LAND OF THE AWOKEN
BY
BEN FIELDER
Mirador Publishing
First Published by Mirador Publishing at Smashwords
Copyright 2011 by Ben Fielder
Smashwords Edition, License Notes
This ebook is licensed for your personal enjoyment only. This ebook may not be re-sold or given away to other people. If you would like to share this book with another person, please purchase an additional copy for each recipient. If you’re reading this book and did not purchase it, or it was not purchased for your use only, then please return to Smashwords.com and purchase your own copy. Thank you for respecting the hard work of this author.
All right reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced or transmitted, in any form or by any means, without permission of the publishers or author. Excepting brief quotes used in reviews.
First edition: 2011
Any reference to real names and places are purely fictional and are constructs of the author. Any offence the references produce is unintentional and in no way reflect the reality of any locations involved.
A copy of this work is available though the British Library.
IBSN : 978-1-908200-63-1
AUTHOR’S ACKNOWLEDGEMENTS
I would like to thank my wife Ana Paula, firstly for taking me to Brazil, where whilst lounging in a wonderfully comfortable hammock, Land of the Awoken first sparked life. And secondly for putting up with all my crazy talk of dragons, wizards and magical quests.
I must also say a big thank you to my mum. Without her knowledgeable support I truly never would have gotten this far. And a special thank you for pointing out a main character I had apparently forgotten to include in the final third of the story! Great proofreading.
Thanks to the lady who made the announcement for Shiprat to report to customer services in my local supermarket.
To my publisher, Sarah Luddington and her team at Mirador who has been an invaluable aid and produced such a fantastic cover.
Lastly, thanks to Chloe and Daniel for not banging on the door too loudly whilst I was writing. You’re my inspiration.
Prologue
Outside Castle Varr, the meeting place for the great wizards of old, a wild wind whistles around the grounds pelting rain against the walls stripping it of the moss and vegetation that has been inching its way through the masonry cracks year after year.
Within the mighty walls of stone rests the magnificent ‘Chamber of Time’, a place for contemplation and debate, now empty and quiet. Its overwhelming size dwarfs any who enter. At the centre sits a very large, round, oak table, sturdy and strong enough to support the weight of a bull elephant. The chamber’s walls are curtained with beautiful vines that clamber up the stone striving to reach the glass-topped roof, which floods the room with rays of golden sun during daylight hours and is illuminated with shards of silver moonbeams at night. Huggable stone pillars stand proud having withstood the test of time and circle the centre table, which rises up to support a roof dripping with heavy gold and ruby jewels that glisten in the light entering through large arched windows. These look out over the land like a sentinel’s watchtower.
Panoramic views stretch far and wide. Rich green plains, lush forests and a diverse range of life bring freshness to the air and an aroma unrivalled by any other. In the corner of the chamber is a shallow but crystal clear pool sparkling with bright dancing beads of light from the heavenly glass roof above. The water plays with the intensity of the dazzling reflected sunbeams sending them flashing and effervescing around the walls releasing all the colours of the rainbow. The pool is the heart of the chamber offering healing and good health to all who drink from it.
Opposite a large balcony is the chamber’s only, albeit, very impressive entrance. A magnificent huge pair of heavy, ornate wooden doors, which sit on the far wall engraved with intricately carved patterns encircling a palm and star centrepiece.
Dull footsteps from behind the mighty doors thud louder on the hard stone floor as they approach. The weighty doors reluctantly swing inwards creaking and complaining, as they move slowly on their hinges, but seeming to magically open as if of their own accord.
Dalmar, one of the four sons of Tolkaro, enters the chamber. His commanding presence dominates the room. His deep-set eyes focus with cold intent and lead him to the oak table. He brings with him a shadow that looks darker than it should. His three brothers, Simin, Antaeus and Gefen, follow closely.
Dalmar strides into position on the far side of the table and turns to face his brothers. His thick well-groomed black hair seamlessly joins an equally dark beard that is short and neat. He is dressed like a warlock with heavy bone lined armour covering his legs, upper torso, and shoulders, although he carries no visible weapon. The shoulder armour runs down his arm meeting a metal glove that has dark blue lapis lazuli stones embedded on every knuckle. His boots are also lined with bone but contain the addition of a canine tooth between each toe. Dalmar raises his head to address the others and gestures them to sit.
“My brothers, I thank you for gathering once again. Our father would be pleased to see us together in this sacred place. Wouldn’t you agree?” He speaks concisely at a measured pace giving importance to every word, his voice gravely firm.
The eldest of the four brothers Simin, now fifty-four, intuitively senses his brother Dalmar’s mood. Simin’s short white hair and matching neat beard lend an impression of precision. He wears metallic silver undergarments complete with cape. A platinum ring adorns each finger complementing his clothes.
Simin is the last to pull up a chair. He sits comfortably, but proceeds to tap the armrest impatiently. His narrowing eyes reveal his discontent as he proclaims, “Our father created this place for the purposes of meditation and harmony; a place for us to meet, discuss and ensure a bright future for our world.” Simin speaks with a sense of exasperation as though he has repeated these words on more than one occasion.
“And that is precisely why I asked you here!” Dalmar replies.
Antaeus, forty-two, well built and stocky with thick curly brown hair and a bushy moustache purses his lips. He’s wearing an earth coloured robe and on one of his hairy arms sits a brass bracelet with a polished brown agate stone in the centre. “You asked us here again to talk of genocide?” he demands angrily.
Gefen, twenty-nine, the youngest of the brothers rises. He carries a woven wooden staff; his olive green hessian garment is wrapped around his waist and over his shoulders by root vines. His face is fresh and rounded with youthful looks; he sports a short black ponytail and the beginnings of a goatee. “Four cannot decide the futures of the many, brother. We know they have caused you pain and we...”
“You know nothing!” Dalmar retorts, raising his voice, which echoes around the four walls. “You would sit and await your own destruction! I will not allow them to blindly end their world and ours with it! We are not perfect! But we do not threaten their existence as they do ours.”
“Your judgement is clouded!” Simin rejoins, rising, “I’ve said it before, and I’ll say it again! I will not allow such an act to take place! And we will not discuss this further!”
Sharply and in anger Dalmar turns his back on his brothers and draws himself up to his full height. His fingers flex as his wrath devours him. His shadow grows more menacing, looking greasy and venomous.
“You waste our time bringing us here to listen to this madness,” adds Antaeus.
Simin turns to leave. Antaeus and Gefen follow suit.
“I feared that would be your response,” utters Dalmar, his threatening voice now as cold as ice. His blue eyes become eclipsed by darkness, a deep black flooding them like running ink. His clothes transform from a tranquil blue to a stormy purple. The blue lapis stones in his metal glove lose their gold flecks and turn pitch black seemingly swallowing the light around them. His skin becomes bereft of colour leaving it a lifeless grey. His thick veins pulse pumping his polluted blood like gushing oil.
Antaeus and Simin stop walking as Dalmar’s shadow spreads further filling the room. They step back cautiously whilst a surprised Gefen appears glued to the spot, “What’s this, brother?” Gefen’s disbelief is apparent for all to see.
“I’m afraid this is goodbye... brother,” Dalmar replies turning to face them, his voice and face now devoid of emotion. He glares at them coldly. The chamber walls start to rumble and growl as the dark energy in the room envelops them.
The brothers look anxiously around them, but are careful not to take their focus away from their demented brother.
“Don’t do this,” calls Antaeus.
“I am doing this!” Dalmar quietly chants “Gar rac, gar rac, combustarum.”
Dalmar holds out his hands, which ignite with a blue flame that roars away under his control. He clasps his hands together and the flame intensifies swirling between his fingers aggressively. He flicks his grey fingers outward launching three separate streams of ferocious blue fire from his black nails directly at his brothers.
Simin stands strong, thrusting his hands out flat in front of him. “Oopala,” he yells, generating a silvery energy field, which stems from his palms that surrounds and shields him from the hot glowing body of burning energy that blazes around him.
Antaeus crouches down and suddenly slaps the ground. He rises quickly, lifting up his arms. A barrier of rock erupts from the floor protecting him and blocks Dalmar’s intense fire that flies like a missile but impacts harmlessly on the stone wall.
Gefen raises his staff to try and avert the furnace but he’s standing too close. Unable to defend himself in time, Dalmar’s burst of fire knocks him off his feet and sends him crashing into one of the huge pillars behind him. Gefen bounces off the column and slumps to the ground.
With Gefen down and Antaeus out of sight Dalmar concentrates his blue inferno on Simin. The burning jet thickens as more power surges through Dalmar’s body and blasts through his fingertips. Simin tries to maintain his protective field. He strains against the force of the attack with his arms outstretched; his feet slide backwards as he struggles to remain standing but his feet lose their grip and Simin is pushed back by the sheer strength of the flame. Dalmar’s eyes widen with devilish delight at seeing his brother struggling to resist his power.
Antaeus looks out from behind his protective stone wall desperately wanting to help. Simin drops to his knees almost ready to submit under the power of the napalm like spray engulfing him.
Antaeus places the palm of his hand flat on the floor and closes his eyes summoning the forces of the earth, “Impla! Vascarlow!”
The ground beneath Antaeus’ hands starts to tremble. The tremor grows in strength shaking the entire chamber. A crack opens under his hand and spreads, splitting the ground, heading in Dalmar’s direction, who upon seeing the earth-opening ready to swallow him withdraws one hand from the stream engulfing Simin and raises it above his head whilst chanting dark incantations under his breath. The fissure reaches Dalmar ripping open the rock floor, but he doesn’t fall. He levitates and floats up into the air.
Gefen picks himself up. His chest is badly singed from the searing prolonged spurt of fire energy, but with staff in hand he rushes to stand beside Antaeus. Gefen extends his staff toward the gaping hole under Dalmar and cries, “Drawlem agora!”
Thick, writhing roots emerge from the crevice. Their twisting, grasping shoots reach for Dalmar. They coil around his legs like tentacles dragging him downward and into the earth.
Dalmar releases Simin from the blue spouting heat as he tries to combat the vines. Simin crumples exhausted to the floor. He gasps for air in an attempt to regain his strength.
Dalmar grabs the roots; his hands are afire with this ungodly cobalt flame. The roots begin to char and burn causing them to snap.
Gefen continues his chants, sending more coils of greenery to stretch up and grip Dalmar who fights furiously as he is relentlessly drawn down toward the ruptured earth. For every root Dalmar destroys another takes its place. He tries to scorch as many as he can with his underworld weapon of hellfire.
Simin joins Antaeus and Gefen. He breathes deeply closing his eyes and concentrates intently. His silvery force field appears around Dalmar’s hands suppressing the blue flame, thus preventing him from igniting the roots, which freely wrap themselves around him.
Moments later Dalmar stops struggling. His eyes turn a deep blood red as he gazes at the wall on the far side of the chamber. The wall begins to shake. Dust tumbles then, the stone itself starts to crumble and fall into a heap of rubble revealing a large, craggy opening. The brothers stare at the gaping portal unsure of what Dalmar is attempting. The low growling they heard before resumes, but this time crescendos. The walls echo with the sound of heavy footsteps.
Vibrating grunts and scratching thunder bounce around the room as if a large creature is rubbing itself along the outside of the chamber. The unearthly noises approach the newly made aperture. A large snort of air at the edge of the opening propels rock fragments into the room. Dalmar breaks out into maniacal laughter. The distraction has allowed him to free himself from the roots that trapped him. He emerges from the crevice and strides to one of the sturdy wooden chairs at the oak table and sits as if he were at the theatre about to watch a play.
“This has been fun! But I’m afraid now.... the fun stops... for you!” He looks to the newly formed gateway and commands, “Edredon.”
The silhouette of an enormous dragon fills the gap. Two malevolent yellow eyes pierce the darkness and glare at the brothers. Edredon’s terrifyingly huge body enters the chamber; his thick, scaled skin glistens a deep purple and green. His glowering yellow eyes hover above enormous crushing jaws and teeth that even the largest shark would envy. His claws tap the ground like pickaxes on rock as his feet slam down. His vast body carries wings, which if outstretched would fill the chamber wall to wall.
The brothers back away from the beast and edge closer to the stout wooden doors behind them. The dragon further enters the room stalking the brothers as prey. He grins at them displaying his lethal white incisors before inhaling a shuddering breath, which when released with a spark ignites the air sending an inferno of fire at the men.
Simin raises his arms. His hands once again emit a silver glow and create a protective sheath around him and his siblings, shielding them from the incinerating blaze. The brothers inch backward toward the doors to attempt escape.
Edredon moves closer still and relinquishes another burst of fire. Simin’s hands again glow silver protecting them all from Edredon’s fury. Gefen turns and races toward the doors, his staff outstretched in front of him. The doors begin to creak open. He turns to call his brothers. Antaeus is still standing behind the safety of Simin’s silvery force field.
“Quickly!” shouts Gefen.
Antaeus glances around. His mouth gapes as he sees Edredon’s dragon brother, Kain forcing his way through the doors, which splinter open crashing against the wall. Kain looks straight at the first person he sees, which is Gefen, who as he spins around is greeted by Kain’s vice-like jaws that clamp on his head down to the waist killing him instantly. Kain shakes his muzzle like a rabid dog and tosses Gefen’s lifeless body as if it were a broken twig across the room.
“No!” cries Antaeus in anguish at seeing his little brother slain.
Dalmar looks on in delight as Kain then moves in to challenge Antaeus whose face suffuses with rage as his eyes well up with tears.
Antaeus runs to a nearby pillar. He places his hands on it. It vibrates violently. The stone roof it supports begins to crumble. Large chunks of rock crash down forcing Kain back toward the doors from whence he came. The pillar collapses like a felled tree filling the air with dust and debris. Antaeus looks back to Simin but the roof is now so unstable that it causes another massive piece of masonry to give way overhead.
Antaeus sees it beginning to tumble. He leaps backwards but is not quick enough. The slab lands on his calves snapping his bones like twigs. “Arrrrrrr!” Antaeus screams in pain as his body begins to convulse.
Simin still occupied in defending himself from fiery attacks, and seeing his fallen brothers emits a wave of shining metallic energy that momentarily stuns Edredon leaving the dragon dazed and disorientated. Simin’s face is eclipsed with white cold anger. As Edredon regains focus Simin hits him with another pulse, then another, and another, causing the gargantuan dragon to stagger back roaring in his discomfort with every explosive current that strikes him.
Simin draws his hands into his vortex summoning all his powers for one almighty blast. He swivels his eyes blatantly concentrating on Edredon, who is now on his back trying to steady himself and stand. With his eyes focused on Edredon, Simin suddenly spins and releases the mammoth pulse at Dalmar, who is sitting watching arrogantly. The burst of energy smashes into Dalmar with such force that the chair splinters sending Dalmar sprawling to the floor.
Simin slowly but purposefully strides to Dalmar, who’s trying to find his feet. “They were worth a million of you!” Simin says raising his hand, which glows white hot with energy. He stands ready to obliterate his brother’s body with one final pulse. “There will be no after life for you!”
But, as Simin is about to unleash his final devastating blow Dalmar snaps back into control. He glowers at Simin with demonic eyes that glow red as if this dazzling hue was merely a ruse to draw his brother closer.
“Wouldn’t want one!” Dalmar spits with venom whilst reaching out and grabbing Simin’s arm, “Ich barrr,” he rasps.
Simin’s soul and energy is rapidly sapped from his body. Dalmar sucks out his brother’s life force like a leech, thus reenergising himself by feeding on his sibling, “Tired, brother?”
Simin is now drained and weak. Dalmar lets go of his arm and retreats as a large shadow engulfs Simin, who slowly turns to look and his legs are now no longer able to sustain him. His last sight is the open mouth and throat of the angry Edredon who stoops down and devours him whole, raising his head and extending his neck to help Simin’s body slide down his throat to his gullet.
A cough and splutter is heard behind the reptilian, scaly monster. Edredon turns to see Antaeus still trapped by the enormous slab. He is wheezing and slowly choking on his own blood. Edredon bellows in triumph and strives to finish him off but Dalmar stops him, “Wait!”
Dalmar crosses to his brother and leans over him but says nothing. Dalmar simply glares penetratingly watching his brother’s life slowly fade away like water trickling down a drain.
Antaeus spews up yet more blood. He struggles to speak, “... I ... knew... it would be you.” He strives to breathe, “Our... father...”
Dalmar cuts in, “Our father spoke nothing but riddles and rubbish!” He crouches and bends closer and whispering, “This world is mine now.”
Antaeus splutters violently. Dalmar places his hand on Antaeus’ forehead, and gently caresses him before clasping his cranium tightly, squeezing and pressing savagely till the tips of his fingers show white. Antaeus squirms; the colour evaporates from his skin becoming a lifeless grey as all movement ceases. His empty eyes stare from a face where the spark of humanity has been extinguished.
Dalmar removes his hand, rises and moves away. He is now the only living member of his bloodline. He examines the scene of devastation with a smirk of satisfaction.
A beautiful young woman with chestnut brown eyes and lustrous long ebony hair stands at the doorway for a moment. Their eyes meet fleetingly before she turns and walks away. Dalmar watches her leave and then looks back over his brothers’ broken bodies savouring the moment. He breathes in the bloody air relishing his victory and is ready to begin his war with the world.
Chapter One
First Sight
Callum, an open faced boy of twelve years, with light brown hair and athletic frame, is exchanging rugby ball passes in the school playground with his friends Luke and Joe who are also twelve. Joe passes over-arm to Callum, who catches it comfortably and flips the ball on to Luke.
“We’re going to the cinema this weekend, Cal,” says Luke nodding at Joe, “Wanna come?”
“What’re you watching?” Callum asks knowing Luke always tries to get in to fifteen certificate films. He normally manages it, but Callum hates the nervous feeling he gets in his stomach when they dare to try it.
“That new science fiction movie, Full Circle.” The boys continue to toss the ball between them. “The trailer looks amazing! People all over the world start remembering their past lives.”
“Whoa, whoa, whoa! I’m not gonna go if you’ve told me the story!” Callum stops Luke quickly; “You’ve ruined enough movies already.”
“Relax! It’s only what’s in the trailer.”
“That’s why I try to avoid the trailers, because they tell you the whole bloody movie! Anyway, it sounds a bit silly to me.”
“Don’t talk crap! It’s got a wicked cast and the special effects look great!”
Luke chucks the ball to Joe but Lidbury, a rough lad two years older, intercepts it. Lidbury is one of those guys who believes that everyone younger needs to be put in his or her place. What place is that? Only he knows.
“Oh, Oh, Oh!” he calls in pleasure, “You see that girls? Just think, if you were born with talent like me, you could have been this good!”
The boys exchange a knowing look, rolling their eyes.
“Yeah, that was really great, Lidbury!” Joe says sarcastically, “You should carry a little rosette and certificate. This is to certify that Lidbury can catch.”
Lidbury grows irritated. His type is prone to lashing out.
“Yeah, and we could organize a little presentation ceremony!” adds Luke, “We can call your mummy and daddy...” He lays heavy emphasis on the words mummy and daddy. Luke and Joe begin to laugh. Callum isn’t quite so bold but manages a smile.
Red-faced Lidbury marches up to his combatants, Luke and Joe, “You won’t be making jokes when I’m smacking your heads against the wall in front of all your little girly friends!”
“Just give us the ball back, Lidbury,” says Callum, trying to deflect Lidbury’s aggression.
“You want it back?” he asks. “Catch it!” Lidbury takes a step back and hurls the ball hard! It flies over Callum’s head, clearing the hedge at the end of the playground that separates the schoolyard from the gardens. Lidbury laughs, “Ha, ha, have fun finding your ball, girls!” He walks off chuckling to himself.
“What a prick!” Joe mutters quietly so as not to be heard. Callum has already set off toward the gardens to retrieve the ball.
“Hey, Cal, leave it. We can get it later,” Luke promises, too lazy to go with him, now.
“No, my dad gave it to me. I won’t be a minute.” Callum only hopes it wasn’t punctured. He takes good care of his things, especially presents from his father. He sees his father working hard every day for his money and appreciates the gifts he gives.
Callum walks right to the far end of the playground and peers through a gap in the hedge normally used by kids who want to have a sneaky smoke, or for anything else they want to do away from the watchful eyes of the teachers. In fact, boys often sneak girls through ‘the love hedge’, as the students affectionately call it.
On the other side of the bushes the garden’s not as pretty as it should be. The school had begun landscaping this area a long time ago but for some reason, work stopped, and the whole place had turned into a wild, rambling mess.
Callum scrambles through the bushes dislodging a pile of earth. Loose rocks litter the ground with weeds and wild shrubs running riot. Callum hunts for his ball, rummaging through the grass beating at it with his hands, before finally spotting it lodged in a tree, not too high up, but high enough to make him sigh wearily. He ambles over to the tree and reaches up with his fingers but can’t quite touch it. Shaking his head in frustration, he searches for something to stand on. Guys like Lidbury, he thinks, really rile him; deliberately throwing their weight around, trying to make themselves look tough.
Callum always feels a desire to protect his friends from bullies like Lidbury, but his slight build doesn’t always allow it. He wishes he could just click his fingers and make things happen but he can’t. Just like he wishes he could magic the ball out of the tree but knows instead that he’ll have to struggle. He puts one foot on a large knot at the bottom of the trunk and pushes off it to try and grab the ball. But it’s just tantalisingly out of reach and he only brushes it with his fingers. He adjusts his position on the knot to get a better push off and tries again. This time he’s able to beat the ball free with his hand. But the extra push has shifted his supporting foot, which slips off the knot. He falls backwards, cracking his head on one of the large rocks on the ground behind him. An initial piercing pain shoots round his head before a fierce burning sensation takes over. The trees begin to blur as he feels the veins in his head throb and he slowly drifts into unconsciousness.
Callum’s eyes open stubbornly as they strive to deal with a bright light blazing above him. Sitting up with a groan he realises he’s in the School Matron’s Office. His brain feels like it’s knocking against his skull in time to a drumbeat. He struggles to stand, walks to the mirror above the sink next to the window, and angles himself to get a good view of the back of his head, peeling back his hair to examine his large bump. He winces as he presses it a little too hard. As he jumps back in pain his attention is drawn to the window. On the horizon, beyond the city boundaries hovers a dominating, stormy mass of purple clouds, writhing and churning over the land. The skyline flashes with bolts of lightning floodlighting the sky. Lost in this spectacular view Callum leaps in fright when Matron enters the room.
“You scared me!” exclaims Callum, holding his head.
“And you gave us quite a scare. Your friends came running in here very worried about you.” Matron chuckles, “It’s good to have friends like that.”
Callum grins, ”Yeah. I know.”
Callum had always liked Matron. The other kids often joked about her size, but she had a beautiful smile and always made you feel special.
Matron hands him a glass of water and some paracetamol, “Here, take two. Then you won’t feel like your brain’s shaking loose in there.”
“Thanks. Am I okay?” asks Callum hopefully.
“Well, I think you’ll live. I’ve called your father and he’s on his way to pick you up. There’s no serious damage. Just relax for the rest of the day and see how you are tomorrow. But if you feel nauseous or dizzy tell your parents and they can take you to get checked out at the hospital.”
“Cool,” Callum returns his gaze to the window. “ I hope we get home before that bad weather hits!”
Matron raises an eyebrow as she peers through the glass, “Bad weather? Today? It’s just blue skies as far as I can see! But not for you! Just stay inside and sit in front of the TV. Not often you’re told to do that - huh?” she laughs.
Callum beams back, “Guess not, Miss.” Callum peeks again through the window amazed that Matron hasn’t seen the storm clouds. How could she miss them? It was the heaviest looking storm Callum had ever seen.
Outside the school Callum sits on the steps by the main entrance waiting for his dad to collect him. The storm still rumbles away in the distance but doesn’t appear to be getting any closer. ‘Good job too,’ he muses. ‘It looks like it could do some real damage. It’s been a while since there’s been any awful weather but the warm sunshine has to end some time,’ thinks Callum.
Callum sees the familiar sight of his dad’s Ford Focus turning into the school drive and smiles in pleasure. His dad, George, grins back and waves through the car window as he pulls up before getting out and taking Callum by the shoulders.
“Hello, lad. Come on, let’s have a look at you,” George orders. He looks at the back of Callum’s head. “Oooh that’s nasty! Does it hurt if I do this?” George pretends to squeeze Callum’s bump.
Callum wriggles away giggling, “Hey, watch it.” He gives his dad a hug. “Sorry to make you drive all the way out here!”
His dad laughs, “Yeah, like that’s something I’m gonna be upset about! Coming to pick up my son when he needs me. Come on, let’s go.” George opens the car door and ushers Callum in.
Callum likes nothing more than spending time with his dad. He doesn’t need a bump on the head to do it either. Despite having a busy job, his dad always makes time for family. His motto is, ‘I work at the office for the family.’ Callum’s always been proud of that after hearing so many of his friends complaining about how busy their parents are with never a minute to spend with them in play or even just talking to them.
In transit Callum watches the storm clouds through the window. Callum’s sure his dad can see them, but is a little too shy to ask in case he doesn’t. If the Matron couldn’t see them maybe his dad can’t! So, in a roundabout way, he goes for it. “Dad, do you think the weather will stay nice?”
“Well, the weather man thinks so, and so far,” George has a quick look around, “He’s spot on. Not a rain cloud in sight. Anyway, you need to rest. I’m afraid bumps on the head can be tricky.”
Callum responds with a timid smile. Now, he’s really concerned about these clouds! Why can no one else see them? Is he imagining them? Did the bump on his head affect his vision? How can he find out? He can’t tell people he sees clouds that aren’t there! People would think he’s crazy! Callum hates even the possibility of having to go to see a doctor! After a moment’s thought he decides not to panic. Maybe, after a shower and a snooze everything will return to normal. He ponders the idea of ignoring the clouds whilst still studying them intently. Deciding he must just be feeling the effects of his accident he drags his eyes away from them to look out of the front window. Callum stares ahead refusing to acknowledge the nimbus bubble of clouds when worryingly he becomes drawn to another strange sight. A rather oddly shaped object appears to be approaching the car head on. Wide- eyed, Callum is amazed to see a colossal butterfly, rivalling the car in size, with bright red and yellow wings coming straight at them! He peers at his dad and realizes he hasn’t seen the massive airborne creature. “Look out!” Callum screams, causing his dad to slam on the brakes. The butterfly flies right at the car, but instead of smashing into it, it just passes through the car as if it wasn’t there, like a ghost!
The car screeches to a halt. “What? What is it?” George asks, his heart pounding from shock after Callum’s sudden scream.
“I... I...” Callum turns in his seat and looks behind him to watch the butterfly as it flies away and disappears behind some houses in the distance. “I... I thought a bird was going to hit the car,” he lies; turning back to face the front thinking a giant butterfly is something that shouldn’t be shared. Not yet anyway, not until he’s had a chance to work out what’s going on with his head. He just wants to get home and stay there. Maybe whatever’s wrong will pass.
“What bird?” George asks. “I didn’t see one!”
“I’m sorry, Dad. I thought I saw one. I think I’m just tired, I’ll have a snooze when I get home.”
“Are you tired? If you’re feeling sleepy, maybe we should take you to the doctor. It could be because you knocked your head. Matron told me you could be concussed when she rang.” George’s tone is worried.
“No, Dad. It’s not that I can’t stay awake. I just feel like having a snooze. Sorry to scare you. Can we just go home, please?”
“Of course we can! But make sure that you let me know if you’re feeling funny,” George stresses.
“Will do, Dad.”
George puts the gear into drive and sets off again. Callum looks surreptitiously out of the back window to see if there is any indication of the enormous butterfly. There’s nothing, no sign of it. For the rest of the journey home Callum tries to think about anything but storm clouds or butterflies, but with little success. If anything, he only thinks more about them. He just wants to get home and get all these hallucinations out of his head.
Callum and his dad draw up outside the family home. The building is white with a well-loved front garden full of flowers. Their house is on a tree lined, sleepy, suburban street.
Fox, the family dog, a big golden retriever, watches Callum and George get out of the car from the window. His eyes are glued on Callum. George removes his keys from his pocket and opens the front door. Callum runs through ahead of him and heads for the stairs.
“Whoa, whoa, whoa, slow down! You need to rest, remember?”
“Sure thing! Will do, Dad. I’m going to have a shower.”
Callum proceeds to walk up the stairs. Fox intently watches every step the boy takes. The dog’s eyes devotedly follow Callum as he passes along the landing to his bedroom.
Callum throws his bag on the floor, kicks off his trainers, and grabs a towel from his wardrobe. Before leaving for the shower, Callum races to the window and without looking out draws the curtains in a flourish, plunging the room into darkness that stops him from seeing the continuing storm clouds on the horizon. He then races out of his room and crosses the landing to the bathroom.
Inside the bathroom, Callum examines himself in the mirror checking his bump again before turning on the shower and hopping in. He carefully washes his hair, avoiding his tender bump and has a good scrub before standing still under the showerhead, and enjoying the soothing sensation of the water raining down. Normally, this always helps him relax. The pitter pat of the soothing, splashing water becomes almost hypnotic, the perfect tonic for a troubled mind. Moments later he notices something strange. The noise of the water starts to alter and develop. The normal sound of splish splashing water as it strikes the shower tray changes, becoming musically harmonious, as though the water’s resonating. When this hits the shower tiles, and the metal soap dish, and the taps, they create a beautiful tone reminiscent of an orchestra warming up before a concert. Pleasant notes fill the cubicle and Callum pulls his head out from under the water to listen, initially enjoying the beautiful melody, but as lovely as the sound is, it’s very unexpected. He looks at the glass shower door. The water appears to sparkle and dance, joining and separating, moving all around the glass. Up, down, all over. Anywhere but where it should be going. Down. Despite becoming enchanted by the music and sights of this wonderful liquid he realises this is another irregular occurrence in his already very abnormal day! He quickly turns off the shower, stopping the tune and leans out to grab his towel. As he is about to touch the towel, all the wetness on his body rapidly rushes toward his feet and down the drain, leaving him bone dry, as if the water didn’t want to be absorbed by the towel.
Callum pauses for a moment unsure exactly what has just occurred, then grabs his towel and runs back to his bedroom. Forgetting his room is now in darkness and running too fast, Callum trips over the shoes he left on the floor. He gets up in distress, upset that he fell, and scared by all the strange things that are happening to him. He picks himself up and hurriedly dresses before getting under the covers on his bed wanting to hide away from all the weirdness. His racing heartbeat begins to slow as he calms down and gets his breath back, but his head is still thumping. He’s never experienced anything like this before.
“It’s all so surreal,” he murmurs.
Under the sheets he hears Fox scratching at the bedroom door. “Oh thanks, boy. I need the support,” Callum hops out of bed and turns on the light. Fox always makes him feel better whenever he’s low. Opening the door, Callum sees Fox staring up at him. But before Callum’s able to give him a pat, Fox speaks.
“Are you okay, Callum?” he asks.
Callum is stunned. He doesn’t even blink. He just stands frozen in amazement.
Fox looks toward the bedroom, “Maybe we should have a chat.”
Callum tries to speak, “I... I...” but the words stick in his throat.
Fox nudges Callum with his nose, “Come on, let’s talk,” and he pushes him into the room, “Come on.”
Callum bewilderingly drifts in and sits on the bed. His heart is racing away again. This was too much. Clouds and butterflies were one thing, but now his dog is talking to him. Has he gone mad? What will his parents say? Maybe, it’s all a bad dream! He feels like crying but manages to control his quivering lip and the tears that start to prick his eyes.
Fox looks at Callum who is staring blankly into space. “I know this is all very strange, Callum but if you give me the chance I believe I can explain everything.” Callum still gazes in stunned disbelief. “I know you’re wondering why I’m talking to you!”
Callum snaps out of his trance, “No! I’m wondering how you’re talking to me!” He continues in exasperation, “I’m wondering why I had a harmonic shower! Why butterflies the size of cars are fluttering down the street! And wishing I never bumped my head!” He can no longer fight off the tears and starts to cry.
Fox quickly tries to restore calm, “I promise all will become clear. You see, I’ve always been able to talk, Callum but you’ve never been able to hear me. Now you can.”
“Now, I think I’m sick.” Callum looks a little pale.
“Please try to listen a moment. It’s hard for me to explain. You see, you live in a world ruled by science. But there is another world, Callum. A world you’re beginning to see. Your accident has merely opened your eyes; another side of your mind has been awakened from its slumber. The magical side of your brain! It has lain hidden within you and all humans for many years.”
“Okay, this can’t be for real,” stresses Callum.
“Then, what’s your explanation?” Fox asks coolly.
Callum stutters, unable to think of any plausible reason, “I don’t have one, but that doesn’t make your story true!”
“So why are the curtains closed?” probes Fox.
“Because…” Callum pauses and becomes sheepish, “I didn’t want to see the clouds.”
“You mean the dark storm that’s been growing ever since Dalmar murdered his brothers?”
Callum looks at Fox curiously, “What?”
“You see, Callum, don’t be afraid of the magical elements. Embrace them! We have waited a long time for you to open your eyes. We all need your help!”
“I don’t understand…Where is your world? How’d you know about the clouds? And who needs my help?” babbles Callum, who is still apprehensive and overwhelmed by the whole story.
“Our world is here just as yours is.” Fox takes a moment to find the words to make things clear. “Many years ago, our worlds were one. One world housing us all. Humans, animals, and many other creatures you are unaware of. All living together. That was before humans began trusting and believing more and more in science. For some time there was a power struggle between the two. Magic and science couldn’t live side by side. Gradually, the world split in two. The people of science closed their eyes to the world of magic and have never looked back. Many said they never really tried to make it work, but that doesn’t matter anymore.”
“How can your world be here and we don’t see it?” asks Callum doubtfully.
“Back then, people chose not to see it and now you don’t even know of it. That part of your brain has long since shut down. Your mind is a powerful thing. If your mind thinks you’re dead you die, even if your body is fine. It’s like that. We’re here, but if the mind doesn’t think so, we’re not here any longer, so you can’t see us or our beautiful land.” Fox smiles at Callum knowing he still won’t accept the truth.
Callum walks to the window and pulls open the curtains. He stares at the thunderclouds still looming in the distance, “And why am I important?”
“Dalmar, who I mentioned is responsible for those clouds that stain the horizon, has sworn to conquer our world and destroy yours,” Fox pronounces solemnly.
“Destroy ours? Why? If we can’t even see yours why would he want that?” Callum demands shocked.
Fox continues, “Our worlds, although separate, are so close that certain events can be felt in the other. An event of significant proportions like detonating a bomb for example, can send ripples through our land with devastating effects. One such explosion resulted in the death of the woman Dalmar loved. He never came to terms with his loss and has been twisted and absorbed by hatred ever since. Already a powerful sorcerer, he turned to the ways of darkness, and is now the ultimate power in our realm. He’s torn many civilizations apart as he adds to his army and expands his domain.”
“Okay, that’s awful,” responds Callum, “but I still don’t see how I fit in!”
“Dalmar was one of four brothers, one of the sons of Tolkaro. Tolkaro was the first and most powerful sorcerer. He was the protector and keeper of our kingdom. On his deathbed he made a promise, a prophecy that when darkness threatened the existence of both our world and the human world that he would return. He even told us when and where.”
“Oh, come on, what is this?” Callum questions uncomfortably.
“This is the truth! We waited and we couldn’t find you. We had no idea that you would return in this world with no memory of your past life!”
“Memory of my past life? Huh! Like you remember yours or even had one!”
“Of course I had past lives, I remember them well. In fact, if it wasn’t for my time as Lazlo in the Ant colony, I would never have learned the discipline required to take on this assignment.”
“All right, all right! What do you expect me to do?”
They are interrupted by a knock on his bedroom door. Callum’s dad calls out, “Cal, I’m just going to meet your mother and pop to the shops. Will you be okay here?”
“Yeah. Fine, Dad.”
“Just call me if there’s a problem, all right? We won’t be far away.”
“Will do, Dad.” Callum relieved to be alone sits back down on the bed. “Can you understand how ridiculous this all sounds? Especially since I have just hit my head and you’re probably a result of… I don’t know, some kind of impact induced dementia.”
There’s another knock at the door. “Now what?” Callum is clearly becoming increasingly frustrated.
Fox quickly trots over to the door. “Callum, I think you have had a very tough day and this is a lot to take in at once. We knew it would be a shock for you, so why don’t you rest? We’ll talk more when you wake up.”
Callum remains silent. Taking this as agreement Fox opens the door slightly with his paw and slips through closing the door quietly behind him by grabbing the handle with his teeth.
Callum falls back on his bed, closes his eyes and takes a deep breath to try and calm his pounding heart. As he lies in silence, trying to process the morning’s events, he hears lowered voices talking on the landing. Curious, he stands quietly and tiptoes to the door. He listens closely. Through the wood he can just make out the faint voice of Fox.
“I really think it’s best if we give him a little more time!” he hears Fox say quietly. “He’s having some trouble believing me, which is understandable considering he’s been living in this world all his life with not a hint of our existence!”
Callum opens the door slowly to see with whom Fox is conversing. Fox is standing on the landing looking down over the open plan living area addressing a large audience.
“Hey, who are you talking to?” Callum asks stepping out of his bedroom.
Fox jumps in surprise, “Callum, wait. Please go and rest, I...”
Ignoring Fox, Callum steps out further onto the landing and peers down over the banisters to see his entire ground floor full with people.
The whole room plunges into silence as they see Callum join Fox. The initial quiet is followed by gasps of amazement and a rush of whispering from the throng who wait with their mouths gaping believing they’re looking up at their saviour returned.
The crowd is a mix of different inhabitants from the magical realm, all in their respective groups. Adjacent to the window stand three Fallen Angels, winged men, bare chested with impressively large, feathered wings protruding from their backs. Grey Owl, the eldest and wisest of the three, stands centre like a revered Indian chief carrying a wooden staff. His wings are pure white like his hair. On his shoulder sits the tattoo of a Grey Owl that to Callum’s astonishment blinks. At his side is Gos Hawk who has a warrior’s physique, muscular and athletic, accentuated with broad shoulders and spiky tawny brown hair. He carries a sword at his waist, strapped to him with tanned leather that circles his torso. His wings, a speckled dun, flex behind him as he exchanges an engaging look with Callum.
Osprey, the third and youngest Fallen Angel is blonde with softer, more rounded features that emphasise his youth. His eyes reflect a hopeful, innocent glimmer, which is not shared by the others.
On their right stand a large group of dwarfs wrapped up to their necks in warm, thick, fleecy clothing. To Callum’s amusement their swords and axes stand taller than they do.
Then, there is the majestic and impressive figure of Valray. Standing like a man, his cat-like amber eyes shimmer as they catch the light. His muscular trunk sized chest contains a heart that beats like a lion. Valray’s broad back ripples with keen taut muscles and his shadow alone is enough to intimidate anyone who steps into it. Short fur covers his shoulders and neck, and grows gradually longer as it joins the thick wavy locks on his head that blow as if a slight breeze follows him.
Four Hog men sit slothfully on the sofa. Their hair is coarse and bristly. Their noses are like pigs’ snouts. They have crunching jaws to match and teeth that protrude over their top lips, which exude an air of savagery.
White monkeys peep out from under the dining table swaying from side to side. Squirrels perch on the stair banisters. Many armoured men with swords and shields bunch together near the front door. Albino frogs sit on the windowsill. The curtain moves as a hefty, floppy eared, one-eyed bear brushes against it.
Tribal warriors bearing spears and wearing very little also stare back at him intently. Callum continues to look around the room in awe and sees unicorns, antlered men, crab-like creatures, horned serpents, hairy lizards and so many more creatures alien to Callum, which fill all the available space and they have all assembled to see Callum. They wait patiently for him to determine their fate.
Callum turns away to face the wall. He closes his eyes. “I should have stayed in the bedroom!” he murmurs to himself feeling a little faint.
Fox brushes up against his leg, “I’m sorry, Callum I was trying to send them away.”
“That’s okay, Fox. Whether I’m nuts or not, I still have to deal with this.”
Inhaling deeply Callum slowly turns back to face the legion. He nervously looks out at the many strange faces clueless as to what to say to them. Before he’s able to speak a dove flies up and perches on the rail in front of him. The dove hops closer bobbing its head back and forth inspecting Callum in earnest. Callum enjoys the attention of such a pretty bird and reaches out to touch it. The bird suddenly morphs and transforms into a tiny imp like creature with one leering eye larger than the other and fixes it on Callum. The imp jumps up and down on the rail calling out to the assembly below, “He couldn’t even tell that I wasn’t a real dove! He remembers nothing! What good is he? Where’s his magic?”
The crowd erupts into chatter. Gasps fill the room. Shocked faces stare accusingly. An antlered man calls out, “If he can’t remember what he is, how can he save us?”
Creatures around him nod in agreement. The floppy eared bear calls out, “Brow brug brow lun, brach brar!”
The imp hops up and down in agreement, “Braygo’s right! He will lead us nowhere! He’s let us down. The prophecy’s a joke!” The imp turns and walks away, “We’re wasting our time here.”
Grey Owl steps forward and shouts over the commotion with authority, “WAIT!”
Everyone in the room stops and turns to watch. Grey Owl moves to the stairs and stands on the first step. Callum looks on stunned as the tattoo on Grey Owl’s shoulder turns its head and stares at him. Callum keeps his eyes on the tattoo certain he must be seeing things. It couldn’t have moved, but then again it would just be another thing to add to the day’s list of unusual events.
Grey Owl addresses everyone, “He said he would return. He did not say how he would return! You have assumed he would return as a sorcerer. He has let no one down.” Grey Owl continues up the stairs toward Callum, “Maybe, he has returned with courage. Maybe that is all we need, courage.”
The deeply resonant voice of Valray demands, “Do you have courage boy?” The grey owl tattoo flies across Grey Owl’s back to the other shoulder to see Valray.
Callum nervously and quietly replies, “Courage? I... I think so.”
More mutterings and chattering erupt around the room. Valray quickly silences the criticism and growing complaints. He continues to question Callum, “The road to the Land of Fading Light is hard and long, with many hazards. The treacherous Golan’s forest and dangerous Mountain’s Breech are only two such deadly places on our journey. And don’t forget our winged tormentors! Do you still think you have courage?”
The gathering holds its breath waiting for Callum’s response. Fox tries to rescue Callum from the question, but before he’s able to speak, Callum, appraising all the expectant faces, and feeling the weight of responsibility bursts with rage. He is now highly stressed.
Callum raises his voice, “Listen, until a few hours ago I’d never even seen a Hog Man or talking dogs or anything!” A few turn to look at the Hog Men and chuckle. “I’m still not sure I believe it so, I’m not going to stand here to be quizzed and ridiculed! If you’re not happy, leave! Leave and make my life easier!” Callum begins to walk back to his bedroom.
Fox tries to stop him, “Callum, don’t mind them. They don’t mean anything, they’ve just been waiting a long time, and mostly waiting in fear!”
“Well, that’s not my problem,” Callum retorts ready to close his bedroom door. Grey Owl steps up behind him. His tattoo rises toward his neck and looks very serious.
“You’re right, Callum. It’s not your problem!” Callum stops walking, “It’s everyone’s. If Dalmar isn’t stopped, we will all live in a world eclipsed by darkness, and your world will be destroyed. You can fool your mind back into slumber if you wish. Yes, and forget all about us. Eventually, this would all seem to be a distant dream. That is until Dalmar opens a doorway to your world so large, and with such evil streaming through it that the eyes of man will instantly be awoken to our magical realm and then closed just as quickly. Their life force exterminated. Permanently.”
Silence hangs in the room. Grey Owl’s words exact a harsh reminder of the reality they all fear. Callum remains quiet and still. He takes a moment to absorb Grey Owl’s words before engaging with all the solemn faces below him.
“This is really real, isn’t it?” Callum states with newfound acceptance, “I don’t know what you think I can do here. I’m willing to help but what good am I?”
“How can he stand against Dalmar?” asks Valray.
“He can’t,” states Grey Owl, causing shocked voices to reverberate around the room, “Not alone. That is why on this journey I will travel with him. We must venture to the Dark Lands of Dalmar’s kingdom.” Grey Owl raises his staff and points over the masses to the window and the storm clouds in the distance. “There we will confront and stop him by any means necessary.”
“Journey?” Callum asks.
“We can’t fight him here!” Grey Owl points out.
“But what about my family? My friends.”
“If we don’t act, you will have no family and friends.” Grey Owl pauses as the severity of his words strike home. “I am sure they would do the same for you and your world, if needed. And If we are successful they’ll be here waiting for you should you wish to return.”
Callum looks apprehensive. He feels as if he’s being swept away in a small boat by a vicious current and is left without a paddle. “I don’t have a choice, do I?” he asks Fox in hushed tones.
“You always have a choice. But I hope you make the right one.”
Callum remains silent for a moment and then asks Fox, “Are you coming with me, my friend?”
“Of course!” Fox replies without hesitation.
Valray steps forward, “I am, Valray. Count me in! And my friend.” Valray clasps the hilt of his sword, which lies dormant in its sheath.
Gos walks up the stairs and stands beside Grey Owl, pledging to him, “Where you go, I go.”
Osprey follows Gos adding, “I’m not being left behind.”
Grey Owl turns to him, “I’m afraid you must, my Son.”
“But, Father!”
“Our people need a leader. One of us must return. This perilous journey may only be one way. We cannot leave our people without leadership.” Osprey knows he cannot argue with his father and steps down reluctantly.
“This trip will require stealth and strength. We are five. Six would be the ideal number. Is there another here who would join us?” asks Grey Owl.
The pack is lethally quiet and still.
Grak, one of the Hog Men on the sofa, evaluates the company in the room and sees that no one seems willing or prepared to join the brave quintet. With a roll of his eyes, and against his better judgment, he unenthusiastically announces, “I’ll go. But I am yet to see the wisdom in making this trip with a boy who has no memory of his former sorcery.” The other Hog Men look at him aghast.
“Don’t look so surprised!” Grak snorts, not amused by their sniggers.
Grey Owl turns back to Callum. “Good. Now we can be on our way.”
“Now?” Callum exclaims, staggered by the urgency.
“It wouldn’t make sense to wait, not now that we know who’s going,” confirmed Fox.
“You can’t go yet!” A small voice shouts out from the back of the room. Everyone turns curiously. A dwarf steps forward, “Master.” The dwarf addresses Callum, “We are honoured to have served you in your absence. Our ancestors were told that the day of your return would come, and that we were to deliver to you the item that was entrusted into our care.” The room bursts into excited chatter once more.
Callum looks at Fox, “Item?”
Fox appears blank, “This is all news to me.”
“Who entrusted you?” enquires Callum.
“You did,” replies the dwarf.
The dwarfs fumble around away from the curious eyes of the crowd. From the back of the room they drag a wooden chest through the legs of the creatures out into the open scraping it across the floor. They take a few steps toward the stairs and leave it in the middle of the room for Callum to inspect.
“That’s mine?” asks Callum.
“Exactly as you left it,” answers the dwarf.
Callum walks down the stairs toward the chest and pushes through a pack of imps who squeal and leap away. Fox pads softly behind him. Callum rubs his fingers along the outside of the trunk. The wood feels old and rough. There is a rusty lock at the front.