Cythra/Storyteller

Roughed-out work in progress...
property of the author.

The Storyteller

Chapter 1
Chapter 2 (someday)

Chapter 1

My name is Tynx. Tynx of Szalla. I am the only child of Molx and Nalya. I guess we couldn't afford longer names. We are a family of simple means. It is expected of me, I'm sure, to always be of simple means. But I dream of something bigger.

My parents think that I am odd for being such a fan of the old man I only know as the Storyteller. What parent wants an odd child? They say his stories will warp my young mind but, regardless of that, I often imagine myself as a storyteller too, travelling the lands and entertaining rapt crowds. Maybe I'd even warp a mind or two myself.

My parents call it a fantasy. Maybe they are right.

"Magic is gone," they'd tell me.

I'd argue that the Gifted have foretold magic will return one day, but my parents would counter, "If magic is gone, how can the Gifted have the magic to foretell anything?"

I'd explain that the Hunter, the hero of the Storyteller's tales, does not use magic. He doesn't need it. Needless to say, my words always fell on deaf ears.

Stories about the Hunter have a different kind of magic: The magic of wonder. I can lose myself in them. I can imagine I'm somewhere else... someone else.

I sat amongst the small, late-summer crowd on the soft grass of the green enraptured by the tale. After the tale ended and those gathered scattered back to their daily business, I approached the Storyteller as he gathered his belongings.

"Please sir, how do you do it?"

The Storyteller looked at me thoughtfully.

"Just like everybody else I guess."

I gave the Storyteller a confused look as he chuckled to himself. The Storyteller gazed at me as though he was looking right through me. No, not through me. Right into me. Into my soul.

Did I detect a hint of sadness in his eyes? An expression of understanding crossed the Storyteller's face though, personally, I didn't understand it at all. Not yet.

"I just take down what the Hunter said happened," he said as he continue to gather his things and pack them into a satchel.

"You mean you actually know the Hunter and the stories are true?" The Storyteller hesitated in his packing.

He paused, silently staring at his papers, before answering, "Yes, my lad."

He spoke almost as though he knew me. I stared awestruck at the Storyteller. Nobody I knew would believe such a thing possible.

"It's not necessarily word-for-word. I mean, a mountain cat's eyes don't actually glow red. I embellished a little here and there to make it interesting but the tales are real and straight from the Hunter's mouth," he said with a wry chuckle.

The Storyteller's voice lowered to a conspiratorial whisper, "Let me tell you a secret: it wasn't just one Hunter."

Confusion spread across my face.

"You'll see what I mean," he added. "About all of it."

I looked at him, even more confused than before. The Storyteller rested a gentle hand on my shoulder as if about to say something more.

I suddenly found myself blinking my eyes at the abrupt darkness enveloping me. I felt like I was going to throw up and tried to hold it back. I'm not sure I succeeded.

A voice nearby startled me, "Stay close kid."

I bit back a retort about not being a child anymore as I tried to get my bearings. When my eyes adjusted I realized I was not in total darkness. Dim light filtered from above and glittered faintly, here and there on the jagged cavern walls. When I looked at the speaker I knew, even in the darkness, that I was in the presence of the Hunter. He was dressed in dark colors and I could see the hilt of his signature sword, which I'd heard described so many times, sticking up out of the scabbard across his back.

Stunned, all I could think to do was follow instructions and move closer to the Hunter in the cave-like crevasse. The Hunter forged ahead silently. My feet crunched loudly on the rocks below. In my dazed state I stumbled over the uneven ground.

"It's just ahead," the Hunter stated quietly.

I had no idea what he was talking about. We slowly approached a rough, narrow split in the left canyon wall.

"It was here," the Hunter said running his hand around inside the opening and finding a tuft of fur.

Absently I asked, "What was?"

"Mountain cat. It probably heard us coming and ran off."

That got my attention. A real mountain cat? I felt a chill run down my arms in the already cold air at the thought of encountering the legendary beast from the stories I'd heard. I shivered involuntarily.

I'd never felt such relief as I did when we emerged from the crevasse into the bright sunlight. Along the way I had jumped and started at every sound. The heat of the sun's rays felt glorious on my arms even though there was the slight chill of spring in the air. Spring? It must have been my imagination.

"What do they call you?"

"I'm Tynx."

"Tynx, eh? I'm called Hunter. Nice to meet you."

He looked me over, "You're a bit smaller than I expected."

"Expected? Where am I? What is this place? How did I get here? What happened? Where's my village," I blurted. I tried not to sound too frantic. I'm not sure I succeeded.

The Hunter chuckled to himself.

"Would you believe you're in a storybook?"

What kind of strange question was that?

"No," was all I said.

"Good."

I stared at him incredulously, mouth agape. I had no idea how to respond to that. Now that I could see him properly, his face looked somehow familiar but I couldn't place why.

"Listen kid, let's take a walk. I have a cabin nearby. I'm hungry and I bet you are too. We can talk over a meal."

I gazed at him for a long moment. Food hadn't even entered my mind. What other choices did I have? With a slight nod of acquiescence I started down the jagged slope.

"Kid. It's this way."

The Hunter led me over the ridge and down the other side. This side of the mountain was less craggy, quite green and had a gentler slope. We walked together in silence. Well, to be fair the Hunter's great strides carried him along swiftly while I worked to keep up. Eventually, as we emerged from a copse of evergreens, I could see what appeared to be a small cabin ahead of us.

Outside the cabin stood a group of people facing us like we were expected. Clad in deeply hooded, dark robes, they were formed in a semicircle with one of them standing in the center. Seeing the group, the Hunter slowed his approach. I instinctively moved a little behind the large form of the Hunter as we walked. As we drew closer I could make out a crescent moon symbol on their robes. We walked straight towards the person in the center of the semicircle but stopped a respectful distance back.

"Hello," said the Hunter as I tried to subtly peek around him.

There must have been at least dozen gathered there. They stood stolid and still. The mountain breeze did not seem to touch them.

"Well met Hunter," came a quiet but resounding voice from within the shadow of the hood. "And you as well, Tynx of Szalla."

I was flummoxed.

"Do not look so surprised, child of Molx and Nyala. You know us."

They were the Gifted. I was in the presence of the Gifted of legend!

"Come out that we may see you."

I cautiously stepped from behind the Hunter and made an effort to stand tall and proud. I also tried to hide my trembling. I'm not sure I succeeded.

"We know that you have questions about why you were sent here."

Sent? That made no sense! Who would have sent me here and why? How could this have happened? My mind was reeling.

"Sent?" was all I could mutter.

"You, Tynx of Szalla, are to be an apprentice," stated the strangely echoing voice. "Learn well."

"An apprentice?" My voice was practically a whisper.

"Like those before him, this Hunter cannot endure forever. You are to continue this work."

The Hunter gave no reaction. Something inside me snapped and the wall holding back the flood inside me collapsed.

"Me? Who decided that? What makes you think I can do this? How did I get here? Are you nuts? This is all crazy! Maybe I'm crazy! Maybe it's all just a dream! Maybe my parents were right about those stories warping my mind! Oh no! I've been warped!"

At that the Hunter softly chuckled to himself. The Gifted did not seem to react. I felt like I was having trouble catching my breath. I was proud of myself for not fainting.

"It is an old magic. Acceptance will come."

"I'll never accept this. Neither will my family."

My family! They must be worried. I'd been too caught up in my own feelings to consider them. I tried to put on a brave face. I'm not sure I succeeded.

"It is part of the old magic. Acceptance will come."

I stared as defiantly as I could manage at the Gifted. Not a one of them seemed moved in the slightest.

"You act like this kind of thing happens to you every day. Well, it doesn't happen to me every day. In fact it NEVER happens to me."

Magic? How was this possible? Everybody knows magic is gone; It's been gone since a time before my parents. How could everybody be wrong?

"Destiny cannot be evaded."

"Train him well Hunter."

The Gifted moved off as one. I stared after them incredulously. I'm sure I had more to say.

The small cabin was rough and rustic but solid. The single room lacked any decoration and was sparely furnished. Getting firewood from the box which doubled as a bench, the Hunter immediately began building a fire in the stone fireplace. I sat in one of the two chairs.

"Well, that was..." I trailed off unsure of how to describe what happened outside.

"Lucky thing I was here when that mountain cat was spotted. It's been killing local livestock and it might only be a matter of time before it attacks a person."

Lost in my thoughts, I barely heard him. He took the other chair.

After a few minutes I ventured to ask, "How far is the village of Szalla?"

He thought a moment, "In all my travels I've never heard of it."

"Then how do I get home? I have to take care of Old Gus." Old Gus is my cat. We used to call him Young Gus but those days are long behind him now.

"I don't think you can. I don't fully understand how the magic works, all I know is that I am to train you."

I sat dejected.

We sat in silence a few minutes until the fire popped sending a pair of errant embers skittering across the floor.

Slapping his hands on his knees, "Right. Supper," the Hunter said.

He rose and stepped on the embers to extinguish them with his sturdy boots. "But first..."

He went to a tall cupboard and withdrew an oilcloth bundle which he handed to me.

"You should take this."

I numbly accepted. Inside was a sword, scabbard and a matching belt.

I ate supper in a quiet haze. I don't even remember what it was we ate.

After supper I spent some time telling the Hunter of Szalla. Of kindly Mister Fletchley and his general store. Of Farmer Boggs and his wonderful fruits and vegetables. Of how Farmer Boggs would let me take apples for myself. "As long as you don't waste it," he would say with a bluff at gruffness. Hunter laughed at my impression of the farmer's gravelly voice. He was an attentive listener and seemed to find it all interesting. He let me go on and on throughout the evening without interruption. That night I went to bed feeling homesick, but the events of the day quickly caught up with me and I fell into a fitful slumber. That night Molx and Nalya of Szala went to bed lamenting the fact that they never had children.

I slept fitfully and woke the next morning with fresh determination and maybe even a little acceptance. Acceptance? Never. Impossible. I rationalized to myself that perhaps the faster I was able to prove I was the wrong person for this, whatever it is, the faster the magic would send me home. After a moment I even decided to strap on the sword belt. The belt and the scabbard were well constructed from plain leather that was aging well. The sword's hilt was a simple, wrapped leather style. The blade gleamed with a mirror finish and, as far as I could tell, had a keen edge. There was a single, stylized symbol that I didn't recognize deeply engraved into the ricasso. I felt almost brave with a sword at my hip. Almost.

"You've got this," I thought to myself unconvincingly.

I had to laugh inside at how ridiculous this all was. The door burst open and I jumped reflexively. It was the Hunter with an armload of firewood.

"It's about time you got up."

"I had a long day yesterday," I said with a frown.

"That's why I let you sleep."

I forced a smile and, patting the sword at my side, asked, "What do we get to hunt today?"

"Provisions," he chuckled. "Speaking of, your breakfast is on the table."

As we headed out the door the Hunter handed a pack to me and slung another onto his back. This side of the mountain had a comfortable slope which was covered with grass and wildflowers with scattered copses of oaks and evergreens. The Hunter explained that we were headed to a village called Fluev for supplies. He described Fluev as being, "down the mountain". There was bound to be someone in the village "down the mountain" who had heard of Szalla I tried to convince myself. I wasn't fooling anyone. Nobody has heard of Szalla. I lived there and had barely heard of it. Today Hunter slowed his pace so I was able to keep up.

As we walked he explained his training plan: During the day we would focus on the physical: combat, strength and stamina. In the evenings we would, as he put it, "Train my brain." He seemed rather proud of that simple rhyme.

After walking a couple of hours we sat on a log in an otherwise open field of grass and wildflowers where we had a light repast of bread seeded with grains, cheese, and a little preserved meat. I tossed some crumbs of bread to a white bird marked with dark chevron stripes down its back that choose to perch on our log with us. It seemed cautious but appreciative.

I then spied a yellow dog sniffing its way around the field. I coaxed it over with a scrap of meat which it gobbled hungrily. It was happy to let me pet and hug on it. As we continued our journey, Gus followed us. I decided to call the dog New Gus even though I'm not sure Old Gus the cat would approve of sharing his name with a dog. On our way down the mountain Gus would sometimes wander off this way or that but he always returned.

After a bit I told the Hunter, "I think it's following us."

"Dogs will do that if you feed them. We'll probably be stuck with him now." He didn't sound as though he actually minded.

"I don't mean the dog. I think that bird from the log is following us."

The Hunter gave me a look that seemed to suggest I would be going to bed early that night.

As we hiked the Hunter spoke about the topography and pointed out what he seemed to consider landmarks along the way. To me he might as well have just been pointing and saying, "Rock... Bigger rock... Tree that's not a rock."

By the time we got to town I could hear the nearby rushing of the river Fluev from which the town took its name. He even found a breastplate of blue-dyed, boiled leather for me that mostly fit.

"You'll grow into it," he said with a smirk.

The Hunter introduced me around in various shops getting what provisions he thought we could carry as well as clothing and gear to replace my own, which the Hunter clearly found to be woefully inadequate.

Everyone in town treated Hunter with a respect that bordered on reverence.

I asked everybody I met if they knew who the dog belonged to but nobody had ever seen him before. I guess Hunter was right, we were stuck with him. We then headed back up the mountain retracing our course down except this time it was more like, "Tree... Bigger tree... Rock that's not a tree."

Every now and then I could swear I saw that same striped bird. All I really wanted to know about the topography was why they built mountains in places with such thin air. It didn't sound like it was at all well planned out to me. By the time we arrived at the cabin I realized that I completely forgot to ask anybody about Szalla. This I did not mention to the Hunter.

The next day training began in earnest. First was a morning run every day before breakfast. I was sure now more than ever that mountains were built in the wrong places. At least we had Gus keeping us company. After breakfast he would put me through various stretching and relaxation techniques. I'm pretty sure I needed the relaxation part. After lunch was what he called open-hand combat even though a lot of it involved closing my hand into a proper fist – which he taught me how to do in great detail. I had no idea that a fist was such a fiddly thing. This was probably more of a workout than running was but I found it more interesting and I could ask questions about the various techniques; I sometimes asked questions as a strategy to catch my breath. I found myself yawning a lot trying to get more air into my body.

I wanted to learn to use my shiny sword but Hunter would say, "You can't even control your body, how do you expect to control a blade?" I tried not to feel too insulted by this. I'm not sure I succeeded.

In the evenings he would teach skills like first aid and often told stories. He would tell stories about things that he'd done or seen. He would even talk about history sometimes. Among my favorites were the tales he told of the magic that used to be. He spoke of the Forest Mages: their affinity with nature and how they usually avoided cities. They could pass silently through a forest without leaving a single trace. Forest Mages were masters of the bow. He told me of the powerful Battle Mages: mages so powerful they could make the very ground shake. Battle Mages were as adept with weapons as they were with magic. There was mention of the Light Mages whose very power came from the light around us. The Light Mages were mysterious but it was believed they could do things like bend the light around them to see across great distances. I even learned about the Healers and the Devotionals: responsible for the physical and spiritual health of the people and the lands. Then they disappeared. Hunter believes that, with the fading of magic, they were just absorbed into the rest of society. I always found these stories fascinating.

After a couple weeks Hunter decided I should wear my sword during our workouts to get used to it. Those who have never been on a mountain run with a sword strapped to their back will never appreciate it in the same way that I didn't.

Sometimes we would stop so that he could point out various animal tracks and signs or different healing herbs and their uses.

Hunter was right though, I was already growing into my breastplate.

One morning as we ran side-by-side Hunter was explaining that we would soon be moving on to a different location when he suddenly pitched forward face first onto the ground. A mountain cat crouched there. It had leapt from one of those big rocks that Hunter found so notable and clipped him from behind. Its eyes didn't glow red but they were intense and bright. Funny that I would notice such a thing.

My sword was quickly in my hand. I gripped it awkwardly with both hands and held it straight out, shaking at arm's length in front of me. Gus was instantly there barking and snarling. The large cat began to slowly circle on the dog. I yelled for Gus to get back when the cat suddenly lashed out striking with a large, clawed paw. Gus lay there unmoving, his throat torn out. It was over so fast he didn't even have time to yelp.

I felt the fear and rage rush through my body. The symbol on my sword took on a faint blue glow. The glow grew in intensity as the symbol almost seemed to lift off the blade and float in the air before me. The world stood still as if frozen in time. Suddenly there was a white flash that raced down to the tip of my blade and back. When the flash reached my hands the world briefly turned brilliant white. A single word blasted silently through my brain: "Bard!"

A wild scream ripped from my throat as the world resumed. The scream poured out before me like waves on water. It was strange and almost painful. As it reached the cat, the beast was blasted through the air and end-over-end away from me. The cat took a moment to struggle shakily to its feet and gave me one last, appraising look before limping off into the forest.

It was then, feeling completely drained, that I let myself collapse. Somewhere in the back of my mind I started nagging myself to move. I had to help Hunter.

My eyes opened slowly and focused even more slowly. I'm pretty sure that I was only out for a moment. I crawled to where Hunter lay quiet but breathing. He had a series of four bleeding claw marks across the back of his shoulder and had clearly bumped his head pretty good – Probably on one of the less notable rocks strewn about the ground.

I staggered to my feet and made my way to the tree line to gather some blood moss. After washing the wound the best I could with water, I covered it with some of the moss then wrapped that with strips of linen he carried in his backpack. I did the same for the small gash on his head. He was starting to rouse.

He finally came to senses. After verifying he had no further wounds I helped him struggle to his feet and walked him slowly past the lifeless body of Gus and back to the cabin while he leaned heavily on my shoulder. Upon arriving home we collapsed on the bench outside the cabin. I gave Hunter some willow bark to chew on and cleaned his wound more thoroughly. Next I set about making a poultice using honey, some of the healing herbs that grew by the cottage, and the rest of the blood moss. I used this to redress his wound before getting him to bed. I didn't envy how he was going to feel in the morning.

After ensuring that Hunter was resting I made my way back to New Gus to build a cairn of rocks over his broken body. I wanted to say a few words over his makeshift grave but I didn't have any. Gus would probably still be alive had I not coaxed him over that first day. I tried not to let the tears overtake me. I'm not sure I succeeded.

The next morning the sun arose far too bright and cheery as if it hadn't borne witness to what transpired the day before. I hadn't slept well as I was up several times throughout the night to check on Hunter's bandages. I'm not sure what the words were that I mumbled under my breath as the light shone in the window but I am certain they weren't complimentary.

I decided to forego my morning run and fuss around the cabin in case Hunter took a turn for the worse. He seemed like he would probably be fine but you can never tell about these things. He asked for some water. I took that as a good sign even though it probably didn't mean anything more than he was thirsty. He croaked that he was sorry about Gus. I wasn't ready to talk about that so I just smiled weakly and gave him more water. He seemed pretty weak. Maybe he lost more blood than I realized. He really seemed like he was going to be okay now though.

I went outside and sat on the bench. Just sat.