Chapter. 1

Tracking an elusive

herd of white-tail had brought him to this spot: a clearing hidden in the

trees, where a slight hill overlooked a vantage point. It was the perfect

position to spot his coming prey and line up a killing shot. He checked his bow

and quiver, tied back his long silver hair, and climbed hand over hand upward

through the tree’s branches. He judged the best angles, for the meat tasted

richer with a clean kill. They would need it to survive the harsh winter to

come.

As time passed, the

many colors of the forest brought a smile to the young man’s face. Autumn, such

a beautiful season: the bright colors changing from green to bright reds and

yellows, the sweet smell of cool, crisp air, and the sound of falling leaves—the

calm before winter’s frigid storm, which promised to blanket the land in a

thick white comforter, making you forget what was beneath.

There were many

forests in Fierdio that were much the same, with their brilliant colors and

natural beauty. Clutching a weathered bow—a family heirloom—hunting with it

made him confident, as if his father was with him. His mother would preserve

the venison, allowing them rich meat in the dead of winter.

Movement from the

left stole his attention from the picturesque scenery and brought him back to

the matter at hand: antlers, a quick count of ten points, and the herd had

come. He raised the bow slowly, set an arrow, and drew the bowstring taut. He

paid extra attention not to disturb the camouflage of many colors around him.

Regulating his breathing and watched calmly as a ten-pointed buck moved into

view, along with several does. There was his meat, only twenty feet away.

Ever alert, the

majestic beast watched the trees and forest. Its presence assured the

protection of the weaker, fairer does. The lack of bird songs in this area of

the Fierdio forest gave him pause. A sound, that of an arrow cutting through

the air, came next. Seconds later, another arrow called to the herd, and they

scattered. A sharp pain hit his broadside, and air escaped his body. Breath no

longer came to him easily; it was now labored. Escape, to run, was all that his

primitive mind craved and screamed for his body to move.

Readying another

arrow, the boy had scored two hits directly into the side of the guardian.

After sliding down from his perch, he knew happily a lung had been hit, if not

both. Cautiously, he stepped closer to the buck, seeing its desperation

firsthand. As it struggled to escape its fate and cling to this world, the

third arrow finished it, and the beast's head fell to the ground. He unsheathed

a knife and nodded his thanks to the guardian—for giving his family the means

to survive a harsh winter. Moving to slit open its throat, pausing to give

words of thanks, and watched crimson pour from the opening as darkness consumed

the light in the guardian’s eyes.

Standing to wipe

his knife and hands on a rag, then sheathing the weapon, he entered his fingers

in his mouth and blew a great whistle. “Come on, you slow ass.” Sighing loudly,

he scanned the tree-line for his steed. He didn't want to leave his kill for

other predators to find. Slowly, a donkey attached to an old wooden wagon moved

into view. It plodded down the hill slowly and stopped beside the buck. Tying a

rope from the wagon to the buck’s hind legs and then moving to the wagon's

front where a crank handle sat, he wound it, pulling the beast onto the wagon's

floor. Panting, he looked at the dimwitted donkey.

“Tough work, eh,

Jack?” exclaimed the boy to his mule, wiping the sweat from his forehead. With

light blue eyes gazing up at the sun, allowing his shoulder-length hair to

cascade down his back, he removed his robes that helped him blend in with the

woods of Fierdio. Satisfied with securing his trophy, he hurried into the frontmost

seat behind the mule, gently laying his weathered bow and quiver beside him.

“Let’s see!” he said, pointing his finger to the sun and following its arc.

“OK… Twelve, one, two, three, four, five... Hey, Jack! You know what time it

is?” The excited tone of the boy was lost on the animal. “That’s right, five

o’clock, supper time! Wonder what Ma has made for supper?” The thought of his

mother brought a smile to his face. She was always so kind and loving, and her

food was amazing.

He took one last

look around the forest, amazed at the colors and the chilly wind that blew

around him, whipping his silver hair around his face. Winter was only several

weeks away. “Move, Jack, come on! MOVE!” he shouted, but not one muscle moved

on the creature. It stood in place as if made of stone. “Ok then, here!”

Raising a whip from the front seat high above his head, a high-pitched crack

could be heard through the woods, silencing the busy creatures of the forest.

Jack looked back at the boy lazily and began to plod along the forest homeward.

Jack was sluggish,

making the ride home time-consuming. The spirited youth did not mind the delay.

It gave him time to look around at the wonders of nature, observing all the

animals scampering around the forest floor. It was always interesting and

beautiful, especially the elegant way light shone through the various trees.

Tossing a scrap of

his lunch from the back of his high perch, he smiled as squirrels swarmed the

bread within seconds. The critters took turns fighting over it while a third

slowly stole it away. Birds soon landed on the wagon to beg for a meal, which

was granted, and they left with the crumbs.

As the sun died and

the sky darkened, the treeline broke onto a farm: the Gremhyr farm. This sight

was always inviting and reassuring. Atop the hill, overlooking his family

homestead, two large fields ran up the hill to the forest's edge. At the

bottom, surrounded by trees, stood a log cabin. The cabin was not much, but it

had been home for him for nearly eight cold seasons. All the things that meant

the world to the silver-haired hunter were contained in this sanctuary. Tilting

his head and standing to smile at a willow tree in the middle of the furthest

field, he gave praise to the Gods and his father by bringing his hand to his

heart, closing his eyes, and nodding before returning to his seat. It was hard

to believe three winters had passed since that spring when the Gods called for

his father’s soul and stole him from this world.

As Jack slowly

descended toward the cabin, the wind picked up, and a cold draft ran up the

boy’s back. Shivering, he put on his leather vest lined with wool. Looking

toward the house, on the porch stood a woman, her hair tightly packed behind

her head in a bun. Sporting a smile that shone brighter than the fading sun,

her arms rose above her head as she began to wave to the wagon.

“Looks like he’s

come home for dinner, Cub,” she smiled at a large shaggy dog that followed her

onto the porch, watching as the wagon slowly pulled up to the side of the house.

“Any minute now.”

“Momma!” the boy

cried, running from around the side of the house into her open arms. He loved

her deeply. She smelled of baked goods and fresh bread, a hint at tonight’s

supper. Smiling up at her, ever since father’s death, they had only each other.

“Hatan, my little

man! I see the hunt was fruitful. I don’t think there will be too many nice

days left; winter is upon us.” Looking at him, then to the wagon, she

continued, “I will meet you around back. String it up there. The fires and Cub

will make sure no wolves find a quick meal of it.” Rubbing her chin, she

exclaimed, to no one in particular, “Two days to hang.” With that, she entered

the house, Cub on her heels through the kitchen and out a small door behind the

stairs. These led to the upper level of their house. She watched as Jack and

Hatan pulled up.

Struggling at

first, they managed to remove the ropes and pull it in, through rings of metal,

and then attach it to another pulley system. They cranked the beast high, and

under the upside-down beast was a bucket. Every piece of this gift would be

used—the blood, hide, bones, and guts. Smiling at one another, Hatan at last

asked, “Is that it?”

“Should be! Go,

unhitch Jack and wash up for dinner. It will be ready when you are.” With this,

she left Hatan and entered the house.

As a growing boy,

he was always hungry; his mother had said this was only normal with a pit for a

stomach. The running of the farm fell to him. The work and chores he enjoyed,

making the animals happy. On top of this, it took the burden from his mother.

Hatan unhitched

Jack and led the stubborn ass into the barn. “You did good today, Jack, thank

you for all your help,” Hatan said softly as he pet and scratched behind his

ears. “I will be back after to feed all of you!” He called back to all the

animals as he retreated from the barn to the house for some food of his own.

Running from the

stable to the house, he felt the cold air on his face. Before long, it would

turn into a biting wind. The porch creaked as he jumped onto it, rushing to

open the squeaky front door which protested and refused, for an instant.

Kicking off his leather boots, he missed the woven rug as he hurried to a

crafted wooden table in the middle room of their cabin. Waiting patiently for supper

to come, he slowly slid into his chair and watched as his mother hefted a giant

pot into the room. “Looks like stew,” thought Hatan as she entered, placing the

pot on the table.

“Did you clean up

first? You won’t get one spoonful if you didn’t. Wash your hands, and is that

dirt I see on your face?” she scolded while stirring the liquid in the pot.

Raising his small

frame quickly and running to the sink at the back of the house, he pumped a

crank in the kitchen for fresh, cool water and mixed it with hot water,

cleaning his hands and face of dirt and dust. “Done!” he yelled, rushing to the

table on the other side of the house.

“Good. You look

like my son now, not a wood troll,” she laughed, spooning some soup into

Hatan’s bowl.

“Thanks!” His

inhaling ritual started with reaching for his spoon.

“Wel’come!” she

sang back.

Hatan’s mother

watched as he spooned at the soup. She loved to make him happy. He was the only

thing that had kept her sane these past three winters without her husband. The

thought of him brought tears to her eyes. When she saw Hatan at play or

working, he reminded her of Kenifo. She knew that as long as she had her son,

there was always hope and a reason to smile.

“What’s wrong,

Mom?” Hatan had finished his first bowl and was loading up another.

“No… nothing, I… is

it good? Do you like it?” a bit disoriented after breaking free of her

daydream.

“Yeah, it’s great.

What’s in it?”

“Oh, you know! A

little bit of toad and newt, maybe some bad potatoes,” a smile began to form on

her attractive face.

“Seriously? Well,

no matter, I like it!” starting a new bowl, “I personally like the toad

myself.”

This sent his

mother into a fit of laughter. He could always make her laugh. It was a gift to

be proud of. Sometimes he felt sorry that there were no children around to play

with, but when he thought he had no friends, mother had none either. Mother and

himself had to work extra hard to survive. Once Hatan had finished thirds, he

marched to the sink, discarding his wooden bowl and spoon. “Got to feed the

animals; they will want their dinner too.”

“Be careful; it’s

dark out and cold. Wear your coat and take the axe with you.”

“Yup!” he replied,

not really knowing what to be careful of. It was their farm, and the only thing

to worry about was tripping and falling in the dark. He had thrown his coat on

the ground last night, but it looked like it had found its peg, alright. The

splitting axe was outside, leaning on the door. “See you soon, bye Momma!”

Hatan walked slowly to the stable, starting his chores, completely unaware of

two sets of eyes watching him from the woodpile.

“Alright, guys, I’m

back. Time for dinner!” he chanted, filling troughs. First, he fed the little

animals: chickens, geese, turkeys; then the bigger animals: cows and J. Then

there was only one animal left: Nightmare, his father’s workhorse. The horse

was massive and muscular. One of its legs was the size of Hatan. He hated

feeding the beast; it was rude and never listened to him. It would kick and

scare him. Nightmare only listened to his father, but since he had gone away,

Nightmare listened to no one, doing as he pleased. As usual, the bully was

ready for Hatan with his red eyes and black hide, staring him down. When he got

the chance, he kicked at the walls, startling and causing the boy to drop all

the meal. "Damn horse..." cursing under his breath about having to

feed it.

A scream! A

horrible scream entered his ears.

It was not

unfamiliar, his mother’s? Why? No one was in the house. Were there? Not

thinking, he ran to the barn door, grabbing his axe. What was wrong with

mother? Staying low as he sprinted from the barn, slowly creeping up to the

front door and sliding it open just enough to avoid any of the creaks the door

made, so he could enter unbeknownst, pulling open the door of a nearby closet,

thinking to hide inside. Once opened, a black form fell out motionless.

"Cub!"

Hatan gasped. The poor dog was decapitated. Struggling not to cry out, tears

welled in his eyes. He heard voices but could not make them out. Moving closer,

slowly and cautiously to hear them better, he noticed shadows in the dining

room, at least two. Tiptoeing up to the doorway, he listened intently.

“The deed! We know

you have it; we just want this crappy land of yours,” the voice was sly and wormy.

“Really now, we just want your livelihood, not your life. Seems our employer is

interested in your stake here. I don’t know why they would want a manure pit

like this though.”

“Yeah, you tell

her, Leacver. All we want is the deeds; no one has to die.” This voice was

deeper.

“The deed, bitch,

or you die, and we will find your son, gut him too,” the sound of a spit

followed. “Your man is dead. Nobody to save you, so how about we have a little

fun.”

A loud slap rang

throughout the house.

“Bitch! Fine, we

will be having you then.” Laughter erupted from the room; it was evil and

horribly unpleasant.

Hatan knew he had

to act fast, but what would be the best way to jump these men? He had to save

his mother, and it would have to be soon. There was no way around it. "I

have to creep in and hope to catch one off guard," he thought, gripping

the axe tightly, his body shaking, struggling to stand. Sweat covered every

part of his body as he prepared to choose a target; his axe knocked against the

wall. The thud was loud. He waited, but the laughter continued and must have

drowned it out.

“Ok, close…” he

whispered, gasping for air, collecting himself, and preparing for the attack.

Ready to pounce, but something held him still. A hand on his back, grabbed from

behind. Trying to kick, punch, bite, and fight, but the grip was too strong.

“Let go, no… LET

GO!” Screaming and fighting, swinging in all directions, his eyes closed and

his body stuck.

“Ahh, so this must

be your little boy, heh!” It was the wormy voice.

When Hatan’s eyes

had adjusted to the light, he saw his mother sitting in a chair. Her hair was

down around her shoulders, and her blouse had been torn from the shoulder down

to her legs. Her beautiful fair face now showed bruising, and her nose was bleeding.

“Mother!” gasped Hatan.

“Now, boy…” the

wormy man, slim and tall, moved like a snake. This must be Leacver. “Tell us,

where is the deed to this shack, or…” he picked up Hatan’s mother and hugged

her tightly, placing a knife to her throat, “she dies.”

“Mother! I don’t

know where the deed is, please. Let her go!” pleaded Hatan. He looked up at the

man holding him. He was a mountain, a giant; he looked as if he could crush him

in an instant. The slim bandit held his mother tighter and seemed to be

enjoying this. Hatan’s vision began to blur; he felt tears in his eyes. He

tried to fight them back for his mother’s sake, but they would not stop.

“Ok, boy! You got

five seconds, fair. You tell me where the deed is, or we kill you and mommy.”

His voice was hollow, cold, lifeless.

"He will do

it, he will kill Momma. I don’t know where the deed is, I have no idea. Mother,

Father never told me. Mother, why is this happening?" Thoughts flooded

Hatan's mind, but he could not see how to save his mother. Tears streamed down

his face; the thought of losing his mother was too much to bear, his head hurt,

and his body was limp.

"Don’t worry,

Hatan, my son," the voice was like beautiful music to his ears.

"Momma!"

He whispered as he looked at her. She was smiling. At a time like this, with a

knife to her throat, she smiled. Why? She can’t die; they can’t take away the

last important person to me.

“Four,” Leacver

chimed.

“Don’t worry,

Hatan, I will be with father!” Her eyes continued to fill with tears.

“Mother, no,

please, tell them where the deed is,” Hatan pleaded.

She only shook her

head and went limp. Her eyes fixed on Hatan, and her smile never left her face.

“Three,” the

countdown continued.

“No, stop, please,

let her go!” screamed Hatan. Thoughts rushed through his head, his life, his

world falling around him. He would never be able to have his mother’s bread,

her hugs, her smell, and her love.

“Two! Getting

closer to her death, boy, better talk and stop crying!” He seemed to chuckle as

he relayed this to the frightened boy.

“I have no regrets.

Hatan, I will always love you. Be strong and never forget who you are.” The

smile remained, and acceptance was plastered on her beautiful face.

“Mother! No,

please, you can’t die, Mother!”

“One!”

Hatan could not

contain it any longer; he screamed at the top of his lungs, “STOP!” As tears

ran down his face, pouring from his red eyes.

“Yes, boy, do you

want to tell me where the deed is?” The man released Hatan’s mother a little.

“I can’t tell you…

I was never told,” Hatan said with conviction.

“Too bad, and now,

she dies!” With that, the man easily brought the knife to the right side of her

throat and plunged it in. Crimson shot out and covered the floor; the screams

of the boy could be heard through the woods, but no one could help. The act was

fast as the knife quickly cut a line in her throat, and with it ran a waterfall

of red liquid. Her body fell to the ground with a soft thud, and her eyes began

to lose their sweet glow.

Hatan struggled to

be free. To touch his mother, but he could not; he watched as she fell. It

seemed like an eternity as she floated to the ground. Still, as he looked at

her, her face housed its smile. She was dying, laying there, and Hatan could do

nothing but cry for her. “Mother...” he moaned over and over through his tears.

“Now it’s your

turn, boy.” His tongue was licking the wet red blade. The snake slowly bore

down on Hatan.

The fear and pain

Hatan felt that moment, he knew would never heal. There was no way to avenge

his mother’s death. He was going to die here along with his mother. Maybe he

would get to be with them in death. His father and mother, all of them

together, again.

“Don’t give up!”

“What?” a voice

sang in his ear. “What did you say?” He asked.

“Death will change

nothing. She died for us. Can you feel that fire inside you?”

“Fire?” Hatan had

only asked, and he could feel a small burning in his gut. “Yes, I can feel it!”

Forgetting about the bandits, he concentrated on that little fire that was now

building inside him, expanding. Adding his sadness and rage seemed to

strengthen the flame. Emotions fed the flames, so he fed it his fear, anxiety,

loneliness, and weakness until his head hurt and body burned. Hatan thought of

nothing else but strengthening the fire, and soon all he felt was the warmth of

bright green flames. “It burns, it hurts…” he screamed in his head.

The lanky bandit

was only two steps away from him and flipped the dagger in his hand.

Hatan began a chant

softly and quietly. Opening his eyes to find that the tall bandit has stopped

advancing, he looked frightened. Why should he be afraid? Freeing one arm and

looked at his hand. The hand was not his; they were the hands of a skeleton

engulfed in green flames. His face in the blade of the dagger showed colorless

eyes. “What madness is this?” Terrified of the transformation and sudden

changes.

Hatan had never

dreamt of having power. However, if he could use this to kill the bastards that

took his mother’s life. It would be used to its full potential. The fire burned

his hand; he did not move it; suffering any pain for his mother. In no time,

the burning was but a memory.

The big mountain of

a man had felt the burn and let go of the bewitched child. Looking at his arm

and saw a small handprint. Slowly flesh began to bubble and burn away. “Help!

Leacver! Help me… the pain is…!” His screams filled the house and frightened

his companion. Who could do nothing! The Huge Man felt the burning hellfire

move through his arm, fast entering his chest, exploding all through his body.

Falling to his knees screaming, holding his chest, choking on the taste of iron

and liquid that now filled his throat, unable to breathe; the last thing he

ever saw was the smile on Hatan’s face before his eyes disintegrated. Within minutes

the huge bulk of a man had been turned into nothing more than dust. Leacver

looked at the boy with terror.

"Now it’s your

turn." Hatan was now engulfed in green flames; they did not burn; they

tingled, and he felt himself flying.

“What trick is

this? You can kill a man with a touch and hover over the ground like a spirit!”

Leacver tried to stay collected but could not stop from trembling. He knew the

only way he would live would be to cut this boy down. Reaching for his

broadsword and unsheathing it, he lunged at the hovering boy. Hatan easily

sidestepped, sending his attacker off balance. Next came a horizontal slash

with a clang. Leacver opened his eyes and saw that the boy had stopped his

attack with the aura that surrounded him. The smirk on the boy's face was

horribly evil.

“You will not die

by my hands. You will die by the hand of the one whose life you have taken!”

Hatan’s ghostly voice sounded throughout the room, and the eerie green glow of

his aura added to the effect of terror. Easily hovering over to his mother’s

side and touched her. “Mother,” like a dream, he had no control and was only

able to watch. As if this was happening on a stage, a play, or a show, his

voice was even and collected. This must be a dream. Hatan tried to think of his

mother, how she would run and walk, opening his eyes to once again look upon

his mother's corpse.

The body moved! It

shifted from one side to another and started to convulse. The corpse stopped

shifting and slowly stood up. Her head cocked to one side, and her face was

smiling. With this, the corpse tried its footing and took two steps, then

looking back at its master, it nodded. By bringing in its arms and squatting,

the lifeless corpse let free a powerful scream. She pushed her arms out wide,

eyeing the tall, long sword that the mountain man had as a weapon now lying in

a pile of dust and ash.

“Oh shit! No,

never. Impossible!” Screamed Leacver as he looked at her, still with an open

neck wound and the front of her blouse and apron covered in blood. Her eyes

empty, no spark of life, no fear.

His mother moved

like she had in life. Crouching, the reanimated corpse aimed at Leacver.

Charging in without a weapon, she punched out with tremendous speed; barely

able to block the attack, Leacver rolled to the side. But it was not the

snake-like man she was after but the huge sword his companion carried.

“There is no way

you can lift that, you dead bitch!” Leacver laughed.

Smiling, looking

over at him, and with one hand, she easily picked up the sword and gave it a

spin.

“Shit!” Eyes wide,

the bandit entered a weak defensive stance.

With a flick of the

wrist and a jump, clearing easily the six-foot difference between them, she

twirled the huge sword around, attacking Leacver from every direction; all he

could do was dance and block the strong attacks. The incredibly powerful

attacks were wearing him down, his arms numb. Knowing that if he was hit, it

would easily cut him in two. Finally, an opening, lifting the huge sword over

her head, he knew it was now or never. Lunging at the gut, he cut her across

the chest, her intestines falling to the floor.

The corpse stood

there and looked to her master. Hatan nodded. “Finish this!” he said dryly.

With that, Leacver

was run through and pushed against the back wall. The bandit impaled; his blood

ran off the sword's hilt and crossbar down the wall, forming a puddle on the

floor. Letting go of the blade, she turned to Hatan for orders.

Clinging to the

blade desperately, trying to move it, hoping to free himself, and finally with

no strength left to move the blade, he closed his hands as firmly as he could

around it. The room seemed to darken by the second.

With a nod, he

heard “explode” faintly in his mind and watched a scene that no living person

should endure.

Grabbing hold of

Leacver and embracing him tightly. Looking deeply into his eyes, her lifeless

eyes and happy smile would be the last thing he saw. It haunted him so that he

evacuated his bladder. She howled as a green glow from inside her chest slowly

grew. Exploding moments later, bones embedded themselves inside him, and he

died upon impact. The room was destroyed and dirtied by blood and gore. The

power Hatan housed dispersed. No longer was he hovering, feeling faint, trying

to regain control but could not, blacking out.

Hearing the

screams, an owl landed on the steps of the Gremhyr porch. Slowly a light

started in its chest and surrounded it. Wings became arms and talons legs. In

what seemed like an instant, a man stood in place of the owl, holding a wooden

staff and robed in dirt green. A silver wolf pelt was draped around his

shoulders. Smelling the air, his face warped into a disgusted look. “Death,

something foul has happened at this cabin.”

Entering, he

sighted at the dog and gave his blessing as vines reached up from the floor and

returned the animal to the earth. “You are now at peace, my brother. Return to

the elder tree, return to our mother.” Moving into the next room, staff raised,

he paused and removed his hood. The sight before him was unexpected. A boy lay

in the center of the room, a pile of ash at his feet. A bandit pinned to the

wall and bones embedded in his body, an apron at his feet. What had transpired

in this room was the work of a mage, and the only surviving member was this

boy. Taking the boy in his arms, he ascended the stairs and picked the nearest

room to tuck him in. Leaving, he made his way to the porch and sighed. The

sound of wind through the branches of a willow in a field caught his attention.

Moments later, a smile formed on his lips, and

he stroked his long brown beard. Taking a seat in an old rocker left on the

porch, he readied a pipe to smoke the night away. “So as the father, the son

continues the gifts of his family. I will watch him this night out of respect.

But your boy is not my concern… Kenifo.” Filling his pipe, a thought made him

look northwest. “I won’t let him be a new vessel for her either.”