Under the moon at its peak, full and brighter than the stars on this night, a woman runs cautiously through the forest, only the moonlight and stars as her guide. She cradles a bundle in her arms, holding it tight to her chest, knowing it would be her last night. A tear streams down her cheek. Not far in the distance, a thing hunts her smell. Time is of the greatest importance. She has come to this place in the thought that those elderly beings, wise and powerful that resided in the great forest, would now hold the salvation of the known world. For the prophecy of old had begun its entrance into truth, and no longer legend. The trees began to worry. They sense the darkness approaching, and fear for the safety of their shrine. The woman runs deeper and deeper into the forest, hoping for some protection. She sees a giant oak, with light radiating about it. Looking up with awe, she knew this was a protected place. Opening the folds of the blanketed bundle she carries, she looks her last on the one most precious to her, and in the future, to all of mankind. Walking with great reverence to the father of trees, she carefully lays her bundle between exposed roots covered in a bed of moss that one would have assumed it had been created for the purpose of holding a tiny infant. On this night, that is exactly what it did.

A foundling, whispered the trees. It lies beneath the ancient oak. We have ensured its safety from the hunters of the Wood Hallow. Come. Come fulfill the prophecy you have written. You must teach the One all that must be known. Teach what will be needed for the trials given. The child must learn to listen. Protect the child until the time is right. We will call to you.

The message alarmed the watchers. Could the prophecy be true? The trees had told them. There could be no doubt now. The land would be one again. The elder race would again be united with the younger and all those they had not seen for so long. This sleeping baby would bring about much change.

A fair race, tall and radiant, they went out to meet the child that held the key to their future.

Da, dum. Da, dum. Faster and faster. Wind whistling past her ears and whipping past her hair in everyway. Lean muscular legs look as though they do not touch the ground. Barely a sound can be heard except for the quiet rustle of leaves blowing in the wind. Through the trees she flies, whilst the trees whisper of new tides. Change in the air. Only the hunt would remain the same. The trees clear, and she is at the edge of her domain. A sheer rock cliff spirals downward toward the raging river below.

Never in her life has she passed beyond into the gloom and foreboding of what the animals tremblingly call the Wood Hallow. A dim, dark fortress for those who do not wish to be known. A place where no bird flies and the trees are said to strangle passer-bys. The further you go, the deadlier and more evil the mist becomes. If the trees do not get you, the bogs will. One wrong step and you are doomed. But what lies within is more fearsome than anything the light has ever seen. Creatures of the dark, both terrifying and gruesome. They were born from the fiery depths of the earth with sunlight as their only weakness. Yet in it all, hope still lies while the light still roams the earth. A seed of love given to the heart of the forest could be the downfall of evil there.

Clouds begin to move into the skies above the quiet, serene forest. Nara packs up her freshly killed doe to return home before the rains come. The rain will not be here for another two hours, her instincts whisper. Humming softly and sweetly as she always did on her walks home, songbirds began to chime in.

Nara had lived in this forest for as long as she could remember. She had never met another like her, but her guardians told her just enough to quench her curiosity. Sometimes a familiar smell or sight passed her, but then it was gone. How familiar were they! But she had no idea where they came from. In the darkness of the night, thoughts and dreams would come and wrap themselves closely about her: A chase, fear, and desperation. The Elders had hid this from her. They spoke only of where they had found her – sleeping peacefully, hidden in a bed of moss between the roots of the ancient oak. Nara often came back to the wise, old tree, searching for a hint of her past. Where did her nightmares come from? Were they relics of a past memory? Her only link was the lovingly woven blanket they had found her in.

The Elders had told her, when she was the age of six, that she as a child of the Sheala, a people far to the east of their land. She had eagerly sought to learn more, but they told her that, the time had not yet come to pass. Knowing they hid something of importance from her, she let the subject drop. There would be another time for her questions.

Sounds of the raging river came to Nara’s ear. She turned towards the river, hoping to freshen up after the hunt. A bath in the shallows would rejuvenate her tense muscles. To her, the shallows provided a gentle churning massage for her weary muscles.

The sun shone all across the river, light dancing merrily on the water’s surface. She perceived an unusual lump being pushed up onto the dry shore. Relieving herself of her burden, she went over for a closer look. It appeared to be a creature wearing woven material – the blanket! The material was a weave similar to that of the blanket she was found in! She proceeded to drag the creature further onto the grass, where she rolled it over to take a closer look. It was a man; by the description the Elders had given her. She was immediately drawn to him.

Maybe even from a neighboring village of her mothers. Probably not, she thought, the river flows east; he had to come from the west.

He was handsome, probably in his late teens to very early twenties. Long black ringlets of hairhaloed a sharp chin and high cheekbones.

What happened to him? The river must have swept him into the Shallows knowing he would be safe there. But before then, she could only guess.

Food was scarce. The herds were moving on. Fields were dying, and no one knew why. Just a year ago they had, had their largest crop production recorded. Why so suddenly? Now the children starved. Something had to be done. No one would accept that they might have to move on to more fertile land. It was not that the land could no longer support them; it just appeared it did not, or could not. A council had been formed to discuss what should be done. A few of the more vocal young men pressured them to desert the town, and maybe move to one of the larger settlements to the north east. But they were afraid. Their ancestors had worked so hard to build the little village, and now they wouldn’t give it up. It had been their home for generations. An old man had stood up just before they made the decision. He had been there for as long as anyone could remember. Mostly keeping to himself, it was rumored he was immortal, or practiced some sort of magic to live so long. His quiet, little wood cabin lay about three miles outside the town near the Tinson Plains. No one ever went out to see him.

“Honored council, there are only two options left to you now. You may either leave this troubled place, or send hunters far out into the wilds in search of game, however unsuccessful that will probably be. We can stay here no longer. If you wish to live, these are your only choices.”

At this, men began to shout and quarrel.

“What does the old man know! Our crops will return next year.”

“He’s right! The old man wants us off the land he thinks is rightfully his!”

“Yes, it’s his doing this all is!”

Few would stand up for him. None of them would speak out. Only two chose to push for the deserting of the town. Their cries were not heard.

“We must remain in the land of our forefathers. It was ordained that we live here, and so we shall, though it may mean our destruction.”

What a fool old Harding was. As leader of the council, his word meant resolution. If you left you did it at your on will, but it meant banishment from ever returning.

Frustration and anger pumped Orlin’s blood hotter and faster than his usual cool headed self.

“Why must they be so thick headed!” he steamed.

“They believe it all for the best. You can’t be too harsh on them. They are afraid of what they don’t understand. It has been this way since the beginning of time with man. It is up to us to insure the survival of our quaint little town. Things will change, as they must. Do not be irrational about this.” Wise words from a wise old man. McCarthy always knew just what to say. It was too bad town folk were scared of him. He would never hurt what wasn’t posing a threat to him. He was one of these people that were so ancient and wise, they grew to become myth, and eventually legend. His life so filled with adventure and mystery, he had become more than a hero, but as close as one could safely get to a god. Jealousy and misunderstanding had forced him to keep away from villagers, though he usually did anyway. A hermit now, he only kept in contact with the McKinson family, who he had mysteriously taken interest in and befriended generations ago. Orlin, the only child had been mentored by this grizzled old man his whole life. They were confidants, loyal companions, and had an almost father-son relationship.

When Orlin was born, McCarthy was there to be the first to look upon him and give him blessings. There was always that sparkle in his eye when he looked upon Orlin. A veil of mystery and unfulfilled purpose wrapped about.

“I must do something.”

“Right you are, my son. Something must be done. But what have you put on yourself to do? The sparkle shone brighter than ever, gaining intensity as the conversation wore on.

“I shall go into the deep wood where I will hunt. There I shall get what I can and bring it back to the village. I will find where the herds have moved to, and I shall bring them back to the plains.

“Daring. But you are just a boy, growing rapidly into manhood. You have yet to reach your eighteenth birthday. Do not be in such haste to end it now. You must be prepared.”

“I am ready. I am the best hunter in the west. The others are just too proud to admit it.”

Yes, that you may be and more. The fire in the old man’s eyes made his spirit look almost youthful again.

“If you feel it is what must be done, and the time is right, you must go. Where have you decided to look first?”

“I saw the herds move through the Charnel, then up into the Tilis mounds. I have decided to pass through the Cross Roads, and follow the Old Way.”

“Augh! You do not yet realize the threat that will await you! If you wander, but a little, from that path, the Black Oaks will swallow you up! You have yet to understand what darkness lies within. Beware the Tilis Mounds, for as calm and nurturing as they look, after night’s shadow blankets the earth, the ghosts will walk through their regime.”

“Those old stories. You can’t seriously believe them! Wandering souls from the ancient Tilian Wars! Be reasonable!”

“I speak no false words! You know me, and know that I have never lied. I would never lie about such things.”

‘The Old Way ran from the great city of Elnor created by the ancients, to beyond where the Black Oaks now lie. When darkness settled upon the earth, the trees were up – rooted and planted themselves on the path, to cut humans of the west from whatever lied in the rest of the land. Old as I am I have only ancient rumors about what’s over there. The far west is the only place explored and traveled to now.”

“That will not stop me.”

No, that it wouldn’t now. “I am not the one to stop you. It is decided now. Tomorrow (before) the rooster crows, you will rise and begin your journey.”

The sun had barely begun to split the mists of night by the time Orlin set out. The morning’s rays had not yet touched the entire sky, and the moon shone out almost defiantly. The creatures began to stir, while the predators of the night crept back into hiding, sleeping off their newly devoured meal.

As Orlin reached the plains, he looked back longingly. Though outwardly he showed much courage and conviction, a voice inside cried out.

“Safe. Remain safe. Return home – to your family….to your friends….safe there…will you remain.”

A hard look took over his face and determination again shone in his eyes. The voice had been pushed aside.

Stepping lightly, he made his way over the browning plains. A soft wind picked up, and seemed to call his name. When at last it became loud enough, he realized it was not the wind that he heard. Smiling to himself, he turned and watched the old man walk up to him.

“Wouldn’t dare leave without a goodbye from me now would ya?”

“Course not. I just wanted a head start on the day. It’s what we had decided on.”

“No thoughts of turning back, huh? Not gonna chicken out? Mind’s set?”

Orlin stood up proudly, filling out his grown body.

“No.”

“Good, good….Be sure to heed my warnings now! Beware of all you come across. There is one more bit of advice I’ll give you. I didn’t tell you before ’cause I didn’t know if I should. But I will anyway. If ever you get into serious trouble, the river will help you. Don’t ever be afraid of drowning unless you’ve done something terrible. All good men are protected by the river. I’ll say no more. Now off with you boy! I expect you to come back as soon as you find what you’re looking for.”

They parted then, with a strong handshake and a smile.

By the time Orlin reached the Crossing, the sun was at its peak. He had planned ahead how he would cross the treacherous Charnel. One end of a rope he tied to a tree stump, the other to an arrow. He aimed low at the bottom of a tree on the opposite bank. It hit its target precisely. He removed the slack from the rope. Stepping lightly, he proceeded to run daintily over the rope, as though it were a bridge. When he arrived on the other side, he worked the arrow from the tree and gave the rope a hard tug. His knot had worked, pulling lose when he pulled. The rope was still wet, for it had fallen into the river, but he put it in his pouch anyway.

He would first head north over the Tilis Mounds by way of the protected road and then east through the Black Oaks.

Life seemed to have left without a trace that there had been any at all. Orlin would have to use his food reserves – there would be no hunting here. He hadn’t really planned on it anyway, only the grass lived on the mounds. The lack of life had given rise to the ghost stories of today. Rumors of the dead soldiers come back from their graves beneath each of the mounds, which were actually burial sites. The Tilian Wars were the greatest ever known. It was said that the death and blood forever ruined the once fertile land turning it to a barren waste. Except for the traditional grasses that grew on the mounds of the dead, the area was devoid of any other life. Not a cricket or katydid. Only in the darkest of night do the whistling winds give movement to the Tilis Mounds, gently whipping the grass into what becomes a rapid dance.

Orlin walked surely toward the ruins of Elnor where the Old Way began. It was a sad sight to behold. The once beautiful city bustling with people from all over the land, now weathered piles of what used to be great watchtowers of the guardians of man.

Men were not the first here, the Others were, but no one knew much about them. The stories had been lost, and thousands of years had gone by without a sign. Their departure was not all unexpected, but it was swift. They liked their peace and quiet, preferring the forests and its creatures to the company of inferior men. When none returned, men claimed the lands as their own. The greed of men turned the calm lands into earth ravaged with war, and they lost the last remaining works of the Ancients. That is what they were now called in the stories of the Glory Days, the height of their civilization, for their true identity had been lost in the folds of time. Yet now their name and accomplishments were just shadows behind the stories of man. Only one still remembered what it was like. Though now, to let out the truth with the rumors of forbidden magic that followed him, he would be a fool. So he knew his secrets would die with him. Thus, he lived on a little plain where he could watch their last magnificent city turn to little more than rubble to be blown away by the wind.

As Orlin passed through, he could only imagine what it must have been like to live in the days of old. He could almost smell the timeless fresh morning air that so rejuvenated the soul.

A huge stone pathway lead out of the ruins. As Orlin took his first step, he looked back over what rubble used to be called Elnor. He thought many things in that instant, but realized there was no time to linger. Stepping lightly, he walked toward the Black Oaks.

As the sun began to descend, Orlin spotted a flat patch of grass not far off the road. There, he built up a small fire and laid down on a blanket to sleep.

The frogs stopped their stirrings and the world seemed to freeze. A soft churning, and life was breathed back into those who live beneath the once blood drenched soils. The smell of fresh young meat had awoken them from their restless sleep. Now it was feeding time. The Tilian Mounds were thirsty for blood.

The rotting corpses, timeless in their own way, moved with graceful stealth towards the sleeping man, swords raised high. The smell that radiated from them was more than enough for one to lose the contents of their stomach. Orlin’s nostrils flared as they took in the full stench of the living dead. Eyes flashing open, Orlin grabbed at the sheathed knife tied to his belt. His long sword was laid by the opposite side of the now burnt-out fire. He felt them surround him like a pack of wolves silently coming to prey. As the leader advanced, Orlin swept up his knife and cut the corpse at the elbow. The scream of pain that came from the throat was otherworldly. High pitched, like that of a hawk, but containing great evil. The others rushed at him. He lurched forward slicing a corpse in half at the waist, another at the wrist, then a roll away from a leader, cutting another just below the knee. Orlin rushed for his long sword, but fell short dropping his knife when a warrior felled a blow on his right side. They once again surrounded him, as he was defenseless and devoid of any surprise. A screech in the dark of the night called out – hungry, alone, and searching…for something. Again it was heard, but this time much closer. The corpses backed away, looking cautiously around them. At the third call, they ran screeching back to the void from whence they came. Knowing the call must bring a terror greater than that of the Tilian warriors, Orlin wasted no time grabbing up his things to leave. Yet his flight would not be fast enough. The creature of darkness was borne on the wings of the wind. Deadly talons, a long tail with four venomous spikes on the end, and a razor sharp beak for ripping at its prey with wings of rough impenetrable hide and a claw on the end of each. It was as large as one fully-grown mammoth with a fighting force equal to that of two - dozen komodo dragons on wings. Frantically running to the Old Way for safety he did not realize it would only protect him against creatures of the land. It could never protect him from that which flew. Coming straight at Orlin, the creature cried out and lurched at him. Orlin swiveled out of the way, but received an injury to the upper left arm. The creature proceeded to come around for another dive. The mere human was no match for him. Orlin turned and stood rooted to the spot. He could not outrun it, so he must take a stand. He pulled off his bow and retrieved arrow from his quiver. With true aim, he fired at the eye of the winged beast. The creature saw this, and caught it in its beak snapping it in two. Orlin fired round after round, without avail. The creature still came on. His arrows would just bounce off the tough leather plating, or entirely miss with one small swerve to the side. This battle was being lost very quickly, and Orlin knew it. Placing his bow over his shoulder, he drew his sword. The creature came for him again. Talons reaching, it caught Orlin before he could bring his sword upon it and lifted him into the air. They dug deep into his back and shoulders causing him great pain. When he got his bearings he thrust his sword deep into the creature’s leg. It cried out in pain and its anger swelled. This creature may be more than the demon bargained for. But that would end soon enough. The beast grabbed for Orlin with its wounded leg as Orlin tried to wound the other. To no avail, Orlin was unsuccessful and wounded with deep cuts all over his chest and back from the wounded leg still trying to get a hold of him. Orlin reached up with sword in hand to puncture the chest of the great beast. He broke through the leather armor and up into the chest cavity. The beast began writhing in pain and dropped Orlin to the ground. Orlin rolled and slowly got up. His strength had all but left him. His bloody wounds needed attention but it had to wait. The creature was enraged and speeding towards him. He saw the river not to far away and the words of his mentor filled his head. If ever you get into serious trouble, the river will help you. Don’t ever be afraid of drowning. All good men are protected by the river. Orlin looked back at the furiously advancing beast just before he took his fateful plunge into the Charnel River.