To Be a Hero

Prologue

"And so the journey home began..." he wrote with feathered quill. ”No, no, no. That will not do. It is too plain and most likely over done," he said out loud.  Nickadamus placed the quill on the journal he made, and relaxed on his favorite rock.

         The mountains were still clouded with mist in the early dawn. The grass was anxious to reach tall when their sun finally rose. Spring had come at last in the eastern mountains once called Nadall. The farthest tip of the highest peak could not be seen by Nickadamus where he sat, yet just knowing it was still there, pleased him. This home of his had no name these days. Once populated in the valleys between the peaks dwelled clans of his people; humans both male and female. Children danced in the moonlight around large bonfires in celebration of the coming of spring. Nickadamus always enjoyed watching the children, remembering when he once danced too close to the fire and burned his toes. Nadall stood still, beautiful, the same it had always stood.

        He picked his quill up again, dipped it in the scented ink and wrote, "It is as if magic had poured itself over the peaks and shimmered down the slides like a blanket. It protected the valley, its grasses, its cold streams, its fish and its forms. The people are all gone now. Were they protected under Nadall and did not see it? Did they not see that the Sky Storm never touched their homes? Why did they leave? It was the safest place to be, yet gone they were, but to where?"

 Nickadamus began his descent down the hill and into the valley. This valley, once thriving with clans and animals, farms and merchants, now stood still…silent. The houses still towered- some two stories on either side of the street made from cobble. The blacksmith and miner quarter still carried the aroma of fresh smelted metals and ores.

 He glanced at the cobbled bricks, remembering the heat from the kilns. One entire summer as a boy was spent gathering the most beautifully colored shales from the eastern pits. The cobble project was the last advancement his village achieved to becoming a city. The city Nickadamus had wanted to see someday.  He squatted down to the cobble, placed the red leather journal on his thigh and continued, "I feel it. The magic, it still resides here, although the people do not. I can still smell the baked bread from Anora's kitchen when the wind blows east. Is it my memory comforting me? Or is the scent still here?" He walked on through the village but paused when he reached the library and stepped inside. Nick began to write at the familiar table where he read his first book for the Magistrate. 

“The library is silent. Not one item is out of place and the Magistrate would be pleased to hear of this. No dust, no spiders, no dampness has taken hold of this legendary room. It is as he left it. It’s good to be home again.” Nick left his journal on the table and stood in the doorway. He leaned against the frame, folded his arms, and inhaled a deep relaxing breath.

 Across the street he could see Anora had hung a new sign for her bakery. I’d give anything to have her right now, he thought. Everything was in its place. The village was almost exactly as he had left it one year ago. The only thing missing was his people. Nick strode across the cobble to the bakery. He untied the thin leather strap holding a deep and perfect, blue stone from around his neck, and hung it on the door. The stone glimmered with azure hues in the midday sun as it swung happily from the black knob.  Another deep breath and Nick went inside the empty bakery.

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Midday was approaching and Anora had not yet set sifted the runeflower for her order. She quickly gathered her pail and headed out of the bakery. Moraine will have some sifted and I shall save time, she thought. “Wait here for me Dirkus, I will return in a moment!” Anora raced across the street and turned a sharp corner to the end of merchant row. Behind the stores she flew into the old keep shouting for Moraine.

 “I’m just not prepared today; I should have had this done last night!” Anora panted and gave the old woman her pail. “Please help me today of all days Moraine, sifted runeflower, how could I forget?” Moraine laughed aloud and collected the flour from her cabinet. Anora thanked her and raced back with her pail reciting the runeflower bread recipe over and over again. When she reached the door, she saw a familiar deep and perfect blue stone hanging from it. 

 Anora grabbed the necklace and barged inside the bakery, “NICK! Dirkus where is Nick?” Excitement made her heart race and pound inside her chest. “Nick? There is no one here but us ma’am.” The assistant took the pail and headed into the kitchen.  Nick where are you? Anora sat down at a table and looked at the blue stone in her hand. Tears flooded her eyes as she untied the knot and put the leather straps around her neck. 

 Her own matching necklace lay pale underneath her tunic.  Dirkus came back into the room, “ma’am you’re shaking! I will prepare the breads for the new Magistrate. I won’t let you down. Why don’t you get some rest upstairs?” Anora nodded in agreement, and climbed the wooden steps. She crossed the room and sat down upon her bed. Moraine will tell me not to give up hope. She will also tell me not to worry; this could be only a token from the Ones for my service, she thought to herself.  The pain returned and Anora took her last vial of medicine.

 Hurry Nick. Time is running out.