Chapter 1 Faron
FARON
W hen Faron awoke, he was blind, and he could feel worms crawling through his flesh and organs.
An overwhelming sense of loss and sorrow pierced his mind like a spear, receding as his senses returned.
Whatever the cause, he could not remember it.
Let memory fade as he focused on the now. Where was he? What had happened?
The pyre.
Yes, the pyre. Its ashes were beneath him as he lay on his back. The worms, the carrion bugs, they shouldn’t…
The cave. Sariel and Calluna must not have properly sealed the cave. That, or humans had broken their way in… but no, they would not. They feared the qiyan too much for such a risk.
I do not know how long you have feasted, but it comes to an end. Leave me.
The thought echoed through him, projected by his radiance.
He instantly felt the change. The carrion insects cut, bored, and ate their way to the surface of his skin.
Faron clenched his jaw against the pain.
Worms slithered like snakes from his wrist and belly.
A beetle retreated out his nostril. He breathed softly and shallowly, not wanting to disturb whatever creatures occupied his lungs.
Blood, his blood, mixed with the ancient ash. The pain receded, and he slept again.
The next time Faron awoke and opened his eyes, he saw the barest hints of light. It seemed his sight had recovered. The stone was cold, and it felt pleasant against his bare skin. He pushed himself to a sitting position, crossed his legs, and bowed his head.
Warning was given , he told the smallest and simplest of creatures occupying his body.
Maggots, squirming in his stomach. Unhatched eggs, laid upon his skin.
He clenched his fists and let radiance shine through his body.
It burned the invading creatures like fire, shriveling their bodies and popping their eggs.
He gasped when the effort was finished. The pain of it slowly ebbed away.
Faron stood, stretched, and then tested his limbs.
His balance was wobbly at first, but improved as he shifted his weight from foot to foot.
Next he ran a hand through his hair, found it slimy with moisture and dirt.
He desperately needed a river or lake to cleanse himself.
The cave was pitch-black, but that did not bother the eyes of those touched with radiance.
Faron looked about and found a tightly wrapped leather bundle, poorly hidden underneath a pile of stones.
Beside it was a plain but finely sharpened sword.
Faron smiled. Little Calluna, always watching out for him.
Within the bundle, he found a fresh set of clothes, remarkably clean after an unknown amount of time spent waiting. He dressed himself in the dark, the measurements correct as expected, and then took in the new style.
A white shirt, lacking the ruffles along the neck and top buttons that had been popular when last he visited the markets of Araketh.
Long stockings, and atop them, a pair of leather trousers dyed black with the bark of eulmore trees.
Most impressive was the brown leather coat.
It had a high collar, thick copper buttons, and six pockets, three to either side.
A belt was sewn directly into the sides of the waist, allowing him to buckle it shut should he be marching or riding.
A jingle alerted him to a heavy coin purse in a pocket.
Faron pulled it out and undid the drawstring.
Within were dozens of silver coins, and he examined one of them.
There was a tower on one side and five stars on the other, the designs unfamiliar to him.
A new currency, then, minted during his recovery.
He put it back, pocketed the purse, and then continued dressing.
The boots Calluna had chosen for him were plain enough, brown leather with adequate padding, the color matching his coat. He slipped them on and adjusted the laces across the back to tighten them. That done, he grabbed the sword and headed for the cave’s entrance.
It seemed he was wrong to doubt his siblings’ diligence.
The cave was sealed with a heavy stone, and what cracks remained must have been filled with mud.
Time, though, was merciless, and wind and rain had worked away the mud until it was mostly gone.
Little streaks of daylight peeked through, as did a hint of wind.
Faron placed his shoulder against the stone, braced his legs, and pushed.
Leaves crunched and twigs snapped as the boulder rolled several feet before stopping against a thin eulmore tree.
Its branches shook from the impact, its many violet leaves shivering in protest. Faron breathed in the clean air and felt his lungs heal away the last of the damage.
“How many years has it been?” he wondered aloud.
His brother Eder could calculate that with a glance at the night sky.
Tracking the movements of the moon and stars had always come easy to him.
For Faron, there would be no answering that question until he reached civilization.
The idea excited him as it always did when he reawakened.
With the passage of time, language would be shifted, clothing would be changed, and homes would have adopted new styles or improvements.
Even the meals might be different, should new spices become favored or the wandering feet of merchants build new paths between various portions of the grand island.
The reminder of food set his already ravenous stomach to grumbling. Of the several reasons he’d chosen this cave, one had been a field of raspberries to the north. He started that way, the violet canopy above him thinning, then stopping entirely as he exited the forest.
What fruit grew on the bushes was not ripe enough to eat.
Not summer. Early spring, then, he guessed, as he skirted the outer edge of the bushes.
If it were close to fall, the leaves of the eulmore trees would have been drained of their lovely color, shifting from violet to an ashen white.
It seemed he’d have to make do with a bloodier meal.
Faron returned to the forest and gathered the occasional fallen branch or twig.
Once they were piled together, he placed his hand in their center, summoned his radiance, and set them alight.
For such simple tricks, he felt nothing, but this next one would put a strain on him and leave him winded.
Still, it would be better than spending hours hunting.
Faron sat beside the fire, closed his eyes, and let his mind drift.
His consciousness slipped through his boots into the dirt below and then spiraled outward.
The world around him grew more vivid, more real.
He heard the faintest clatter of red squirrel claws clutching black bark and birds whistling their songs as they flitted about the canopy.
Blue-breasted robins, building fresh nests to impress mates now the winter was over.
Purple-and-gold woodpeckers, thudding their beaks in search of grubs and worms.
Should have checked my body first. You’d have found a much easier meal.
No bird or squirrel would be enough, not for his hunger of untold years. Farther and farther he searched, until he sensed it: a wild hog, foraging among the underbrush.
Come to me , he said, pushing his will into the beast. He saw it in his mind’s eye like little silver threads arcing between his body and the hog’s. Like a spider , Calluna had described them once, and as much as Faron disliked the comparison, he could not deny the similarity.
Minutes later, the hog arrived, docile and quiet. Dirt caked its hooves. Two flies zipped about its deep red hide. Faron lifted his sword, turned its edge, and pressed it to the hog’s throat.
“A victim of circumstance,” he told the beast. “Know that I appreciate you for it, nonetheless.”
A single cut, and the blood flowed.
Come nightfall, and with a full belly, Faron cast his will once more into the forest. This time he meditated for an hour, the focus of his mind spiraling beyond his immediate surroundings.
As he took stock of the wildlife, he debated.
In his last lifetime, he had befriended a hawk, and before that, a raven.
Birds tended to be his favorite companions, but when his mind skirted across a nearby coyote, her loneliness struck him.
Come to me , he told her, and minutes later, she arrived, having crossed half a mile of forest to do so.
Her fur was a tawny brown intermixed with white.
The gangly state of her limbs and chest provoked a frown.
She was not eating well, but why? He beckoned her closer so he could put his hands upon her.
Contact allowed him a better understanding.
Radiance flowed, silver threads connecting, and he peered into the coyote’s mind.
A mother. Six pups. Four pups. Then three. Then none. Poor food. A poor hunter, abandoned by her pack. She was a failure. A failure. A failure.
Faron withdrew his mind, but his hands remained, and he looked deep into her yellow eyes.
“You do not understand me yet, but you will,” he said, bracing for the strain.
This would be harder than lighting a fire or sensing for nearby hogs and squirrels.
Little wisps of silvery light floated like smoke from his hands and into her body, shaping her, changing her.
What mind she possessed sharpened. The speech of humans would no longer be gibberish.
Her eyes widened, and he sensed fear and excitement overwhelm her in equal measure.
“You will not remain this way,” he told her.
“It is a change too drastic, and a strain too great, but I would receive your answer amid true understanding. You will visit lands beyond this meager forest. You will walk the cities of man and see their nations and people. Sometimes I will feed you, and sometimes you will hunt for me. The way will be dangerous, and mankind’s trust of you fickle and wary. ”
Those round eyes of hers stared into his. Her entire body locked stiff. The concepts he spoke of were grand and foreign to her, and yet she understood them now. It was cruel, in a way, but Faron was no stranger to cruelty.
“Will you join me, and see the wonders beyond this forest?” Faron asked, releasing her. “Stay, if you accept. Run and be free, if you refuse. I will harbor you no ill will should you reject me. The choice is yours, little coyote.”
The connection between them faded, but he sensed faint echoes of her emotions. Her loneliness warring against her pride. The loss of her pups. Her vicious anger at a pack willing to leave her and her offspring to starve.
She turned away, just once, and then sat beside his fire. Her head tilted slightly. He could almost hear her voice in his mind.
What now?
“The intelligence I granted you will ease away,” he told her. “But rest assured, you’ll still be wiser than all other dogs, coyotes, and wolves. I suppose I should have your name. I would not demean you by calling you ‘little coyote’ forever.”
His new companion glanced at the fire and the butchered hog beside it. Faron grinned.
“Go ahead,” he said. “I’ve eaten my fill.”
She tore into it with glee. Faron sat down, crossed his legs, and rested his chin on his hand. All animals had names, or concepts close enough to be usable as names. He closed his eyes and focused upon her.
What are you called? he asked.
She did not answer, not knowingly. Instead, a scent came to him, for that was how all coyotes knew themselves, and others.
Leaves, half covered in mud, wet with rain, bitter with a splash of blood, and yet, hovering about it, the final note of a wild iris bloom.
Faron chuckled at her.
“Quite a mouthful,” he said. “Might I call you Iris, if only to save us time?”
The coyote cracked a rib free, chewed it twice, and then nodded.
“All right, then,” he said. “Iris it is.”