“The air sung with the sound of purest blade striking purest blade. Sparks exploded off the swords illuminating the two creatures in fleeting, unearthly light. A glimpse of a scarred nose, the barest hint of lips curved into a cruel snarl, the momentary gleam of an eye. Stroke for stroke, step for step, they mimicked each other, partners in the elegant dance of death. Yet the swords were not the only, nor the most important, fabric in tapestry and seemingly out of nowhere lightening ruptured the dark cloudless sky, a great blade of fire yearning to cut down all. A millisecond from reaching its prey, the lightning simply disappeared as if snuffed out by a great hand. Yet neither of the warriors showed any reaction, so caught up were they in their endless game.’
‘The snap of a small twig, the muffled footsteps of a child, a sooty, miserable face seen peering through the dense underbrush, and then, a moment’s hesitation. This was all it took for the fragile balance of the dance to be broken and Shadow Slayer found himself lying unarmed at the feet of his most dangerous enemy, the only being he truly feared, Alo. Well, almost completely unarmed, as Alo brought back his sword Shadow Slayer withdrew from his cloak his hand, clenched tightly around a small blue stone. A slight look of confusion and possibly even fear crossed Alo’s face but before he had time to react, the words were muttered and a blinding flash of blue light ripped from the small stone. Alo was dead. The cause of all Shadow Slayer’s misery and pain dead, crumpled in a heap, looking so small insignificant in the eternal sleep that all living beings eventually fall into. Shadow Slayer almost allowed himself to feel pity for the creature, but the screams of the flaming children that ran through the flaming streets, the screams of parents who returned from the fields to find their house, and their babies that had been inside of the house, ashes, the screams that would echo forever in Shadow Slayer’s head, these screams kept him from feeling any pity. Dropping the small, now worthless stone, Shadow Slayer collapsed onto the soft damp spring earth and for a few seconds allowed himself to be enveloped by the grief that he had shunted out for so long. Now that their leader was dead, the nymphs would be easily defeated and the Stone Clan would finally know what it was like to live in peace.’
‘This was your greatest ancestor, Faolan, he brought prosperity and peace to our clan and without him we would still be fighting The Dark War. You will be our clan leader like Shadow Slayer one day and it will be your responsibility to protect the way of life he gave us.”
Struggling back a sigh, I managed a “yes father” without even a hint of the sarcastic tone that usually tainted my words. It was not as if I tried to be disrespectful, but after a lifetime of being told the same rules by people seemingly all the same, it was hard to be sincere when repeating the same answer over and over. But in my world, traditions and customs ruled and repetition was just a part of life. Children often dream of being kings, but as a prince I have had less freedom than the servants who clean my chamber, and as a king I will be no more than a puppet, controlled by countless advisors and the rules laid down by my ancestors. A well decorated, well fed puppet, but like my father, a puppet none the less. Like the words of my tutors, my life was a monotone. Every day I ate breakfast, studied mathematics and casting spells, ate lunch, studied Italian, the spirit’s language, attempted to play the piano, went on a short walk within the castle’s walls, ate super, and then was rushed to bed. This same schedule was repeated day in and day out with the exception of Friday, when I spent most day riding horses and was then told the great legends and history of the Stone Clan, my clan. I would never admit this, but I actually enjoyed these weekly history lessons and looked forward to hearing the triumphs and failures of heroes, for they provided an escape from my life and was my only form of excitement. Other than riding, of course. Riding was my vision of freedom. The air rushing past your body, the ground simply a blur underneath you. The steady rhythm of the horse’s hooves striking the ground and the raw power of the world exposed. No manipulative self-serving politicians with slick binding words. The world rushes by too fast to entangle you with its tiny details. The crisp air and the horse underneath you the only things of importance. Life in its simplest, purest form. If I was the cobbler’s son down the street, or the maids daughter, I would spend all day, all my life riding my horse, Black Hurricane, winning some races and losing others, making just enough to feed myself, living a near perfect life. As it was, I was destined to sit indoors all day, signing papers and discerning which words spoken by deceitful advisors were truth and which were false in the twisted web of lies, compliments, and half-truths which made up politics.
“What did you say Faolan?” asked my father
“Yes Father,” I answered, raising my voice slightly.
“Oh, well goodnight then, I’ll see you for super tomorrow”
I watched silently as his broad shouldered form receded down the hallway. Friday was also the only time I got to spend any real time with my father, when he was not surrounded by countless advisors, ambassadors, guards, and possible assassins. Clouds formed over the sky, blocking out the stars, and the sound of rain rhythmically pounding on the world lulled me to sleep.
“The sun shone high in the sky, for once peeking from the mass of gray clouds that almost always hid its surface. Oblivious to this fact, or anything else around him, Shadow Slayer remained bent over papers which he had been studying almost non-stop all day. The Stone Clan, like most other clans, required a medium through which to express their magic. For the Stone Clan, this medium came in the form of an everyday rock, eventually turned into a jewel by the power it expressed. Not only was the rock used as a medium, but it contained its own power, which, if harnessed could produce magic. Shadow Slayer was trying to figure out a way to harness this power in every rock, stone, and pebble, which would allow for the Stone Clan to perform endless amounts of magic without wasting any of their own energy. If Shadow Slayer could only figure out this seemingly simply task, the Stone Clan would be unstoppable and his people safe. Safe from the prowling panthers who quietly picked men off by night, like death’s hand itself, safe from the Wind Clan who had taken to stealing their crops, causing food shortages in the long hard months of winter, and most importantly, safe from the nymphs, the mindless creatures who like fire ants bit and stung for no other reason than to cause pain.”
“Father,” I interrupted, “Why did the nymphs hurt people like that? How could anyone do that without some sort of reason?”
“This is exactly what makes nymphs different from you or me; they lack the compassion that I hear in almost all of your words. They are without pity, immune even to the cries of tortured children, a robot in human guise.”
Goosebumps prickling the back of my neck as I asked, “What happened to the nymphs, after Shadow Slayer defeated their leader I mean? I know they fled deep into the woods but that was centuries ago and they have not attacked since. Surely they are all wiped out by now.” I realized I was talking more to myself than my father and my voice faded off, slightly, embarrassed I had let my words show my fear.
“Many smaller groups still lurk in the woods, but our men are quickly rounding them up. There’s no reason to worry, Faolan, the nymphs are little more than a small pest now and within a few years they will have all been wiped out. Now where was I?”
“The-”
“Oh yes, I remember, harnessing the stones’ power.’
‘Shadow Slayer worked and worked for fourteen days straight, like a man possessed. People say his eyes burned so fiercely and his hands worked so quickly that no one dared approach him. On the morn of the fifteenth day however, when the clan awoke Shadow Slayer was leaned up against the side of his tent eating a breakfast of berries and eggs as if nothing had happened. His eyes, though bright as always, were not feverish as they had been the day before and he seemed everyway the same man he was fifteen days ago. A curious crowd gathered around him and asked Shadow Slayer if the mysterious experiment was complete. In response, he scooped up some loose pebbles, muttered a few foreign words, and with a blinding flash of white light, the old dead pine at the end of the camp was ripped from the ground. ‘These stones are not quite like the stones we all use now,’ said Shadow Slayer. ‘To use them you must say a spell, and once you have used up the power in the stone it is worthless. However, using these stones will not drain you of life and energy, you are using the stone’s magic, not your own. As long as you have these stones you will never tire in battle, or faint after performing powerful magic. You will be able to use magic without any repercussions. This, my friends, is going to change our lives forever.’
‘Well, I think that is enough for one night. Goodnight Faolan, and remember, tomorrow is the festival, so try to get a goodnight’s sleep.”
“Goodnight father.”
Of course, tomorrow was the festival, how could I have forgotten? The festival was by far the most fun day of the year, free food and drinks were given to all and games and small contests were played. The river was filled with splashes and shouts as children swam and frolicked in it. The air carried the scent of freshly baked bread, dripped with honey, and colorful banners hung from almost every building, decorated with wildflowers and small stones. It was a day of total freedom, the only day of the year that I was not a prince, but simply a boy, without a care in his head. Drifting happily in the limbo between consciousness and sleep, to my great vexation I suddenly remembered the nymphs. Try as I might to think of something else, I could not get the nymphs out of my thoughts. My dreams were filled with agile, pale shapes, flitting on the very edge of my sight, more a memory of a shape than an actual shape. No matter how fast I spun this way and that, all I ever saw was a brief, almost invisible dash of white and then total darkness. As the fingers closed around my neck I woke up. Sweating and gasping for breath as if someone really had been chocking me, I sat up and peered through the curtains. It was still pitch black, but I knew there was no way I was getting back to sleep. Slowly, I eased my way out of the bed, careful to step over the creaky floorboard by the door, and snuck out of the room. I knew the way to the stables by heart, even in the dark, but I crept along slower than usual, careful not to wake the sleeping guards who sat by the inner castle’s entrance. As I entered the stables the usual load whinny greeted me, and I silently cursed Black Hurricane, sure the sound had awoken the guards. However, once several seconds of silence followed I was satisfied that they were still dead to the world and laughed at myself for being so skittish. Once I was on Black Hurricane I immediately felt safer, and in control. There was a slight breeze and the cool night air seemed to be beckoning me into the distance. Feeling my energy, Black Hurricane pranced sideways, and suddenly we were off. Flying, the moon our guide, the sky our limit, and nothing to stop us. The river raced alongside us, but unable to keep up, it dropped back, discouraged. Suddenly in one movement, I felt Black Hurricane’s leg give as it caught on an ancient vine, and for the first time in my life I was scared while riding a horse. I knew I was coming off and that we were going way to fast, but there was nothing I could do, and where flesh and warmth had been earlier, there was air. When I landed I felt three sensations, pain, wetness, and hardness. Then there was a dark, inky black that clouded my vision and left me helpless.
***

“Adsila, wait!” I cried laughing so hard I was nearly bent double. The stitch that had developed in my side was not helping matters as I tried to keep up with the flitting figure in the hazy green light of the woods. Faintly I heard the word slowpoke echo through the trees and controlling my laughter I sped up after Adsila. It had been nearly three months since I had fallen off Black Hurricane and I had never felt so alive. I had managed to fall in the river and had washed up on the banks of a small clan. Waking to the sight of Adsila’s large emerald-no, spring green eyes, I was at first confused and unsure of my surroundings. Adsila had taken me back to her clan and her grandmother had nursed me back to health, constantly telling me stories of her clan’s ancestors. The long bloody battles they had fought and the simplistic life they had lived before the war, when they had been at peace and in harmony with the world around them. All of this Adsila’s grandmother told me while I was floating back and forth between a feverish sleep and semi-consciousness. Slowly, I had gotten better, and Adsila began to show me her paradise, the woods. I found that her perfect laugh was just as enchanting as the unbelievable magic she was capable of. With a mere touch plants would grow 100 times their size in a matter of seconds, wild animals would follow Adsila around like puppies, rain would appear out of nowhere and a tornado whip through the air when moments before it had been lazy and balmy. All of this magic was performed without aid of a rock or any other medium, which should have been quite impossible. Whenever I asked where she got the energy to work such magic, a slightly puzzled expression would cross her near perfect features and she would answer that the Aguna, or the balance, gave it to her, and that the meditations she did each night before bed returned this energy to the world. Simply smiling I made a mental note to ask her again later, thinking she was just unwilling to share her secrets. Then we would continue on in our conversation talking about anything and everything, her bright, eager eyes reflecting the hundreds of shades of green around her, her hair shining like gold even in the dim forest, her clear voice that inexplicably reminded me of a chattering creek, and the perfect laugh, a sound of pure joy. Months continued to pass and my life fell into somewhat of a pattern. Yet it was not the monotonous pattern like my old life held, it was more of a familiar, comforting pattern. Knowing what chores I would have the next day, when I would eat, and where I would sleep. The day, however, was always filled with something new and exciting, for every adventure with Adsila, something new was found, and there was always something to keep us entertained. On one such day we were exploring a dry creek bed when Adsila abruptly stopped.
“Something is wrong,” she said
“What is it?” I asked half expecting her to burst out laughing, say she was just kidding, and tease me for hours about the look on my face.
“I don’t know what exactly but something is weird. It’s much too quiet and I haven’t seen an animal in ages. I think we had better head back.”
Slightly worried I agreed and we fell into a quick jog back towards the town. When we approached I could immediately tell something was horribly wrong. The silence hung over the town, crushing everything underneath it. Where was the children’s laughter, the babies’ wails, the cackling group of old ladies sitting on porch sewing and gossiping the town gossip? Silence. Wait no, there, there are voices. Both of us hearing the noise, we crept toward the sound. The voices sounded faintly familiar, yet I couldn’t remember why and therefore was unable to explain why my stomach was twisted with dread. Reaching the edge of the clearing, Adsila and I squatted down behind some trees. A group of men walked into view, shielding a figure from our sight.
“Where are the rest of them? Where are they hiding!?” asked a heavy set man with black curly hair. Adsila stiffened and suddenly I knew why I recognized the voices, they were from Stone Clan, but why they were here, I had no idea. A tall man with blonde hair shifted slightly and I caught a glimpse of their captive. So did Adsila. It was her grandmother bruised and beaten. Fury entered her eyes and with an animal like scream Adsila launched herself at her grandmother’s attackers, thunder rumbling above. The black curly haired one had his sword raised to strike down the old lady, unable to get any information out of her, and in an instant he spun around when hearing Adsila’s cry. Eyes widened in alarm with a look on her face similar to the one I must have worn right before I was thrown off Black Hurricane, knowing that I was going to fall but unable to do anything about it, Adsila flew through the air onto the outreached sword. Silence. Then the realization hit, and with it the storm. Spirit after spirit appeared around the men, Adsila’s grandmother was the spiritual leader of the clan and that was apparently a little more involved than just recommending which choices people should make as I had thought. To me, it seemed time was still in slow motion. I saw the flash of shock that passed Adsila’s face as she was impaled on the sword again, and then her sitting in the woods, a laugh frozen on her face. Never again would I see the brightness behind her eyes, or a slight smile playing across her face. Gone. So fragile, so weak, the human body. A whole personality, with its quirks, and all its memories, simply faded away. It seems that something so complex could not simple just stop existing, surely there is more keeping a person, and all its emotions in the world than a simple body. The body does not define us as a person, yet it defines and ends our lives. A body can exist here without a soul, but the soul cannot exist here without a body. In only a period of a few seconds, all these thoughts were running through my head and from somewhere I heard a terrifying wail, filled with all the sadness of a wolf’s wail as he howls up at the moon. I really wished the noise would stop, it was hurting my ears. That was when I realized the noise was coming from me, but try as I might; I was unable to stop the god awful noise. I realized the noise around me had stopped and I felt a comforting hand on my shoulder. Taking deep breathes I was slowly able to gain control of myself, but this state of awareness brought even more pain. The only connection the murderers had with here was me, they must have been looking for me, and I was the reason Adsila was dead. I still couldn’t believe how cruel the men had been though. I had known them, if only faintly, and they had always seemed liked nice enough people, yet here they had beat up an old lady and murdered an innocent child. How could they ever do that to another human being? Suddenly it clicked. I remembered my father’s kind voice telling me not to worry about the nymphs, that they had men who were rounding them up. I hadn’t even thought to ask what they did to the nymphs once they were rounded up, I hadn’t even cared. Gasping from the literal pain this realization brought me, I curled back up into a ball. I had never doubted what anyone had ever told me about the nymphs; I just assumed that they were evil cruel beasts and thought nothing of their death. Why had I been okay with the deaths of anyone even if they were thought to be mean? No I had not been okay with it, even worse I had never even stopped to consider whether I was alright with it or not. What other evil had I blindly let go on because I was too absorbed in my own life to stop and think about others? What other cruelties were so built into my culture that I just saw them as normal and a part of daily life? How many people never stopped and walked outside the trodden path, never saw what, in any other circumstance, they themselves would have considered cruel. I knew what I needed to do. If the wrongs were ever going to be mended then they first needed to be seen as wrong. I needed to go back to the Stone Clan and explain the truth. Then all this would be stopped, and the nymphs repaid for their pain.
***
I slowly stepped from the shadows of the trees into the brightly sun lit field. The castle rose up before me like a hungry giant welcoming its food. I wondered if my father was still sending search parties out looking for me, or if he had given up and moved on, forgetting me in the busy, flowing current of his life. It is very easy to wash away sad memories when there is no time to stop and think in life, very easy to wash away memories that should not be forgotten, and ideas that should allowed to be formed. Suddenly the castle was right before me and I was walking in through the gates, the mighty, now purposeless gates which always remained open now that our enemy had been vanquished. Our imaginary scapegoat enemies. As I walked down the streets I heard snitches of conversations and not so quiet whispers. “He’s back, he’s back!” “Where did he wonder off to I wonder?” “If I was king I’d give him a good skinning, that’s for sure.” “The good king will be so pleased!” Ignoring all I walked proudly down the street, staring down everyone who stared at me until they looked away uncomfortably. I was prince and it was time I used some of my power. I went right up to the inner castle and opened the doors, not even knocking. If my world hadn’t just been turned upside down, then I might actually be enjoying this. When the doors burst open and the people at the dinner saw me standing in the door, at first there was a few seconds of shocked silence, and then the dining hall exploded. Joyful shouts echoed off the walls and I was suddenly tackled by fifty people all trying to hug me at once. I put up with it meekly, for I had already decided that now was not the time to address my father and tell him of his mistake; that would come when we were alone. Now I had to make a good impression so that people would take me seriously when I told them about the atrocities that our clan had been committing for centuries. So, I sat, and let them pamper me, while on the inside I was screaming with impatience. Finally it was time for bed, and as I had hoped my father followed me up to my room. At least he wanted to spend some time with his son that had been missing for nearly a year, even if he was ordering the slaughter of innocent people.
“Father.”
“Yes Faolan.”
“I need to tell you something very important.”
“Well go ahead then.”
In a rush the whole story poured out, and after a few seconds of silence I got the last reaction I could have thought possible, laughter.
“What is it, I don’t understand?” I asked shocked almost to silence
“You must have hit your head a little harder than we thought when you fell off that horse of yours. Get some sleep, I bet you’ll feel much better in the morning,” answered my father
“No you don’t understand, I promise it happened!”
“Goodnight Faolan.”
At a loss of what to do, I soon fell into a fitful sleep. The next morning I got up early, my mind set not to be deterred by my father a second time. Setting off through the village I tried to tell my story to everyone I met. And while I got a varying degree of responses, some pitying, others annoyed, and some even angry, no one seemed to believe me.
“The poor boy has quite lost what little sense he ever had. Can you believe him, he thinks that we will believe that centuries worth of stories and traditions are wrong! That’s what I call poopoo stirring; he has no right to be spreading such lies. If only I was prince, I could get away with anything.”
Again the not so hushed whispers haunted me through the streets, but I did not care. I did not care what these people who were afraid to admit their own mistakes thought. People who would rather continue hurting others, unsure that what they are doing was wrong, rather than stop hurting others and have to live with the guilt that what they once did was wrong. I tried to confront my father again, but again he rebuked me, this time getting angry and threatening to ground me if I did not stop my lies. How can humans survive if they will never face their mistakes and the truth? My own father is telling people that I am crazy to avoid facing this. How can I help the nymphs if the people refuse to see the truth? I will just keep repeating my story over and over until someone believes me. Why is the truth so dangerous?