The Chronicles of Geyron, Chapter 1: The Mysterious Letter
And with the prologue officially out of the way, it’s time to get into the story proper. Let the journey begin!
(If you’re just tuning in, The Chronicles of Geyron is a fantasy novel I’ve been writing and revising for the better part of a decade. I’ll be posting a chapter a day to this blog, so follow along and let me know what you think! You can follow my updates in chronological order here.)
* * *
Evartan hurried through the desert of Aridus. Normally, he would have avoided the desert at all costs, especially as a thunderstorm raged overhead. But fortune has granted him an opportunity, and he wasn’t about to waste it.
He glanced behind him. There was no sign of his pursuer, but he was certain the dark elf was on his trail. He’d just have to make sure he accomplished his mission before he caught up.
Grimacing, he turned his gaze back and kept running.
* * *
It was a bleak and stormy night in the desert village of Pailan. Thunder rocked the sky and rain carved away at the houses of mud. The uncommon rainstorm made the ground like quicksand. Everyone was inside, waiting for the morning, when, hopefully, the storm would break.
Pailan was concealed inside a deep canyon, a fissure carved by an ancient river that had long since dried up. The crevasse was so wide that the entire village fit into it and still allowed room for vast expanses sand and soil on both sides. It was one of the most isolated communities in Geyron, far away from the politics and chaos of the great cities, safe and secure in its own little world.
That wasn’t going to last much longer.
Evartan staggered over the ridge, panting for breath. He paused and looked around, making sure the elf had not followed him, then set down the cliffside toward the rain-soaked village.
* * *
Kalann Sefu had experienced many bad days in his life; it was the cost of living in such a harsh environment. This one, however, felt a bit like a personal insult. He had made plans for the day. He had wanted to explore the desert outside the canyon and seek out plots of land where the village could build houses, expanding to accommodate its slowly growing population. Then, of course, the rain had gone and ruined it. So here he was, lying on his bed, wide awake in the middle of the night, listening to the muffled drumming of rain on the roof, feeling the urge to kick something.
Sighing, Kalann brushed his messy black hair out of his eyes. He hated rain. True, it replenished the water supply, which could always use some upkeep, but it was so annoying. And wet.
Hopefully, it would clear up in the morning. After all, not many rainstorms of such power reached so far into the desert of Aridus.
He glanced around his home. Like all the houses in the village of Pailan, his house had only one floor, with a cellar beneath. Like all the others, it was loosely divided into three rooms: a kitchen, a lounge, and Kalann’s bedroom, each separated by an open doorway covered with a rough curtain. Like all the others, the wooden door to the house was in the lounge, the central room. The exact same design, just one of so many identical copies tucked together in the shadow of the canyon walls. It was so incredibly boring. That was why he’d decided to be an architect as he grew up: if his world wouldn’t become more interesting on its own, then perhaps he could give it a push.
Over on the lounge table, Kalann could see parchment scrolls laid out in a cluttered mess, weighted down by rocks to keep them open. His diagrams. He felt a faint twinge of pride. He’d spent years working on new building designs, tweaking and refining them, coming back every time he thought he was finished and finding new ways to improve them. They barely resembled the first, incredibly rough drafts he’d drawn up when he was barely ten years old. Now all he had to do was actually build them, and perhaps then his life would stop feeling so… stagnant.
Assuming the rain ever let up, of course.
He sighed. His train of thought had brought him right back to the accursed rain. I’ve got to hand it to you, Kalann, he thought dryly, you are a master at finding ways to make yourself miserable.
At that moment, over the pounding of the rain, Kalann heard three sharp knocks at the door.
He blinked. Who was that? Who would be out at a time like this? “Hello?” he called.
No answer.
Sighing, Kalann sat up and hoisted himself out of bed. If whoever it was couldn’t wait for the rain to let up, they must really need to talk to him. He stumbled over to the door, rubbing sleep out of his eyes, and opened it.
The rush of wind and rain hit him like a breaking wave, and he blinked furiously in the spray. The storm’s roar sent a dull ache pulsing in his eardrums. He spat, trying to clear the taste of ozone and water out of his mouth. “Who’s there?” he called, barely hearing himself in the storm.
No one at the door. Nothing but sheets and sheets of rain as far as he could see.
Kalann stared, confused. He was certain he’d heard someone knocking. That settles it, this storm is officially driving me insane. Nature, I’m putting this on your tab.
He turned to head back inside. Then, he paused. Something had caught his eye. It was a yellowed, folded paper, laying on the ground, tucked against the front of his door.
Intrigued, Kalann raised his gaze again. But whatever footprints there might have been had been quickly swept away by the storm. The letter might have just materialized on his doorstep for all he could tell.
He took the message inside, closing the door behind him, and the sounds of the storm were muffled once more.
* * *
Evartan watched from the shadows as Kalann took the note inside. The wind whipped his cloak into a frenzy, and the cold rain soaked him down to his old, stiff bones. But it didn’t matter now. The message was sent. He had done what he needed to do.
Wrapping his cloak even closer around him, he turned and hurried off into the night to the canyon wall he had climbed down. It was time to prepare for war.
* * *
Kalann sat down at the lounge table, brushing his diagrams to the side. He opened the musty letter and began to read. The handwriting was cramped and shaky, but he could still make the words out.
Kalann Sefu, it is time that the land was warned. A shadow is sweeping over Geyron. An evil force is rising. You must be prepared.
I cannot explain everything in this letter, as I would simply leave you with too many questions. But time is running out. Your village must prepare for war such as it has never seen before. Fortune granting, I will speak with you again shortly. Be ready.
Stillness. Kalann stared at the letter in his hands. It felt like his entire being, all his senses, were being consumed by it. For all he knew, the storm might have vanished above him, leaving nothing behind but a silent night.
A shadow sweeping Geyron. An evil force rising. A mysterious messenger who somehow knew his name. Was it a prank? It had to be. But then, what prankster would go to all this trouble under such miserable conditions? No one in Pailan came to mind.
Your village must prepare for war such as it has never seen before.
A beat of sweat dripped down Kalann’s brow. Some inner sense seemed to tell him that this was no joke. Pailan—and possibly all of Geyron—was in danger.
Kalann’s mind started racing. What was the danger? Why did the letter’s author not explain more? How did he know Kalann’s name? For that matter, why deliver this message to him? What could a desert architect possibly do to help?
A crack of thunder yanked him out of his thoughts. He was still in his little mud house in the middle of a canyon. The storm was still raging overhead. Everything was exactly the same as it had been.
Kalann breathed deeply. His vision was growing hazy; fatigue was finally beginning to set in. First thing tomorrow, he thought, I tell Hother about this. If there’s even the slightest chance it’s true, we need to be ready.
He drifted back to his bed, collapsed, and fell asleep.
* * *
Kaston lashed his horse’s reins, spitting furiously against the rain. The desert whipped by him, a sludge of spattering mud. If it hadn’t been for that wretched human’s gambit, he could be back at the castle right now instead of forcing himself through this madness. This time, I’ll catch him, he hissed silently. His days of running end now.
He reined his horse to a stop. He was getting nowhere in this weather. Evartan had been wise to carry this scheme out on such a foul day. If nothing else, Kaston had a twisted admiration for his intelligence.
Pity how little good it will do him in the end.
He raised his hand to the sky and closed his eyes, blocking out the roar of the storm around him. He reached out with his senses. A low hum coursed through him as his magic stretched across the sands, searching.
There. A human presence to the south, moving swiftly, just at the edge of Kaston’s vision.
He smiled and opened his eyes, letting the world back in. Over the past year, he’d kept his eye on Evartan, tangling with him many times to try and kill him. But the warrior had always escaped. And yesterday evening, he’d vanished from Kaston’s senses, as if he’d blinked out of existence. The last time Kaston had sensed him, he’d been heading south, to the desert of Aridus. So he’d pursued the old fool’s trail. And now, finally, he’d found him again.
I don’t know how you escaped my sight the first time, Kaston thought as he kicked his horse to urge it on. But this time, you’re not getting away.
* * *
Evartan got to his feet at the top of the chasm, panting heavily. Getting down to Pailan without breaking his neck had been hard enough but climbing back out had been torture. Spirits give me the strength to see this through to the end.
He looked around, not seeing anything through the sheets of rain. He was certain that his pursuer was close at hand by this point. Reaching inside his cloak, he clutched the small crystal resting there. His lifeline.
The spark was lit. The war was about to begin. Now, he needed to put the village of Pailan far behind him, to keep his brother’s attention off of it as long as he could.
He took off running north, away from the village, struggling not to sink into the muck. Follow me, dark elf. This is our reckoning.
* * *
Kaston lashed his horse’s hindquarters, pressing it to pick up speed. Evartan’s presence was crowing closer by the second; he was almost upon him. Time’s up, fool.
There! A lone figure struggling across the sands, head bowed against the rain. Kaston smiled and drew his blade. After so long, his master would finally have his vengeance!
Suddenly, the figure stopped running and turned to face Kaston as he galloped towards him. His expression was unreadable in the rain as he raised his arm high. Something blue glittered in his hand.
Kaston’s eyes grew wide. “NO!” he roared, slicing his sword in the air. A bolt of black energy crackled through the storm.
Before it could strike Evartan, however, there was a flash of blue light, and he was suddenly blinded. His horse bucked and screamed, throwing him off. He crashed into the mud and gasped as the air was knocked out of him. His ears rang from the impact.
Groaning, he staggered to his feet. Evartan was gone, once again beyond his senses. A Crystal of Passage, he thought bitterly, remembering the blue glint in his hand. A magical reagent that, when broken, could teleport you a far distance away. That must have been how Evartan had escaped him the first time as well. How he’d gotten his hands on a pair such difficult-to-obtain artifacts, Kaston didn’t know. Nor did he care.
There was nothing to do about it now. His horse had bolted, leaving him stranded in the storm. He could no longer sense his target, nor did he know where he might have gone. Evartan had truly escaped this time. The die had been cast.
It was time for the war to begin.
Kaston raised his hand and felt the shadows coalesce around him. Under their power, he set off, rain-soaked and weary, to Darkwood Castle.
Makuran was not going to be pleased.
To Be Continued...
