Stormchild: Emeline and the Forest Mage

5 Blackblood Cleaver

    'As for whether we are all humans, I've wondered about that too.' He looked back up the road in a musing sort of way. 'There are tales and myths, you know. About other things that aren't human.'

    Curiosity surfaced and began eating at her reasonability, but she fought it. Father forbade tales like these at home. Before a minute had passed, the question she could no longer contain burst from her mouth. 'What tales? Can you tell me some of the myths?'

    Why was she so eager to hear these stories, was it because father had forbade them? Maybe it was her superstitious nature getting the better of her. 'Please,' she added as an afterthought.

    'Well, let's see.' Avétk tapped his chin. 'I've heard tales of Asrai and Ala - weather and water demons. They're said to materialize from the clouds and the ocean. The air demon Ala causes these almighty storms that destroy whole towns in a huff.'

    Their boots crunched and thudded through the snow.

    'Asrai sends monstrous, huge waves and floods to the folk living on the coast. Some Wise Men claim they've seen the demons, that they're horrendous. Sharp teeth and all...'

    Emeline shivered and Avétk paused to glance at her with a laugh in his eyes. 'But I doubt It.'

    'I've heard of Äbädä, forest spirit, famed for being kinder than the water and storm demons. Some say Äbädä is a luscious woman, with green eyes so hypnotizing they can suck out your soul. They say she's kind to humble travellers, but will curse a wicked man. They say-'

    'But, Avétk, do you believe any of these stories? Are they only myths?' Something deep inside her stirred, like a long-buried dragon bursting through layers of cold rock.

    Avétk sighed. 'I know some legends and myths that are true. I'm not too sure about these demons and spirits though.'

    In the silence that followed Emeline heard the breeze whispering and something in the deepest part of her roiling along with it.

    When Avétk spoke again, it was with that edge of mystery and intrigue that all great story tellers seem to have. 'Once there was a boy child, who lived in a tiny village on the edge of the Gruwoud.' Fathers, she loved that special lilt in his voice.

    'He was young and happy, with bright blue eyes.' Avétk tapped the corner of his own eyes with a smile.

    Emeline imagined the little boy and decided he should have chubby cheeks and squishy arms. Cute!

    'One day he got lost in the forest. A dark curse came upon him and giving him severe bodily pain. Fathers, it was damn horrid what happened to the boy, hours and hours in the depth of the shadowy forest with nothing but the unending pain and confusion as company. When the little boy returned home, his eyes were black as death.'

    Avétk slowed his walk to a stroll, and his face held some secret she could not figure out.

    'And yes, death followed him, for since that day he never lost a fight. It was his curse, and his triumph. So evil was the curse, that he killed his own best friend while they were playing.'

    Emeline's image of a little ruddy cheeked boy could not fit in with the image she now saw in her mind's eye. A sharp boned, demonic child, whose evil, shrill laughter rang through the darkness, while he stabbed and stabbed his closest friend.

    'The villagers recognized the dark curse and banished the boy. The boy insisted that he hadn't meant to kill his friend, and that they'd only been play-acting at a fight. The villagers refused to hear his excuses, knowing the dark curse that had settled on him, so the boy and his mother left the village. The boy became known as a heartless, merciless fighter who never lost. A killer who destroyed anyone in his path.'