clothing also marked him. Even in the height of summer, few in Lishiren would wear the sleeveless tunic and trousers that only reached his knees; much less would they think to bother with such light materials as the man wore so near to autumn.

Feathers rustled in the breeze as the second man shifted uncomfortably. Every few moments he would sweep his silver gaze across the prairie, his nervousness showing in the ruffled feathers of his wings despite his best efforts to smooth them. “I think it’s not good,” he finally sighed out, reluctance in every fiber of him. “There are several more of those in this valley. I imagine we’d find them all in such a state.” If his companion was foreign, this man was even more so. Though much about him appeared human, few would say he was. His wings, black as pitch, would give him away from a distance. From closer up, the talon-like quality of his fingers and toes – which he failed to cover with any sort of shoe – would further their inclination towards believing he was far from human. His clothing was little better than his companion’s. The tunic he wore was loose and light, draping low under his wings rather than cut around them, and the trews he wore were ragged against his calves.

“Ah.” Those blue eyes laughed though the voice behind them remained calm and steady. “And you said you did not want to come out here.”

“I don’t.” The second groaned and swiped a hand through his wind tossed black hair, eyes still watching the countryside. “I dislike this country, always have, and I have always made it a point to ignore the stones breaking here.”

The first made a soft tsking sound, finally drawing the gaze of his companion. “Ignoring it does not make it go away, Ven.”

“No. But it helps me sleep better at night.” The man known as Ven snorted and folded his arms across his chest. There was an edge about him that spoke of barely contained energy, as if he might start pacing or flexing his wings at any moment. “There are some things in this world that many are better off not knowing a thing about. They’ll kill me as soon as speak to me here, you know. And they won’t be nice about it either.” A shiver rippled through his small body.

“Ah,” his companion agreed softly, the laughter in his eyes dimming at such a sobering statement. “What would you have us do then? You’ve allowed this area to come under such disregard that I fear the situation is much worse than we had originally estimated. I do not believe we can rightly ignore it any more than we have.”

Ven sighed and only just kept himself from raking a hand through his hair again. It was a habit of his that, much like his ruffled wings, gave away his agitation much more than he wanted it to. “No, we cannot. I don’t know what we should do.”

“We cannot leave it like this, Ven.”

The winged man sent his friend an irritated glare. “Sark, if you do not quit reminding me. . .”

Sark shrugged and waited, not saying anything that might earn his partner’s ire again.

“Obviously, I can’t simply walk into any nearby towns or homesteads and expect hospitality, much less answers.” Silver eyes regarded the cracked stone as if it were the world’s greatest puzzle.

His companion only shrugged again.

Ven flicked his gaze around to the rolling golden hills once more. Nothing had changed. The grasses waved to and fro with the gentle breeze and the clouds drifted aimlessly by. The only living thing for miles about that his sharp eyes could catch was a little orange butterfly fluttering amidst some wildflowers on the side of the road. Ven was unsettled despite all that. Even though he was wary about being seen by anyone in this country, the absence of all the local populace was disturbing.

“You’ll have to do it, you know,” he whispered after a long while.

Another shrug before his companion answered in a voice that matched his in softness, “I assumed as much. I expected no great welcome for my appearance; I know how much less welcome you should be.”

“Ah.”

“You could hide your wings,” Sark suggested, a particular glint in his blue eyes that spoke of sparking hope.

Ven allayed that idea with a sharp shake of his head. “I’ll never be human enough for them to accept me, wings or no. To put away my wings – I have that ability, yes. But what of my claws? Would they be willing to overlook those? How about my fangs? What would I do should they take me for a vampire? Tell them they are mistaken and assure them I drink no blood? It would be a lie; one I can no more say than they would be able to believe. They would never understand my race for what it is other than for what it came from. To them, I am merely a lesser creature of the blood curse and will never be more.”

As much as he might wish it otherwise, this was the way it was in Lireshi. Things had to be done a different way or they were done not at all.

“Ah. Unfortunate it is,” Sark agreed, his tone implying that he found the people of this continent lacking in intelligence. “What would you have me do? These are your pets. I have no idea how to track who set them off.”

“I’ll tell you,” said the winged man, better known in other worlds as an avi, a bird-like people of refined grace and power. He crouched before the stone, mindful of how his red-black feathers swept up road dust. A hand, the fingers long and thin and ending in sharp talons, reached up and touched the broken blue spot of paint. The spot flared white once and died down to a dull blue glow. Ven closed his eyes, gathering the impressions and images from the stone together until they made some sort of sense.

His silver eyes snapped open after only a moment, a smile curving his lips as he caressed the rock, its blue spot of paint now whole. “The first you seek is a girl, sixteen summers or so. She will be a Healer so look in the local surgeon’s first.”

Sark nodded, laid a hand on his companion’s head briefly, and then started down the rolling country road. He never looked back.

“Desperation cracked this – a better tool than vice and anger combined,” Ven whispered. His gaze was still on the stone under his hand. “What do you seek, girl? What did you think I could do for you?”