FARHAYVEN: VENGEANCE (3 page)

     “Find _ you cannot do of this of me, for I am merely passing through. Option _ your best of this is to send a rider to Monune White Diamond in North-western Falls Province or to Monune Grand in Fallsene City. Elementhars _ there will be of them there who can help you,” answered the Elementhar.

     And with that, both he and his wolf companion turned around and walked steadily out the door. The faintest of smiles began to creep onto the faces of the twenty-odd townsfolk. Suddenly, they burst into an expression of great relief and cheer. They turned and hugged each other with tears running down their cheeks. Finally, they have received the deliverance that all of them were praying so hard for. Finally, it has ended; this evil fate that has befallen them.

     Outside, the clouds disperse slightly. The faint glow of moonlight illuminates this obscure town. The townsfolk open their windows and doors for the first time in a fortnight. They walk out to the streets and celebrate. And they call out to the hooded man and the white wolf to join them in their joy. But the hooded man and his wolf companion just walk on…

THE NOVICE

      The constant buzzing of people’s chatter deafens the ears. It is the
Tenth Noon of First Month of Wet Season in the Year 1200 of the Known Era
, and the scenery at the market place of a little town called Greentown, Eastern Falls Province, is a hive of activity. A never ending maze of stalls shape this market place, offering a wide variety of food, clothes, tools, craftsmanship products and services. Hundreds of people make their way around looking for the best deals possible. In the midst of these frantic activities, an Elementhar and his white wolf companion walk steadily and calmly, their eyes’ registering the many different stalls and traders as well as their associated items and services. The Fallsian sun shines brightly up above, making them feel hot and sweaty. And the familiar vacant feeling in their stomachs reminds them that it is time for lunch.

     The Elementhar and his wolf companion sat themselves down at a long table at one of the many food stalls. No sooner had they done so, an elderly man ran out from behind the stall counter with a broom. It was clear that he intended to drive the white wolf off the table. Suddenly he felt the end of a silver staff pressing against his throat.

     “Friend _ of him, is one of mine not welcome at this table
?
” enquired the Elementhar in a stern voice.

     “But honourable sir, it’s an animal. It’s a beast
!
It isn’t a human.
It has no business sitting at this table
!
” replied the stall owner.

    “Animal _ indeed he is one of it, and a beast he is as well, though not any different from you or me; for he feels love, compassion, happiness, gladness, weariness, pain, sorrow, anger, hunger and all manner of sensations and emotions as we all do
!
Ask _ I shall do of this again, is a friend of mine not welcomed at this table
?
” stressed the Elementhar.

     The stall owner stood frozen, either from shock or fear, no one could tell for sure.

     “N…n…no, of course not
!
He’s most welcome to feast at my humble stall
!
My dear sir, I apologize for my ignorance and inhospitality. With which dish would I relieve both your hunger
?
” replied the slightly quivering stall owner, who had decided not to offend the man who has the end of a silver staff to his throat.

     “Decision _ a wise one of this you have made; and a bowl of vegetarian noodles for each of us would suffice to relieve our hunger,” answered the Elementhar as he began to lower the silver staff and remove his hood.

     The stall owner hurried away to the counter where an elderly lady stood. She was the stall owner’s wife, now furious at him for allowing a wolf to sit at one of their tables. The stench and shedding, she believed, would drive all the other customers away, mess up the place and pollute the food that they served. But the stall owner told his wife to keep quiet and help him prepare the meal order. He knew better. It was never wise to be enemies with an Elementhar, particularly when the Elementhar was right. The wolf, like all animals, was no different from a human. As far as the Elementhar was concerned, it
was, and still is,
a human. But why so
?
The stall owner was unsure of this. He remembered some Receivers mentioning about souls, or what others called minds; and that they were made of pure energy. He recalled that all souls were made of the same type of energy, and that it was only the bodies in which the souls inhabited that were different, not the souls themselves. The concept was much too profound for him. What did he know
?
More importantly, why would he care
?
He was a cook, not a Receiver
!
Why would it matter to him
!?
But even as a cook, he knew enough to know that the Elementhar was right. And he also knew that he should never provoke a man who has a silver staff pressed against his throat. He asked his wife to hurry up with her part of the preparations. She gave him a scowl but she did as she was told.

     The white wolf wagged his tail as the two bowls of vegetarian noodles arrived. The Elementhar thanked the stall owner and paid him four bronze coins. Then both the Elementhar and his wolf companion began their luncheon feast. The stall owner pretended to look elsewhere as the duo feasted but his wife just stared at them with anger and frustration. It was the only thing she could do.

     The sun was setting west of Sunwarm Continent and a family of five in Sunbless Village at the outskirts of Greentown were towards the end of their daily chores. The man of the house was tilling the final patch of earth on this simple farm, using a tiller which was pulled by a buffalo. A slight smile of relief cut across his face as the long awaited rain had wet the lands and revitalised the nearby stream that was so important for the irrigation of his farm. He had fears of an extended drought that would lead to the utter destruction of his crops. Down by the tool shed, the first-born of the family, a young man of the age 13, was stowing away some of the farming equipment both he and his father had used earlier. His blond hair contrasted his fair skin which was darkened by earth and mud. Next to the tool shed was the family home; a humble building of two bedrooms, a living room, a kitchen and a bathroom. An elderly man, clearly in his seventies, sat on a chair in the living room smoking his pipe and staring into the fire-place. A little girl, of the age ten, lay on the floor playing with her doll. In the kitchen, the housewife was busy chopping up vegetables while managing a boiling stew. A few paces behind the house was a well, which served as a water source for drinking, washing and bathing.

     The housewife strode through the small living room and out the front of the house.

     “Lance
!
  Come in
!
  It’s almost time for dinner
!
” she shouted.

     “Smell’s good, mum
!
What are you cooking
?
” asked the boy as he ran in from the tool shed.

     “Meat stew and fried vegetables. Now go to the back and get cleaned up. Your father’s coming in soon, and then we can have dinner,” she replied.

     A quarter of an hour later, Lance sat by the fireplace next to his grandfather. The elderly man was staring at the flames.

     “When are you going to teach me, granddad
?
” asked Lance impatiently.

     “Not now
!
  Not yet
!
You’re still too young and far too impatient
!
” replied the old man.

     “I’m not too young
!
Besides, what do I need patience for
?
” he protested.

     “A sword is a weapon, boy, not a toy
!
  You need patience and you need to develop a deep sense of responsibility before you earn the right to even touch one
!
  You could end up hurting yourself, or even worse, you could end up hurting others,” explained the old man.

     Lance stared longingly at the sword hanging by the mantelpiece just above the fireplace. The sword was sheathed in a dark brown hardwood scabbard and judging by the scabbard, should have a curved blade about the length of an average man’s arm from the shoulder to the knuckle. It has a thick silver hand-guard and a dark brown hardwood handle the length of an average man’s forearm from the elbow to the wrist. Engraved into the hardwood handle was the Fallsian Emblem, which showed a large crown on top of two converging waterfalls and beneath these, a dove on either side with its wings spread out wide, flying away from each other.

     Lance turned around to look at the old man. The dancing flames of the fireplace enhanced the wrinkles on the old man’s face, making him look much older than he was.

     “How long have you had that sword, granddad
?
Must’ve been at least 40 years, right
?
” he asked.

    “50 years, actually. It was my first and only sword. I was presented with it by the king himself when I was sworn in at the end of my training. The silver handguard signifies that it was a special issue as the standard issue ones have bronze handguards instead. The dark brown scabbard and handle signifies that I was a Provincial Guard. The Royal Guards were issued with swords that have golden yellow scabbards and handles. The Oceanic Guards were issued with navy blue ones instead. It is a good sword. I fought many battles with it. It kept me safe and alive until I retired,” answered the old man.

    “You fought with this sword during the Third Liberation War 20 years ago, didn’t you
?
That’s when the king granted you this piece of land, didn’t he
?
  He granted it to you for your bravery in that war, am I right, granddad
?
” said Lance as he turned back to give the sword another longing stare.

    “Yes, that’s right. But there’ll be no war stories for you tonight, young Lance, for war is an evil undertaking that should not be glorified but to be conducted purely out of the necessity of self-protection; and it would be unwise of me to encourage a war mongering nature in you,” stressed the old man.

    “Yes, granddad,” surrendered Lance, though secretly he imagined wielding his grandfather’s sword and heading into a glorious battle, leading an army of thousands. ‘Recavian Lance Arman
!
’ thought Lance to himself and he decided that he liked the sound of it.

     The darkness of night had blanketed this simple farm. Lance’s father headed toward the tool shed, holding a few farming tools in both his hands. Dirt, soil and sweat covered both his face and body. He felt tired, but somewhat satisfied with a good day’s work. But most importantly, he felt a great emptiness in his stomach and the smell of his wife’s cooking seemed to have turned it into a gigantic void. He was tempted to just drop all the tools he was carrying and go straight to dinner. But what kind of an example would he be setting for his son
?
He steadied himself and forced his way through the mud toward the little wooden shed. He felt that being a husband was not easy and being a father was so much more difficult. There were so many things for him to think of and to worry about. But on the positive side, since the drought was gone, soon he would have crops to harvest. Then maybe he could raise enough money to send Lance to school in Greentown. Yes, he needed to make sure that his son got a good education
!
He felt stupid to have wasted so much money on gambling in the past, but no more
!
  No more
!
Every single coin that he could save was going to Lance’s and Tulip’s education.

     Silence takes hold of this simple farm. An eerie feeling begins to take control of Lance’s father. A sudden fluttering sound in the distant darkness behind him draws his attention. He turns around, but sees nothing. Except for the sickle he was carrying, he drops all the other farming equipment and quickens his pace to the house. Another fluttering sound breaks the eerie silence, this time from above. Looking up, he sees nothing but the gentle sparkling of the stars. Yet something is not right
!
He feels it in his inner core. Though the night is cool, beads of sweat begins to appear throughout his body. His quickened pace buries his feet deep into the mud with each step.

    
Slash!
  He feels it, the searing sharp pain across his back. It is so intense it brings him to his knees. His mouth opens wide, but no voice can be heard. Then he sees it, the face of his doom. It is a demon’s face, shaped like that of a large praying mantis. Its two bulging blood-red eyes and its slim, triangular jaw brings so much paralysing fear to the man that it overshadows the pain in his back. The black slit in the middle of its forehead begins to open. It starts to glow dark red and the man begins to feel pain of a different kind. It is the pain of a million burning needles constantly stabbing every nerve in his body. He loses his senses. Now he sees nothing, hears nothing, tastes nothing and smells nothing; nothing but the consuming pain that is penetrating deep into his very own soul. Then it stops. And there is nothing. Everything is a total void. Not a single sight, sound, taste, smell, or feeling exists. There is no breath. There is no heartbeat. There is no life.

     The door of the house swings open ever so gently. A cold draft sweeps into the living room, prompting the old man to get up and walk towards the door to shut it so that it does not trigger his rheumatism. He freezes as he comes face to face with the evil insect-like face of the demon. The old man stares at it disbelievingly, taking in all of its unnatural features. It looks like a human-sized praying mantis, except for its torso, which looks human. It has a pair of huge, strong arms which seems human-like at the upper torso but changes gradually towards the end into long, multi segmented, spiked forelegs. Extending from its lower torso are two pairs of long, spiked, insect-like legs. Its stomach extends to the back and is shaped like the abdomen of a praying mantis. Its skin is hard and green in colour and features many pores from which slime oozes out. The demon’s eyes looked the most unnatural of all its features. The pair of bulging, blood-red, oval shaped eyes radiates the aura of pure evil.