The Clearing
By T.B. Ward
It was quiet in Whitehall Shores, Oregon.
It was winter time, the snow had settled upon the grass and trees, the early January frost mixing in with the silence and grim.
Just outside of the large town that sat, still, in its valley beneath the western hills, a forest rose from the earth, dense and thick with trees that stretched into withering pines and frayed like ropes at their tops. The smothering ice had covered their leaves, making everything white and completely silent.
It was January the fourth, and the high schools had just begun their classes after a relaxed break from their work. All of them were upset to wake up to their new 2013 calendar and their schoolbooks just waiting for them. They all trekked to school and rode in their vehicles to begin the rest of the year's labors that they dreaded so much. None of the friends felt up to talking to one another, and the only sounds that could be heard were the putterings of the occasional passing car.
When the day was about to begin and the sun had once again sunk behind the thick clouds, a certain high school student took a different path to her destination. And after years of waiting, she had finally reached the day when she was going to go to a different place.
She dropped her books and supplies in her locker and crept, almost invisible to the oblivious crowd, down the long hallways and back out into the cold and desolation of Whitehall Shores. The snowing had stopped, but the thick film of ice and fog was unbearably strong, keeping even the strongest of eyes from being able to see. And this particular student was no stranger to excellent sight.
When the mischievous girl reached the edge of town, she gazed off into the woods that were filled with silence and mystique. It was time for her to do something that hadn't happened for an immeasurable amount of years. It was time to find the Clearing.
Not hesitating, the clever girl undid her single Dutch braid and let her fiery red hair burst forth like a flame on a puddle of oil. The curls were hooked and awry, which was exactly what she wanted; it was time to do what she felt was herself.
With that, she braced herself and whisked of into the forest, running at inhuman speeds and dodging any sort of object that might lie in her way. Fallen trees were scattered like leaves in a storm, and the thick swarms of icicles hung like wet hairs on their branches.
When she came upon a frozen stream, she knew that she was almost there. The thick, deep creek was embedded into a ditch that was at least ten feet across and five feet down, into a heavy layer of frozen liquid. Pine needles and miscellaneous objects stuck out of the ice like spines on a porcupine.
Unfazed and instead anxious, the girl reared back and leaped without effort across the stream, landing on her feet with perfect precision on the opposite side. Triumphant, she glanced back across the creek to gather her senses in the brisk air.
There was no turning back.
It took possibly five more minutes of trudging through the ice to finally reach the area that the girl was looking for. She knew it when she saw it, but had only been there once before in her life, as a tiny infant.
A clearing, almost perfectly circular, smothered in snow and a thin layer of fog hung at ankle level, like a pool of swirling gray liquid. The area had the nearly the circumference of a cottage, just the right size
for the powers that were to meet here today. Most distinct were the area’s
statues, placed in a fashion around the clearing that made the place seem of
being under guard; the statues were tall and man-sized, decorated uniquely with
eerie blank eyes and a pose that gave them the appearance of being lifted to heaven.
Ancient, they were, covered with leaves and growth and underbrush, and some had
been chipped to barely anything at all. It was silent in Whitehall Shores and
in the woods that surrounded it.
The
girl, bright, gingery hair aloft, stood high in the center of the
snow-smothered clearing, glancing expectantly at the mysterious woodlands
around her. She could feel the frosty vapor that hung in the air, and she was
shaken by the looming overcast sky that seemed to tell her to turn back. A
thick, slightly violet puff of hot steam arose from her lungs.
It
was two days away from the Winter Solstice. The time had come, the time that
humanity had forgotten long ago. A gathering was about to happen, one that
hadn’t happened in over thirty years. How she knew that it was time, she did
not know, but the girl was ready for it.
The
girl, her clothes torn and ratty, had been raised by her father in a small
house at the edge of the town. Her father, named Jacob Sky, was a businessman,
owning a small office supplies shop on a street corner in Whitehall Shores. The
girl had never been interested in his work, so instead she stayed at home or
went to school. She spent most of her free time in her room, generally not
going out to hang out with friends, for she had little. Instead she stayed home
and studied ancient lore and wrote stories, intrigued by the human imagination
and the things that were inside it. A few friends she had, yes, but she only
saw them at school, for they were otherwise busy with boyfriends or playing on
their new electronics. The girl had a cell phone that she used to text with,
and that was about it for outside-of-school communication.
Her
name was Emily.
Emily
Sky, a high school freshman, did not care about the worries of the world or the
gossip-related problems of her friends. Instead, she liked to stay at home, in
the quiet and comfort of her bedroom, letting her mind go wild with wonder.
Some thought that she was weird or socially awkward, but she did not care; they
didn’t understand how vast her imagination had become.
But
Emily had a secret. A dark, unusual, unknown secret.
And
that was why she was in the clearing.
The
snow crunching softly beneath her feet, Emily Sky turned back and forth,
looking around the clearing for any signs of life besides the trees. A thrush
flew overhead, landing in a high branch and sending several icicles plummeting
into the ankle-deep snow.
Then
Emily heard a noise, and she knew that the Gathering was about to begin.
A
light PUFF-like sound, just barely audible, came from behind her. For a brief
second, the noise was mixed with a blast of ethereal screams, but Emily
dismissed it with certainty that it was nothing. She turned around and then
caught an eyeful of who was behind her.
A
man, or more of a boy, stood at full height, probably in his twenties. His face
was young but sharp, and his hair was long and slightly frazzled at the ends.
He was clad in a purple suit, not unlike that of a modern-day business suit,
but without any tie. The violet hue was faded and dark, and ashen dust
smothered the man from head to toe. His eyes shone out with vivid aura, a rich
green color that no other human had. And in the man’s hand was a walking stick,
fashioned of a dark, metallic gold material, smooth in a perfect circumference
except for the gold-fashioned miniature chameleon on the top.
The
man, swatting away bright neon green particles of an unearthly nature away from
himself, glanced at Emily with curiosity and a slight amount of contempt.
“So,”
he said, looking Emily up and down, “You’re the new one, huh?”
His
voice was thick with American drawl, a slight deep rasp accompanied with a
young word rhythm. Emily nodded with slight uncertainty, having only a vague
understanding of who the man was and what he was doing.
The
man lifted his golden staff to his ashen-scarred face, still continuing to
stare at Emily. He whispered something in an ancient language, and Emily
watched as all of the scars and bruises and patches of dust vanished, leaving
his face clean and untouched. Emily was only slightly amazed.
She
nodded, answering his question.
“Well,
dear old Rain must have finally kicked the bucket,” he said, stepping towards
her and looking her up and down. “My, you’re quite the poor one.”
Emily
didn’t move. She felt slightly offended by the man’s comments, but she knew
that he could say what he wanted; he had power way beyond her reckoning. He
walked around her, getting an eyeful of her features and clothing.
“Good
God, why did it have to be YOU?” he remarked, full of contempt, “I mean, Rain
had seen better days, but seriously; a low-salary redhead with absolutely no
idea what I’m talking about.”
He
was right; Emily had no idea what he was referring to. All she knew, by
instinct, that she had to be here at this precise moment. And she knew that she
wouldn’t be the only one.
She
shook her head, confirming the man’s comments.
“Well,”
he said, stopping in front of her and looking her in the eye, “We might have to
fix that.”
Emily
smiled, ready to learn anything.
“Good,”
he stated, brushing ashes from his suit. “Now, where should I start?”
“Probably
why the hell I’m here,” Emily said, finally speaking to him, and feeling a
little annoyed as to why she had been called poor. Twice.
The
man’s eyes widened, and he held up a scolding finger. “Ok, first of all, don’t
EVER say that word to me, because you have never been there.”
Emily
was immediately scared, for the man’s fiery aura had caused the sky to suddenly
go dark and some of the snow started to melt beneath his feet.
“And
second of all, I’ll do the talking.”
Emily
snapped. She HATED being bossed around, and that was what had caused her to be
sent to the principal’s office at least once a week at school. “EXCUSE YOU,”
she barked, furious, “A LITTLE RESPECT, PLEASE.”
Then
he snapped, too. But he did not shout. He went cold and the now-revealed grass
beneath him began to fizzle and wrinkle. The sky went darker.
“You
know, Explosion-Head, you may be the newest and most important of the group,
but you definitely aren’t the most powerful. So why don’t you just let
me…well…boss you around.”
“Excuse
you, but—”
“No,
that wasn’t a question.”
Emily
went completely silent. He had power and both of them knew it.
“Good.
Now, let me explain.”
Emily
reluctantly gave in, and the man smiled. He waved his staff over his head
thrice and then whipped the chameleon tip into a position that caused it to
face the ground directly in front of Emily. A blast of white-hot flame burst
from it, shooting into the grass and igniting it, making a fire that could
easily be used to roast marshmallows. Emily jumped, but the man did not flinch,
instead he sat down in front of the fire, warming his hands. His staff stood up
on its own, in a perfectly balanced position. There was magic about them, and
Emily had no problem sensing it.
“Sit,”
commanded the man. She did as he told.
“Now,
hold your flee-bitten horses, and listen up,” he said, and Emily rolled her
eyes. “I am going to hand you a piping hot bowl of ’This is what’s up.’”
“Alright,
bring it on,” commented Emily, intrigued.
“But
first, how about a nice, tall glass of ’Shut the heck up.’” He half-scowled,
half-smiled, knowing that she had no choice but to obey. She did, realizing
that being annoyed was not going to help her.
“Good.
Now listen up, and if you make a sound, I will vomit in your mouth.”
Emily
shuddered.
“Alright.
So, let me start with the basics. Long ago, when the land was young, and things
like ’Gangnam Style’ and ’Channing Tatum’ didn’t exist, there was a race of—”
“Hey!
Channing Tatum is perfectly cute!”
“Shut
the heck up. Anyways, there was a race of powerful beings. Or rather humans,
but…powerful.”
“Got
that part.”
“Well,
no one cares what you think. The powerful beings lived alongside men, in a very
quiet and peaceful way. Eventually some set themselves up as gods or ruled
nations. Ever heard of Shakespeare?”
“Who
hasn’t?”
“Your
mom.”
“She’s
dead.”
“Precisely.
Well, Shakespeare was one of them. He had the social status of…say…George
Clooney, except people didn’t faint when he walked in the room. But then, the
powerful people divided themselves into seven categories: the Wizards, the
Enchanters, the Warriors, the Elementals, the Diviners, the Architects, and the
Astrologers. Each had their own unique abilities, but every one of them was
devoted to one thing, and one thing only: they were trying to harness the deep
power that was in the earth.”
“So
what happened to all of them?” inquired Emily, intrigued.
“Cool
your jets, lady, I was just getting to that. Well, HUMANS happened."
"Humans?"
"Yup. They overtook the world and eventually got rid of us. You know the Salem Witch Trials? Those were our darkest hours. But a few of us escaped and hid in the wild, still making magic and communicating with each other by means of it. Some of us then went crazy because of too much pipe weed, and-"
"Like you?"
"Shut the heck up. And others...well...were killed."
Emily paused. "Killed? By who?"
He did not respond. His eyes drooped and went dark, and he looked as if a deep pain had overcome him.
Then he spoke.
"You know, Emily, just because there are great powers in this world, doesn't mean that all of them are...compassionate."
"Are you saying that-"
"Yes, I am. But let's not worry about those things, shall we? We have more pressing matters to attend to."
"Are some of the...bad ones still out there?" inquired Emily, slightly fearful now.
Again he looked pained.
He gulped.
"Yes."
With that, he stood up and grasped his golden staff, turning and walking back to a large rock that stood at the rear of the clearing, and it faced in the direction of Whitehall Shores. Emily knew that he was done talking about the bad ones, so instead, she changed topics.
"So, um, what exactly am I doing here?" she asked, shaking her head and giving a puzzled expression. By now, the man had disappeared behind the large rock and was out of sight.
"We," he said, raising his voice so that she could hear, "need to find out what you are."
"What I am? What do you mean, what I am? I'm a human!"
He scoffed, and was still out of visibility. "HUMAN?" he said, chuckling. "Lady, you are VERY far away from being a human."
Emily wasn't sure whether or not she was offended. She didn't speak, instead, she stared at the snow.
"So...what can each of the different types of magical person...well...do?" she asked finally, as the man finally came into view as he stood on top of the rock, which was probably about the height of a mini van. The wind whipped in his thick hair and his green eyes shone out like the eyes of a cat in the darkness. His suit was dark against she night sky, and the snow beneath him melted under his power. As the wind picked up, he spoke.
"You'll see, in good time."
Emily, still puzzled, watched as the man lifted his staff as if he were going to strike the rock.
"Wait," she said, stopping him, "I haven't even learned your name."
He looked slightly annoyed, looking like she had just interrupted a funeral with a wedding cake.
"My name is Druid Night," he declared, resting his arms and letting his staff lightly make contact with the rock, "I am the fifty-second incarnation of the Wizards, and am known by many names. I am the Fire-Wielder, the Potion Master, the Aura-Tamer, and the Wind-Whisperer. I am Kuthaladrax, and I am Marianor,in the Ancient Tongues of the Elves. I have spoken with the ocean itself and have commanded the Northern Lights to do my bidding.I am three hundred and twelve years old, I am the brother of the most powerful Elemental that ever lived, and am the last of my kind." His voice remained soft but strong, and the wind whipped around him and around Emily, who watched in awe. "Any questions?"
Emily couldn't speak. As the sky grew darker, she tried to watch as she could notice a thin layer of glowing green light emanate from Druid. She shook her head to answer his question.
"Good," he said, raising his staff once again, "Now let's find out what you are."
He brought down the staff with great force, his green light blaring out and his voice booming as he spoke in a language that Emily could not understand.
"Hunemair mon tharadrain, kelemoon mai grundensath," he boomed, his voice echoing like a war horn. Emily stumbled backwards as light shone all around him, and she watched as his powerful aura caused bright, glowing green symbols to appear in the ground. In fact, they appeared everywhere; in the rocks, the trees, the snow, and even on her. The only place that they did not emerge was on her face. Druid was covered with them, too, and his glowing green aura shone strong as he leapt from the rock and landed only a few feet from her. The symbols remained, and they represented great power, one that Emily had trouble fathoming.
"That was the language of Old High Wizard Tongues, a language that no longer comes from the lips of mankind," he informed her, stooping down to meet her height, "And these," he pointed to all of the symbols, "are Crescent Runes."
She took them all in with awe, and she wasn't nearly as shocked as she should have been.
"Now," Druid spoke, leaning in so that he was only a few inches from her face. He read the runes that were on her body, carefully inspecting everything. Then he turned back to her face. "Let's find out what you are."
He held up his hand to his mouth and pursed his lips, breathing out a hot puff of his glowing green aura, in the form of a light mist. He guided the cloud of it over to her face and touched it to her forehead. She could feel it as one large, powerful rune shone out from her skin. Druid smiled as he read what it said.
"Well?" asked Emily, after a few seconds of impatience.
"Looks like you're an Enchantress," he informed her, smiling. "And you are FULL of great power." She smiled, but only with uncertainty, for she had no idea what the Enchantresses could do.
She tried to ask, but all she could say was "Now what?"
He stood and whispered something under his breath. All of the runes vanished, and she could feel the last one to disappear was the one on her head. He turned to face her, sticking his staff in the snow and the sky returned to its usual gray color.
"You need training," he told her, looking her up and down to decide what she would need. "And you need it soon. But my time here grows short."
He suddenly stopped speaking, as if he had heard something. His face went serious.
"Alright, poor lady," he said, fumbling through his suit's inside pockets, "You need protection."
She watched as he pulled something out and held up in the air for a moment. He seemed hesitant, but all Emily noticed was the fact that all he had was a small pouch that was closed by drawstrings at the top.
"This should do it," he said, handing the bag to her, "Take this, and guard it with your life."
"What is it?" inquired Emily, not yet daring to open it.
"A Caster Cube," he informed her, "It'll keep the Bad Ones away. For now."
"Well, what do I do now?" she asked him, as he turned to leave.
"Wait. When the time is right, you'll know, and your training will begin."
She pulled back the drawstrings to reveal a cube, perfectly formed, probably about six inches in height, length, and width, colored gray with small specks of green emerald.
"Oh, and by the way," he said, for one finally thought, turning back to face her. "Your name isn't Emily."
She furrowed her brow in confusion.
"It's Ember," he told her, picking up his staff, "Ember Sky."
And with that, he turned and walked in the direction of the tree line. Then Ember blinked, and he was gone.
Happy New Years, guys!
c. Taylor Ward 2013. All rights reserved.
