Zebel was an ambitious youth. He wanted to explore and travel the world. He did so at the age of sixteen, exploring the lands between and which that stretches far beyond the land of Carrdorr. His ambitiousness grew as he understood the truth, and he grew wicked, attempting to take over the world. The stories of his wickedness came back to his own land, and thence they sent out Jaffyar to depose of him. Jaffyar challenged Zebel, where should Zebel were to lose, he was to retreat into reclusion in the mountains of Keffnyfar. After a long battle of wits, courage and spirit, Jeffyar managed to defeat the wicked Zebel. And there was once again peace in the village of Carrdorr.

The story of Jaffyar and the wicked Zebel

Chapter 1

Wisps of clouds streaked across the pale blue sky. The sun burned high in a molten ball of copper, casting its rays over the green hills. Cottages made of wood and pine littered the hills. Just over the hills, a river sparkled as it ran its course. Further down, a forest stretched into the horizon. The air was fresh and clean, with the occasional whiff of the gryan, the staple bread of the village.

According to the elders, the village has existed for thousands of years. Scrolls and anecdotes tell of its existence, putting into words traditions and its way of life. And before scrolls and writings had been invented, carvings have been made in the caves that border the forests. So it is with the village's rich history, and their very special way of life, that knits the people of the village closely to one another.

At this time of the day, the villagers usually milled about in a flurry of activities, the women preparing the afternoon meal, while the men gathering wood and seeing to the crops. However, on this day, there was no one about. The hills were unusually silent. Even the lake to the south of the village, where the children usually gathered to play or to listen to Dryth, the village's storyteller, relate the epic adventures of the ancestors, was empty and quiet.

And all because I had deemed it so.

At present, I laid in a pile of colorful cushions, chewing the local sweet fruit, Myffar. I was styled in the normal garb that the villagers wore, except mine was probably stitched out of silk of the highest quality. The robes hung to my ankles, cut in a low circular shape about my neck. It was sleeveless to accommodate the usually hot weather and it shone in a hue of golden shimmers. A necklace made of black leather graced my throat, where a hawk made of bronze and onyx hung at the end.

The village head stood before me, speaking in a loud cantankerous voice. He was an old man with white hair tied in a bun and a goatee that stretched to mid-chest. His jowls were flabby, and his lips were thin with a large nose to boot. His dark brown skin was as wrinkled as the fruit I was eating. He wore a sleeveless loose purple silk blouse, grey pants tied at the waist by a sash and leather sandals.

"Tyzlan, you can't do this," he said.

I plopped another of the juicy fruit into my mouth and said, "Of course I can."

"If no one works at the fields, there will not be any wheat for the villagers," he implored.

"Don't be silly, Drusch. There is more than enough wheat in the storage bin."

"The storage bins! But those are meant for the rainy seasons!"

I jumped to my feet, tired of the old man's babbling, "There isn't a single rainy season in Carrdorr, Drusch. Maybe a drizzle or two, but I wouldn't go so far as to say a rainy season." I walked to the window and pulled back the curtains to prove my point, "See, it's all bright and sunny up there." I loosed my grip on the curtains and plopped back down onto the soft cushions, "There hasn't been a rainy season for my entire life of eighteen years. In fact, it hasn't rained for almost a century."

"Yes, but."

"No buts," I interrupted.

He shook his head resignedly, "Well, then I guess we'll just use the wheat from the storage bins."

I flashed him a smile, "That's better."

A knock sounded at the door. "Come in," I bid.

Lyzzar entered the room. He was a handsome man of sturdy built, with well- defined features. His skin was tanned gold, while his hair was a dark brown with golden highlights that matched the color of his skin. He wore loose robes of white silk, his bare arms adorned with a bronze band on each side and the classic leather sandals that all the villagers wore.

I sat up, "So, my friend, you found it?"

He shook his head, "No."

I frowned at him, "No? Why, Lyzzar, I expected more from you."

He paced the room with his long strides, and then finally said, "Tyzlan, this is getting to be a little . extreme."

I winced. Lyzzar using my name usually meant that I was in for another of his long reprimands or speeches.

He continued, "It has happened centuries ago. The thing might be six feet underground. Buried with its owner. We can't possibly dig up every square inch of Carrdorr. It might take forever to find it and the villagers have to get on with their lives."

The village master coughed, interrupting Lyzzar from his tirade.

"Oh why, Sire, I haven't noticed you,"

The old man muttered under his breath, "Convince him, Lyzzar. You're probably the only one who can now," and with those last words, he left.

When the door closed, Lyzzar's handsome face set back to its grim determination as before and he continued, "The children have to go to school."

"School! I think the children will be happier without it," I said satirically.

Lyzzar didn't take note of my comment but plodded on, "The wheat has to be harvested and so must."

I stopped him with a raise of my hand, "The wheat will be harvested at a later date. I have already told Drusch to make do with the wheat in the storage bins first."

"You mustn't Tyzlan, that is meant for the rainy seasons."

I rubbed at my chin, "I don't know why I allow you to speak to me as such, Lyyzar. I swear."

"Of course," he said quickly, "I only wish to advise my Sire so he can choose the best course of action."

"And the best course of action would be to listen to your advice?"

He flushed and mumbled, "Of course not."

"So we continue the search." I jumped up and sat myself on the well- polished oak table placed in a corner of the room. The room was extravagantly decorated in rich mahogany. Rich tapestry hung on the walls, and a well-woven carpet with embossed red and gold graced the center of the room. The floor leveled up towards the end of the hallway where cushions of assorted colors lay. It was the place where I sat when the villagers came to me with their problems of sorts. A door to the right of the room led into an inner hall and the bedroom.

Lyzzar sat across from me at the table and began to prepare tea. As he poured me a cup from the flask, he said, "Even if we were to continue the search, the villagers can resume their normal activities. We can make the men take turns to search for the thing."

I sipped the tea, "It's not a thing, Lyzzar. It's a cup that was supposedly used to defeat Zebel. If we find it, it would prove the truth of the lore, if not, then we know it's a bluff."

Lyzzar groaned exasperatedly, "The story was written in one of the scrolls left behind by the elders. Of course it is true."

"Yes, but if we find the cup, it will prove it."

He smoothed his hand through his hair and said in a clipped voice, "It's been three days since the villagers have been made to stay home. They are all protesting."

I arched a brow, "But they'll listen to what I say, won't they?"

"Of course they will. We all will," he grumbled.

I nodded my head sympathetically.

Lyzzar crooked his brows at me, "Why are you so determined to find this cup?" Then as though he realized what I was about, he slammed his hand on the table, "Tyzlan, you can't mean to prove all your ramblings that you have been going on about these few years. I mean, the whole idea is preposterous, unthinkable."

"Of course it isn't. I'm doing that very exact thing now."

The incident had occurred a week ago, when I had settled myself by the lake where Dryth was retelling the tale of Zebel and Jaffyar. Of course I had heard of the story numerous times over already and the story didn't really interest me. But the young children were mesmerized by the tale, asking their questions. It was only then that the idea hit me. So I declared that the whole village was to search for the cup that Jaffyar had used to defeat Zebel. However, by the third day when the cup was still not found, I made another announcement --for the whole village to stop their daily chores in order to search for the artifact in their own houses and courtyards. And even then, up until now, not a whit has been found.

"Tyzlan, the village looks upon your wisdom to carry on. You cannot stop the schools and the village from operating on a whim."

I said irritably, "It's not a whim."

His dark brown eyes found my stormy grey ones. We stared at each other in silence. I looked away first. Lyzzar's stares never made me comfortable. "Fine, stop the search."

He smiled, revealing perfect straight teeth, "So I spread the news now?"

I mumbled, "Do whatever you wish. You always do anyway."

He looked worried for a moment, "If you wish, we could continue with the search," then he added quickly, "taking turns of course."

I stood up from the table, leaving Lyzzar's question unanswered. Then as I exited the room to enter the inner hall I said, "Forget it."

I laid on the bed with my arms behind my head, and stared at the ceiling. Only two candles in the room was lit, so there was actually nothing much to be seen. But I didn't need to see, just think.

The cup was really useless to me, and there was no reason to find it except to prove that the lore was really just a story. It seemed like a silly idea to get the whole village involved in the search of a cup just to prove that a lore is false. But if I could prove the lore was false, then I could prove the following prophecy that came after the story was also false. And by Felgar's porridge, I wanted to prove the prophecy false.

A knock sounded at the closed door, as I had expected. Lyzzar's voice came from beyond, "Sire?"

I didn't answer. Two of the village women have already came earlier to fetch me for dinner. But I sent them away. I didn't want to go out. Not yet. I could hear the villagers outside preparing the evening meal, the children laughing and playing in the fields once more. Well they must be happy to be outside again, I thought grumpily.

"Sire?" Lyzzar's persistent voice broke through my thoughts.

"Go away Lyzzar."

The door opened. The man never ever listens to me. I swung my legs over the bed, the bright lights from outside making me squint. "I said to go away."

Lyzzar stood by the door firmly, "Sire, I think it is best you make an appearance outside. The villagers are jumpy. I think they are worried that they have offended you."

I said in a sardonic drone, "Well tell them they haven't offended me then. Tell them it's you who has."

He choked at the doorway. "You want me to tell them that?" he asked, incredulous.

"I was joking. Just tell them something, anything. How am I supposed to know what to tell them? You're supposed to be the one who's good at these things," I mumbled under my breath, "probably the only reason I put up with you."

"What?"

"Nothing," then I lay back down, hoping the gesture would make him go away. It didn't. The stubborn man stood there waiting with the door opened. After a minute, I got back up.

"What now?"

"Sire, as I've said, I think it will be best if you are present at dinner. Besides, today is the eve of the month where the villagers with problems seek your advice. They would be disappointed if you didn't turn up."

"Let Drusch handle that. He's the village head, not me," I said brusquely.

"Yes, but I'm sure the villagers would be happier if the One attended to them instead."

"I'm not their slave."

He walked further into the room, probably with all intentions to drag me out of bed, "Of course you are not. But the villagers."

"If you truly believe I am the One the prophecy speaks of, Lyzzar, then why aren't you listening to me like the rest of the village?"

"Of course I do."

"Yes, probably only when any of the villagers are in hearing distance."

He wisely didn't contradict me, but he wasn't very wise when he started reaching for my cloak from the chair and holding it out to me. I stared at it and then at him menacingly. He didn't even blink. Finally, I whipped it out of his hand and put it on, and then marched out of the room.