Rise of Heroes

Chapter 3 - Stories of Old

“Drinks? Count me in!” Glen grinned, allowing himself a brief moment of laughter before Tamara glared at them and stormed out of the inn. Jaden frowned in frustration but made sure not to show it as he turned toward the other two.

“Maybe later,” he told them, following his sister out before they had the chance to stop him. He was relieved not to see Tamara outside. He knew he would have to face her at some point, and he honestly hoped her anger would have subsided by then. Not that he was afraid of her outbursts ― he had experienced the worst of them ― but he knew her well enough to know that when she was angry, she refused to see reason.

The moment he left the inn, he was almost trampled by a small group of boys, some of them around Ryan's age, while the others were barely old enough to walk by themselves. The older ones were passionately swinging tiny bludgeons, while the younger lads seemed to be bragging with their slingshots as they kept aiming at the rooftops. He couldn’t help but smile at the sudden liveliness on their faces, the spark of determination and delight as they hit their target.

His smile quickly faltered as the harsh reality swept away the beautiful sight before him.

If only the demons were that easy to kill.

A few years back, killing a demon was something that nobody would even dare to dream of. People used to be happy to get away with their lives. Standing your ground and fighting them was a foreign idea, even for the bravest of souls. But with time and many sacrifices, they made progress — all of his soldiers were now trained to recognize different demon types even before meeting them in battle. They also had to memorize each of their weak spots, if any, if they were to hold any chance of survival against them in battle.

Jaden wanted to believe that they had turned the tide, that they were now the hunter instead of the hunted, but that was nothing but wishful thinking.

“Sire.”

Jaden flinched, returning his attention back to the present, only to realize he had reached a group of soldiers standing around one of the fires. His men let him pass, thinking that was his intention, and he found himself at the edge of a small semi-circle. In front of him, sitting straight on the ground, was a small group of children huddled together and staring up at an elderly man that had been speaking until that moment. His hair had long lost its color and was now falling limply in thin, white strands around his sunken face. He was sitting on an old tree stump, making himself more comfortable before beginning his story. Even the soldiers seemed eager to listen.

“Once upon a time, thousands of years ago, there used to be only four kingdoms — Keldar, Anamir, Roder, and Neada.” His deep voice finally put an end to all whispers while all their eyes locked on him. The children leaned forward, clinging to each word. “Keldar, with territory almost as vast as the other three combined, was well known for its gold mines. It was believed that the gold in those mines was enough to build a palace as high as Gwandhar Mountain and as spacious as the Cursed Islands altogether…”

The mouth of one of the boys in the back dropped in astonishment. His eyes flickered with excitement as if he was staring at the endless treasures of Keldar itself.

“Hidden behind the mountain of Elinor, whose peaks were so high that they seemed to reach for the skies, was the kingdom of Anamir,” the old man continued, his words slipping through his lips effortlessly as if he was describing the view in front of him. “Anamir was believed to be the oldest kingdom of them all, the first one ever created, the rightful rulers of the world.” The man stopped just for a second to wet his lips before continuing. “On the other side of Keldar stood Roder, the poorest kingdom of them all, a place of farmers and craftsmen. The people there were peaceful and grateful for what little they had. They struggled with the land every day, but they were happy and safe, under the protection of their mighty king.”

Despite knowing the tale all too well, Jaden found himself drawn to the story, reliving it with the rest of the crowd. The crackling of the fires and the conversations of the soldiers gathered nearby had turned dull and distant, leaving only the voice of the storyteller.

“Neada, the last of the four powers, was the smallest, but also the most powerful one. The reason for this was, of course, the magic that Neada’s witches and wizards possessed.” One of the girls gasped in excitement, pressing a palm to her lips. The storyteller gave her a warm smile before proceeding.

“At that time, magic was something extraordinary, and all those who possessed it cherished their gift. Some of those witches and wizards, however, became corrupted by their lust for power and started using magic for personal gain. That resulted in many long wars and violence beyond reason.” Jaden found himself recalling what he had read about some of those wars, each and every one of them more destructive than the previous one. He often wondered what he would do if he found himself face to face with a real wizard — they were, after all, the ones that almost brought on the end of the world, twice. Or so the legends claimed.

As if the old man had read his thoughts, his wise gray eyes locked on Jaden’s face and he continued without looking away.

“The spellcasters were henceforth considered evil altogether, only because of the mistakes of their few corrupted brethren,” he paused, turning back to the children. “Angry at the humans who they thought were after their gifts, a small group of spellcasters performed a ritual to open a portal to another world, letting loose beings far more terrifying and fierce than anything they’ve ever seen. Creatures they planned to use to rule the world!”

“The demons!” one of the children in the front whispered, a cold chill suddenly spreading through the audience, although the night was warmer than usual. Jaden glanced at his soldiers who still stood nearby, most of them waiting for the man to continue, their impatience stronger than the children’s.

“Yes, the demons,” the storyteller nodded, his voice low and ominous. He looked up from under his bushy gray brows, then continued. “Demons that breathed fire and others that drank blood; two-headed demons with many teeth and talons, demons who moved as fast as the wind and monsters so strong that they could break a city wall with just one blow…” a few gasps came from the crowd and Jaden could swear not all of them were from the children. “They destroyed everything in their path. As if that wasn’t enough, there were rumors that they were just preparing the land for the arrival of their Master — a creature so horrendous and powerful that it struck fear even in the hearts of the demons themselves.”

One of the girls shrieked, covering her eyes with her tiny palms. The boy on her right embraced her, whispering something in her ear. Jaden couldn’t help but smile.

“Nobody knew how to stop them,” the old man continued with his eerie voice, demanding their full attention once again. “Armies got obliterated in a flash; witches and wizards perished under the claws of enormous flying creatures or monsters moving so fast that they were nearly impossible to spot before they pierced you with their claws.”

“An alliance between the kingdoms was the only hope they had left. But even that seemed futile,” the storyteller paused, and Jaden thought for a moment about his own future wife and the union that was going to bind their two countries together. Was that union going to be futile, too? Or was it going to save them, as his father hoped?

“With mankind's extinction right around the corner,” the old man continued, “their hopes turned toward Toesien — a secret place hidden in the Brashan Mountains where the Temple of the Oracle had stood since the beginning of time. The only way for survival was found in a prophecy so old that some believed it was made even before the First Shadow War.”

Jaden frowned at those words, trying to recall what the man was talking about. The story about the Shadow Wars was well known in Roder; their father used to tell it to them when they were children, but this was the first time he heard of a prophecy being made before the First Shadow War. There were so few documents left from that dark time that if any such thing existed, especially one containing a prophecy, he would have known about it.

“Some say that this was the same prophecy that saved humanity back then, ending the First War,” he said but then suddenly changed the direction of the story as if he didn’t want to finish what he was about to say. “Some of the strongest conjurers of the four kingdoms gathered in Neada’s capital, the majestic city of Agrien. There they found stone ruins, bones, and death, but also hope.” The storyteller took a deep breath, his body involuntarily leaning forward, hence everybody else seemed compelled to do the same. “In order to stop the demons and close the Gate, they had to perform a very powerful and dangerous ritual.”

The old man paused.

“The most powerful men and women of their time, the best conjurers from all‌ over the world, formed a circle in order to merge their magical powers into one. Up until that point, such a fusion of powers was unheard of due to its unstable and destructive nature. Anamir’s, Keldar’s, and Neada’s armies, even the Roderian people, who were not used to holding a weapon, all stood together to fight. All those people were the only obstacle between the demons and humanity’s last hope of survival. The battle was long and bloody, but the joined armies, encouraged by the newfound hope, kept on fighting.”

The old man’s voice was almost hypnotizing, Jaden realized, and his eyes instinctively checked on the others to make sure he was not the only one under his spell. The soldiers listened intently, taking in every word, some of them clenching the hilts of their weapons as if they were about to join the battle. The children were not even moving, their eyes glowing with anticipation.

“Sadly, their powers were not enough. Pressed by time and need, the sorcerers did one last thing — they connected with everyone in the world who possessed any kind of magic, draining their powers into the magical vortex they’d created. It was very hard to control so much energy and even more so to act and think as one. Therefore, they had to channel, control and merge all that power through one person — the Thirteenth spellcaster, the role given to the strongest of them all.”

“The Thirteenth witch,” Jaden said without thinking, tensing as all the children turned to look at him. The storyteller paused, staring at him for a long moment before nodding.

“Yes,” the old man said. “The Thirteenth witch had to channel the magical stream all alone. Just as all hope was about to fade, with her last ounce of strength, the witch directed the magic toward the army of demons. The first lines were instantly incinerated. Seeing that, the rest fled, but it was futile. The magic annihilated everything in its path — demons, people, and animals alike, leaving only scorched earth in its wake.”

“When the magic reached the demon portal, it smashed into it with the might of a thousand thunderbolts. For a second, it seemed that the Gate would resist but just like the demons, it was set ablaze and the portal turned to ash. The Gateway was finally sealed, but when the witch tried to stop the flow of magic, she failed. Something had to be done or else the whole world would be destroyed as the magic started to expand and move on its own. The energy had to be redirected somewhere, but where?”

He looked around as if searching for an answer, but nobody dared make a sound. The storyteller smiled, nodding to himself.

“The Thirteenth witch did the only thing she could. She reversed the spell. There was no place to hide as the magic backfired, yet there were no screams of pain, just relief. The spellcasters welcomed their fate, knowing that their sacrifice would mean the world’s salvation. There was a huge flash of light and then… silence.”

He paused again, allowing the same silence to fill their minds and hearts. The sound of death, of defeat. That was what silence was in war — the sound of an end.

“The thirteen spellcasters were gone and with them, all the magic was lost. The demons were no more and most importantly, the Gate was sealed.” The old man bowed his head as the story almost reached its end. “The kingdom of Neada paid the ultimate price, it was completely destroyed. The few Neadals who survived merged with the people of the other realms and stopped saying the name of their kingdom out loud, fearing that the curse might fall upon them once again. It was, in fact, a new prophecy. The curse of Neada, that’s what they called it. It said that one day the demons would come back led by their Master, seeking to claim the Forbidden Blood, which would make them stronger than ever. It was a threat of death and pain, the likes of which had never been seen before. The prophecy also said that The Third Shadow war will be so devastating that the world we know will be completely destroyed.”

A few of the children finally relaxed, clearly feeling the story meeting its end. The magic of the moment was quickly draining away, releasing everybody from its spell.

“Where was the Gate, Mister Aberath?” one of the children in the back asked right before the first person was about to leave. Suddenly pulled back in, and everybody froze. The old man smiled again, scratching his gray beard.

“Nobody knows, my boy, nobody knows. It’s uncertain whether there was a Gate, to begin with. But some believe that it was close to Roder, and that’s why we need to learn how to fight. Because if the demons return, it would be up to us to stop them. And return they did. So we must be ready.”

“Have you met a real witch, Mister Aberath? They must be back, right? Now that the demons have returned.” A second toddler asked, quickly hushed by another.

“He said it. There was no more magic! The Thirteenth witch couldn’t stop the spell so she reversed it! There are no more witches and wizards. Isn’t that right, Mister Aberath?” A third one shouted.

“I think it is time for you to get home,” the old man chuckled as he staggered to his feet. One of the soldiers lent him a hand, and he nodded thankfully. “It is almost dark and you should not be out at this hour. Go home and be good, and I may tell you another story soon.”