Chapter 1

The “View”

“Not eaten. Taken.”

Beran was a small, quiet village in Silar, in the eastern province of Ravelle. Most of the villagers here were farmers; growing their own food and bartering crops from one another. Some of the locals would even take their wares to other regions to market in other cities—through the forest to Calabria, or across the river to Nora. There was some hunting and fishing to be had near the Kandar River, which ran just west of the village. The river formed a natural boundary between them and Nora region that was central to the land of Ravelle. Beran was a quiet place to live, and the people mostly kept to themselves. There weren’t too many families in the village, but those that were there knew each other well. It was a close knit community. To the south and stretching several miles to the west was Rodenwald Forest. It nearly surrounded Beran, stretching far to the region’s borders. Rodenwald forest followed the Kandar River south and west, running the border between Nora and its southern neighbors in Calabria. A few villagers ventured into the forest from time to time to do some hunting, but never strayed far from the edge. The forest was thick, with few landmarks. It would have been easy to lose your way. A few roads had been cut through the forest to connect regions and villages, but much of the area was left dark and unexplored. Beran villagers were content to stay quiet, especially with its past history of uprisings in the Silar region. But just now, one of its most excitable members, young Gemni Sarton was anxiously weaving his way through the town, searching for his friend.

“ARGON! ARGON BALE!” Young Gemni Sarton ran up the main road of Beran, turning his head from one side to another in search of his friend. He had been scouring the village all morning, looking near the homes and shops in the village. He was an excitable young man, and clumsy. At just fourteen, he was still small for his age, with limbs that were far too big for his body. His thin arms and legs seemed to always be hitting or bumping something or someone—jutting out in wrong directions at the wrong time. Today, they seemed to find and upend the local’s carts, bump and knock against a few people on the streets, and even caused the baker to drop a crusty loaf of bread he was selling to a customer. But that didn’t stop Gemni. He made up for it all with his high-spirited attitude. Though many were quick to laugh or alternately scold Gemni for his ways, Gemni was content to think he was making others happy. When boys made fun of him, or tripped him as they ran, Gemni dusted himself off and carried on. Now, however, all his restless energy was focused on one thing: finding his best friend, Argon.

He quickly spun about, glancing behind him, and then turning to run backwards, frantically searching. Just as he circled back around, he saw one of the elderly women of the village carrying a sack of vegetables across the road. He twisted to miss her, and just glanced her sack on the side just slightly. She dropped it in the road at her feet.

“Sorry! Sorry,” he quipped; continuing on he turned and jogged sideways. The woman gave him a sneer and turned back to pick up the sack.

WHOOM. Gemni fell back from the impact. He had hit something… or someone. He sat back on his hands and turned up to see who it was. The man was wearing a long robe, decorated in strange spiral patterns sewn into the cloth. He saw the long, black hair that hung from the hood of the robe and knew immediately whom he had struck. As the man uncovered the hood, he saw the worn, weathered face.

“Young master Sarton. Where are you rushing off to this day?” It was Marden Laurent. “Finished your tunic yet, eh? Ready for the dragon feast? I wonder if you might like to travel alongside me for the trip to Bodiford, eh Gemni?”

Gemni picked himself up off the road, without a word, and rushed toward the north end of Beran. Marden scared him. He scared everybody. He was the strange old man who took all those boys out to Bodiford. Every year he watched over that ceremony. They called him “The Keeper.” For Gemni, it was like running in face to face with Death himself. He quickly shook the encounter off of his mind and pushed ahead. The Bale’s family farmhouse sat just outside of the village. Gemni hoped Argon was home. Maybe he would find him there.

Gemni raced through the Bale family hut. He was sweaty and anxious. He tore through the back of the hut and found Argon sitting on the fence of their animal pen, near the back of the house throwing feed to a few chickens.

Argon was the favorite of all the children in Beran. He was athletic, friendly, and always ready to help. He was an average boy, just slightly larger than the rest. His blond hair hung down slightly in his face as he turned to Gemni. His mother only cut it when she had the time, and that hadn’t been recently. Sadly though, Argon was all the Bale family had left. His older brother, Jacob, had been taken, chosen by fate, five years earlier by the dragon. Argon hadn’t really understood it all at the time; he had been too young. But the grief had washed over his family and the village like a flood. For years to come, and even now, neighbors and villagers would give Argon special attention, hugging his neck, or perhaps buying him a pastry when his mother wasn’t looking. He had become the favorite son of Beran—both the target and touchstone of the community’s grief and loss. But now, Argon was older. He had heard the stories of the journeys to Bodiford. He understood more why Jacob was gone now. He knew of appeasing the kings and a dragon by sacrificing a boy every five years. And he hated it. Bitterness and anger were growing behind the boyish face. He wanted to stand up to all the fears, sadness, and say something, say anything to change it. But for now it seemed, the only outlet for his anger were the pesky swamp trolls that plagued their village.

And then there was his “view.” That’s what Argon liked to call it anyway, to himself. It only happened recently in the past year or so. From time to time, at the strangest of times his mind would get these… ideas or images. It was a like a flash across his mind, a lightning bolt clearing his head. And then, there was, a vision of sorts that would form. It was usually just a few seconds. An image, or picture in his mind. It was a strange thing, occurring from time to time, and he had not told anyone about them, even Gemni. When it happened, Argon liked to close his eyes to help him capture it. The “view” as he liked to think of it, was always about something near Argon, or occasionally was about to happen. Usually it was something small, like seeing Gemni trip and fall, which ultimately would play out later in the day—like the images in his head had shown. But sometimes, it was about bigger things. Once, several months before, his mind had flashed, and he had seen a stranger in the village, milling about, stealing from carts and stores. It had been a longer “view”, a vision that had burned in his mind. Argon had even gotten the image of the stranger putting the items under his cloak and carrying them back to a cart on the edge of town. Anxious to prove the view to himself, he ran toward the village from his home. Within a few minutes of walking about, he had spotted the stranger. He waited. Before long, he saw again with his eyes what he had seen in his mind. The stranger began pilfering objects, some here, and others there, stashing them in his cloak and heading back toward the edge of the village. Argon had followed. He saw the man’s cart, covered with cloth. The man stowed the items in the cart, and headed back into town. With that, Argon rushed into town. With a few convincing whispers to some shopkeepers and neighbors, it wasn’t long before Argon had others in Beran witnessing the thievery. The cart was emptied out, and the man had received quite a lashing from some of the citizens. He was cast out and run out of town. And it was all because of Argon’s “view.” After that, Argon had been afraid for a while of his visions. But as they had continued, he had learned to focus and learn from them. He watched the images in his head, and tried to learn from them as best he could. Some were very difficult, a brief flash, and then were gone. Others were longer. It had become something he anticipated, waiting for the next revelation to come.

“Argon! Argon! Come quick!” Gemni rushed to Argon’s side. He was breathing hard now and leaned over on the fence.

“What is it? Why are you running?” Argon turned to Gemni, throwing the rest of the feed to the ground.

“Trolls…out by my house…near the river…” Gemni was out of breath now, speaking in gasps.

Argon jumped off the fence. “Trolls? What are they doing there? When did you see them?”

“Just now. They were sleeping in the grass by the river. I had gone down to catch a fish for dinner, and there they were. If we hurry—“

A flash suddenly wiped across Argon’s head. It was if he could see the trolls, two of them, lying in the grass, just in the shade of a tree, sleeping. The image flashed in his mind, and then was gone.

“Do you think they are still there?”

“Well, they were asleep—“

“And there were only two of them?”

“Yes… hey how did you know it was just two?...“

“Let’s go!” Argon grabbed a wooden ax handle nearby and tossed it to Gemni. He ran into their shed and returned with a large stick from their firewood pile. Swamp trolls had always been trouble to the village. The Kandar River created some lower spots on the outskirts of town where water gathered and receded. These swampy areas attracted the little beasts. Recently, a couple of the Bale’s chickens had gone missing. It had happened in the night, but the family knew it had been the trolls. Any chance they had, the boys from the village enjoyed warding them off. As long as there weren’t too many, that is. Argon and Gemni saw this as another great chance to take out a little vengeance on the creatures.

Quickly the boys headed to the southern end of Beran, where Gemni lived in the one of the boggier areas of the village. As they made their way through town, they heard a voice calling out to them from behind.

“Boys! Argon! Gemni! Come here a moment.”

They turned toward the voice, and immediately regretted it. It was Marden, again. He was sitting outside of one of the shops in town. He leaned back in his chair and beckoned them over with a wave. The boys stopped in the road, staring back at him.

Gemni whispered, “I ran into him earlier. He was asking me about the feast, and… well—“

“Should we go over?” Argon glanced over at Marden who was peering at them, and beckoning again, now with his arm, waving in the air.

“Boys! Come over! I want to speak with you.” There was some impatience in his voice now. Slowly, the boys crossed the road and made their way to “The Keeper.” They both dreaded the man, as all the boys in town did. Even a few of the grown men in the village steered clear of Marden. It was as if he personified every fear. He was a constant reminder for the men of one of the scariest moments of their lives. The village respected Marden…and tolerated him. But in truth, most steered clear of him. It was their memories of the past, or for boys like Argon and Gemni, fears they were waiting to live out.

Every five years, many of the villages in Ravelle, including Beran, had adopted a traditional feast, to send off the boys on their journey to the dragon. It was a strange, twisted way to show their grief and worry for their departing sons. And yet, many families found comfort in the celebration. In a way, it also helped to ease the tension of the boys before they departed. Beran had been the first village that had started this tradition. It was part of what Marden had brought to his role years ago when he was appointed the dragon keeper. For most, it had become no more than a rite of passage. It was a coming of age. And now, the village was bustling with preparations for the feast, scheduled for the following day. Marden’s presence was constant, watching over all the details of the celebration. He was sitting outside the village bakery, busy with so much for the following day’s feast. Argon could see the window behind Marden was filling with cakes, pies, and treats. Off to the left, was a pile of small loaves of bread. The image of those loaves took him back to thoughts of his own brother and five years before—at the last Feast in Beran.

He had been nine years old when it happened. His brother Jacob was sixteen. He had remembered the town banquet on the night before his brother, and other boys had left Beran. It was a large celebration that stretched through the streets of the village. People were laughing, drinking, and eating. Many people had come to Jacob and patted him on the shoulder, or hugged him. Argon didn’t really understand all that was going on, but he was nervous for his brother. At one point, his brother had called him over.

“Having a good time?” Jacob had tussled his hair. Argon only shrugged.

“Hungry?” He could still see his older brother, Jacob, reaching for a small loaf of bread from one of the tables.

“Take this.” Jacob broke the bread and gave half to Argon. “Let’s enjoy this night. He pulled Argon close to him and hugged him. Argon could still remember chewing on the bread, nervous but not understanding why.

“I’ll be home in a couple days, Argon. When I get back, you and I will have another party. Just for us. We will have pies and cakes and roast chicken, and we will drink and dance!” He held Argon up and spun him around in the air. Do you want to have another party?” Argon nodded up at his older brother. “You know, I’m not even afraid of it, Argon. I know I will be okay. And when I get back…” Jacob’s voice trailed off. He got up then and walked away from Argon. As he made his way through the crowd of villagers at the feast, he turned to Argon and smiled. Jacob had left early the next morning, before Argon had awoken. That smile at the feast from his brother was the last image he had of Jacob. He has never returned. His brother’s promises remained unkept. Only tears, sobs, and grief in his family came afterward. Jacob was gone, sacrificed for Beran, and for all of Ravelle. And now, he and his best friend Gemni were face to face with the man who had led his brother to his fateful end.

“Argon and Gemni! Ready for tomorrow?” Marden leaned forward a bit. “The celebration should be the biggest we have ever had here in Beran. And you two are the only boys this term to make the journey to Bodiford.”

“I have to go, Argon.” Gemni turned to leave. “Meet me later.” Gemni reached over and grabbed the piece of wood from Argon’s hand, and with that he bolted from the porch of the shop. Marden watched Gemni go, then turned his attention to Argon.

“There were so many boys last time. Five years ago. Almost a dozen of them. Funny how it all works in cycles that way. So many things to play into it. Birth orders; boys or girls born; ages. It does funny things.”

Argon didn’t find it funny at all. His anger at Marden was swelling over the fears he had of this strange, ominous man.

“I know everything will go well for you boys. The villagers are all excited. All these preparations are for you and Gemni. Doesn’t that make you feel good, Argon?”

It stabbed Argon with pain. He remembered Jacob, and spoke.

“How can we celebrate? Someone will die! Jacob is already dead! How can we do this?” He paused and gathered a breath. He looked at Marden, who was staring back at him, waiting for him to finish.

“My brother doesn’t even have a grave to visit,” Argon growled. “ How can you do this? We celebrate the death of one boy so the rest of us can live in peace? I don’t want any of this! I want my brother back!”

Marden smiled at Argon. “You are a lot like your brother, boy. Jacob had a similar attitude a few years back…” He closed his eyes and sat back in his chair. “I remember that day—“

“I do too! And he was right! And now we all march off for king and country…” Argon’s eyes were filling with tears now, “My brother had been eaten by a terrible beast! And you celebrate!” Argon turned to leave, but Marden grabbed the arm of his cloak.

“Now you listen to me boy. I understand your fears and your anger. I lost a brother, like you did. The dragon took my twin, Malachi. I know your grief and loss. I have had it for forty-five years. You and I are alike, yes?”

“Then why?!” The tears were beginning to well up in his eyes. He pulled away from Marden’s grasp. “Your brother was eaten, and now you serve the dragon? You are a lunatic!”

Argon was in a panic, fear and grief washing over him. Suddenly images and memories of his brother came back to him and then,

A stone circle… tall tower… blood… water… The Dragon!

One of his visions was streaming into his head. Tears were flowing down his cheeks now. He had to get away. He quickly dropped his body downward, thrusting his arms upward, and slipped out of the cloak that Marden was clutching. He ran south, anxious to catch up to Gemni and get away from the daunting presence of Marden and the haunting images he had conjured. As he twisted away, he rushed up the hill to join Gemni. Marden leaned back in his chair and spoke softly to himself.

“Not eaten, boy. Taken.”

He watched as Argon fled. Taking the cloak, he folded it neatly in his lap. He would return it to The Bale farm later. But, the dragon feast was tomorrow. He needed Argon to be prepared. He saw so much of himself in the boy. He remembered when he had wept for a brother. He wanted answers, and needed to know why. And those answers had cost him forty-five years of commitment, to a secret only he kept. He leaned back, and let his mind carry him back to that night: to his Bodiford experience, and Malachi, and Seth, and the fire.

Marden had sat with the dragon keeper, nuzzled in his cloak, crying for his twin for a long time. He had seen his brother captured; the image of the huge claw grasping his brother, Malachi, was still burning in his brain.

Only…just…taken.

What did that mean? Is that what the Keeper had said? He continued watching Seth, waiting for an answer.

“You and I have a long journey ahead, boy. Sleep now. We will both make our way to Silar tomorrow. You and I will talk in the morning.” Seth had continued staring into the fire. He searched the flames with his eyes, as if they spoke to him.

“You are taking me home?”

“Yes, yes.”

“But my brother…” Marden had broken off, and had begun to weep again.

It was then that Seth’s eyes were torn away from the flames. He looked down at Marden. “Tomorrow. We will talk about your brother tomorrow.”

Marden saw sadness in the old man’s eyes. After a moment, Seth turned away from him and stood. He paced about the fire, now looking up at the many stars overhead, stretching across the black sky and reaching beyond the crags of the Templar Mountains. He looked back and forth across the sky eyeing the stars overhead.

“One more taken.” He whispered. “And for what? How many more?”

Marden sat back on to a log behind him. He wrapped himself in the cloak and wept for his brother. He wept, and then slept.

Morning came, and as Marden awoke, he was still shaken from the night before. And yet what had Seth said,

Taken?

“Up, boy.” He turned to see Seth several feet away. He was leading a small horse, packed on either side with bags and satchels. “Miles to go.”

Marden got up, still dazed and shocked. He surveyed the Bodiford site around him again. It seemed so empty now, a stark reminder of the night before. His eyes scanned across the plains and into the distance. He could see a few groups walking south and east, far in the distance from him.

“Boy! Gather your belongings. We must go.” Seth spoke to him again, and brought him out of the daze. He quickly gathered his things into his pack and scurried over to the old man.

“East to Silar, and we go!” Seth bellowed. With a tug, the horse began to follow him. Seth was clutching his staff, walking along with it. Marden struggled to keep up. They traveled for quite a while in silence. Then,

“Sir?”

“Call me Seth—“

“Seth, what happened to Malachi?”

“Do you really want to know, boy?”

“Yes,” although Marden wasn’t sure he did.

“If you must know, I will tell you all. But if I tell you all, your life will change. Are you prepared for that?”

Marden paused. Was he really willing to hear all of the grim details that the dragon keeper could give him? Did he really need to know?

Seth pulled the lead on the horse and stopped, still facing forward.

“You and I, Marden. You and I. It’s in the knowing.” He turned toward the boy and smiled. “I can tell you what you need to know. I can tell you everything.”

CRASH!

Marden bristled awake from his thoughts. He was back from the haze of years gone by, and staring down at his feet, at the town baker, who had tripped over the step from the shop. Several small cakes with colored icing littered the street. He was scurrying about gathering the dirty cakes from the road, speaking to the old man over his shoulder.

“Sorry Marden, getting back to work. No worries, we will have plenty for tomorrow! I will be ready.” The baker quickly got up and rushed back into his shop. Moments later, a few workers came out to finish gathering the dusty dirty cakes off the streets. Marden paused for a moment, watching the cleanup, then stood to head toward his hut. He still had many things to do before the feast began. He reached for his staff behind the chair.

Just like Seth’s.

He turned the staff over in his hands, still with the hazy memories wafting in his head. After a moment, he left, following the path to the south edge of town.

Argon ran toward the river, remembering the spot from his “view” from before. It wasn’t but just a bit of a distance from the village. As he ran, he put some distance between he and Marden, along with all of the thoughts and feelings he had churned up. As he jogged up toward the spot, he saw Gemni crouching in some nearby bushes. Just in the distance, they could see the trolls, still bathing in the afternoon sun. Just beyond them was the bank of the river, shadowed by the forest’s trees on the opposite bank. Gemni saw Argon approaching, and called him over. He handed the piece of firewood back over to Argon.

“Well, what do you want to do?” Gemni looked over at Argon, waiting.

“Let’s go!” Argon didn’t wait for Gemni, but rushed toward the sleeping creatures. His anger was still fresh from his encounter with Marden. He wanted to fight.

THWACK!

He swung the piece of firewood into the belly of the closest one. The blow brought the creature up off the grass, and tossed it a few feet away. It shrieked in pain, and began to crawl about. The other troll woke up, startled. Before Gemni or Argon could reach it, it was running about howling in fear. It ran about in circles, but didn’t flee away into the forest.

“What is it doing?” Gemni rushed up, with the ax handle in his hand.

“I don’t know. Why isn’t it running away?”

And then he knew. Just beyond where the boys stood, near the edge of the river, the bushes began to rustle. Suddenly, several of the trolls then began to emerge from the brush. There were a lot-- possibly twenty or more. Two of the creatures rushed over to the injured one and began gurgling some unintelligible speech. The others just began to gather, eyeing the boys. Some began splashing in the water, waving their claws up and down.

“Argon—what now? We can’t fight this many.”

“They must have been waiting here for nightfall.”

One of them spoke in broken words.

“Hurt… you… “

“Argon, let’s run.” Gemni was beginning to panic.

“Bite… you…” the trolls were advancing slowly.

“I don’t know if we will make it.” Argon was weighing the options in his mind.

“Bleed… you…”

Suddenly, off to the side, the injured creature began to screech at the boys. It turned to the others and began to squeal. Its arms were waving about. Before Argon could decide, some of the creatures were upon them, rushing them quickly. Gemni struck the first leaping troll in the skull, felling it immediately. Argon struck at another in the chest as it leaped in the air, to claw at his face. Another was quickly around and behind on Gemni, however, tearing into his back and upon his shoulders with its claws. Another clutched his leg. Gemni looked down to see its jaws sink into his calf. He brought down the ax handle on to its back, but it stayed clenched onto his leg. Argon struck it as well, and it fell away, tearing a piece of flesh from the leg it had bitten. Gemni howled in pain. More were coming. Gemni reached over with one hand, grabbing for the one on his back. He grabbed a hold of its arm, and flung it onto the ground in front of him and kicked it hard. Another had circled around Argon and had torn into his arm with its claws, dodging the wild swings of wood. It bounced off the ground and struck Argon in the face, scratching his cheek open. Argon finally connected, hitting the troll across the shoulder. He began beating another away with his fist. And more were coming. They were both beginning to tire, and both were bleeding badly.

And then the boys heard a rustling in the grass, moving toward them from behind.

Were there more? Coming from behind?

They turned to see Marden’s staff slicing between the boys, clouting one of the creatures squarely in the face. He turned to another, swinging his staff again and caught one on the leg. It cracked with a wet snap. Marden swung back around quickly and thrust his staff into the skull of one of the trolls, and then quickly kicked another trying to escape. With some squeals and screeches, the trolls began to move back to the water, pulling and carrying the injured of their kind away with them.

Marden looked after the fleeing creatures and spoke.

“I hate swamp trolls. Filthy scavengers the lot of them!”

Argon listened to their howls for a moment, then turned and began to walk away. He was glad Marden had come when he did, but was still stinging from the anger he felt.

“I heard the commotion from the road back there and saw you boys in danger. I came to help.” Marden looked about, surveying the scene.

“Thank you, sir.” Gemni’s eyes looked downward. He bent down to examine his bleeding leg, wincing.

“I have some herbs for that, Gemni. Keep the infection away. Argon, do you need help?” He looked over his shoulder to see Argon limping away. He called after him again. Argon stopped for a moment. He turned his head back to the two. “I’m fine. I’m going home.”

“Are you sure? I can help clean up those cuts. Why were you boys out here, anyway?”

Gemni stood up and faced Marden. “We were just keeping those things away from the village.”

“Understandable,” the old man continued, “But you should never fight these creatures in packs. They attack too quickly!”

“We didn’t know there were that many!” Argon yelled back over his shoulder. “What difference is it to you, anyway? Are you upset we were bleeding out here without our dragon tunics!” Argon began walking away again. He reached the road and began pacing up toward the village. Marden followed Argon behind.

“You boy! Stop! Don’t be silly. I don’t want to see you hurt. We are celebrating for both of you tomorrow!” Marden continued after Argon, turning his head and looking at both boys. Gemni slowly started to walk back as well.

Argon continued his walk, quickening his pace.

“Don’t worry dragon keeper. You will see our blood soon enough!”

Gemni stopped beside Marden and spoke. “He will be fine. We were just afraid. We are still afraid… of what will happen.”

Marden watched Argon trudge off toward the village in the distance. “I know. It will be all right, young Gemni Sarton. You and Argon will be just fine. There will be many boys there, from all over Ravelle. Why don’t you boys travel with me, to Bodiford, eh? I could use the company.”

Gemni hesitated, turning his head downward again. He murmured quietly. “All right.”

“Good. Good. Now head back home, and come see me later for those herbs. That leg looks bad.”

“I will.”

Gemni began moving toward the village. Marden followed behind slowly. There was still much to do, and the celebration feast was coming.

Next Chapter: Chapter 2: Feast of Beran