The Chronicles of Lumineia: Book 01 - Elseerian (2 page)

With his heritage a mystery, he’d always pretended to laugh off the comment—but each time he heard it, he felt something stir and tighten within him. To anyone but his close friends he could pass it off as nothing, but the few who knew him best understood, even if they never voiced it.

Another whisper caressed his ears, and he strained to find the source. The little cabin in which he lived was sparsely furnished. A desk sat in one corner with a few pieces of parchment scattered across the surface. Windows above the desk and bed, typically open to allow an afternoon breeze to cool the room, were now covered to ward off the nightly chill. Moonlight filtered into the room through an opening in the drapes above the desk.

A slight movement in the curtain above his bed caught his keen eyes. Unbidden, an easy smile broke across Taryn’s features.
Murai is at it again
, he thought. From an early age, Taryn had been trained by his uncle to wake up instantly if there were any unnatural noise. It had been over fifteen years since someone had surprised him, even when sleeping. That didn’t stop his uncle from testing him, though.

In truth, Murai wasn’t really his uncle at all, but he had been the one to take him in when his shipwrecked mother had been found twenty-one years ago. Raised by him, it had been natural for Taryn to call him Uncle. Well into his fifth century, the seasoned elf had taught him with kindness and a deep-rooted love. “Always be quick with a smile and a sword,” Murai liked to say. Taryn couldn’t help but love him.

The young man slipped from his bed and onto the floor, keeping his knees under him in a crouch. At the same time he drew the dagger he kept under his pillow, careful to not make any sound. A hand holding an object emerged through the window, followed by an arm. Soon the grinning face of his uncle came into view. Taryn had to hand it to him—for an old elf he was still pretty stealthy. No sound betrayed his presence except the soft rub of cloth on skin as he leaned through the window. His uncle paused before pouncing on the dark bed. At the same time Taryn leapt as well, landing on top of him with the dagger carefully placed with the flat side at his throat.

“I was just coming to get you for breakfast,” a muffled voice came out from under Taryn.

“I might believe that, but you brought a knife,” he replied mockingly. “You also came through the window. I am sure you know how to use a door.”

An arm moved out from under the blanket to reveal the object in his hand to be a spoon. “Breakfast is ready!” the muffled voice said. Taryn burst into laughter as he got off his uncle and moved to open the drapes. Moonlight flooded the room, allowing the young man to get a look at the intruder. Dressed in worn pants and just a shirt, it was clear that he hadn’t gotten ready for the day yet. He must have come straight after waking. Elven features were prominent, with eyes of light sky blue, blond hair, and pointed ears. The wiry old elf was short for his race, barely as tall as Taryn’s shoulder. You would never suspect that he was one of the best fighters in the history of the island.

Proficient with almost any weapon, he was deadly with a katsana, a long, curving blade about an inch wide. Because of its length and weight, it required both hands—so few elves chose to wield one. He was the only master of that particular weapon on the island and had been Taryn’s first teacher. Thinking of that made Taryn look up at the only items hanging on the wall. Sheathed in beautiful black scabbards rested two uniquely crafted katsanas, the only link he had to his parents.

Following Taryn’s gaze, Murai looked at the swords as well. “Your parents would be proud of you, Taryn, especially today.”

He nodded in response without looking at his uncle, and tried to not show how much he missed not knowing them. Finally of age, today he would be tested and take his rites of passage. He just wished the idea didn’t make him feel so alone, and he found himself wondering if others felt the same way.

For as long as the histories had been written, the island of Sri Rosen had been the training ground for elves, who were sent to practice and master weapons from the age of twenty to fifty, when they reached adulthood.

Although most of the fighters had traditionally been elves, there were often a handful of humans and dwarves that were allowed to study with the masters of Sri Rosen. Dwarves, whose life spans matched those of the elves, also trained until the age of fifty, but humans completed at twenty-one.

Without realizing it, Taryn had drawn closer to the swords that were his parents’ legacy and he reached up to caress the hilts in the darkness. Drawing both blades in one smooth motion, he left the sheaths on the wall and returned to the beam of moonlight to study the weapons.

The swords were almost identical in every way. Perfectly weighted, they could be balanced on the edge of a chair and remain that way for days. Taryn knew—he’d tried it. Not a single chip marred the razor sharp edges. Shimmering in the moonlight were twin dragons of blue and green, etched down the length of both blades in perfect detail, twined together in an embrace. The only real difference between the two swords was a bright blue sapphire above the hilt in one, and a perfect emerald in the same location on the other. Below the gemstones, black leather had been braided and fastened tightly down the double long hilt, allowing the wielder to fight without losing his grip.

Catching his uncle looking at him, Taryn said, “I wish they could be here for this, Murai.”

Without responding, his uncle placed a hand on his shoulder in a token of comfort. They remained there in silence until Murai gently pushed the swords aside while moving to stand in front of him. “You would make
any
parent proud today,” he said as a spontaneous grin creased his features, “except me. I can only be proud of you if you eat breakfast with me.” At the same time he scrunched his face up in mock haughtiness and looked away.

Taryn grinned. “Alright, just let me get dressed and I will meet you at the dining hall. By the looks of things, you need to get dressed anyway, so I may even beat you there.”

Murai’s mock angry face shifted to one that welcomed a challenge. “We will see about that!” Leaping for the bed, he exited in a diving roll through the same window he had entered.

Taryn chuckled to himself and returned the katsanas to their sheaths before preparing for the day. Not ten minutes later the young man stepped out the door and took a deep breath of the cool morning air. Tightening the straps of the two swords on his back, he took a moment to enjoy the view. A light fog hung in the air, although the first rays of dawn could be seen on the horizon and it would burn away soon after sunrise. His little cottage faced south but sat west of the village, nestled into the trees close to the cliffs. To his right the terrain rose sharply to the only mountain on the island, while on his left the ground sloped gently to the sea several miles away.

At just over 50 miles in length, the island was dotted with small villages, most of them hidden in the forest near the mountain. Smoke from other dining halls could be seen drifting lazily out of chimneys and darkening the fog before breaking free into the sky. On the other side of the mountain, to his right, a sheer cliff dropped hundreds of feet to the breaking surf.

Taryn turned and walked briskly through the village, listening to the the soft sounds of people waking and preparing for the day. By the time he reached the main street, the early risers were already going about their business. Today would be busier than normal because of the Acabi, an elven word meaning “finish with honor.”

Turning towards the center of the village, he nodded at the people he passed as he followed the savory smells coming from the dining hall, grateful that his day to cook was still several days off.  Not that he minded helping, but the food never tasted good on his day. Last week it had been particularly dreadful, eliciting more than a few complaints. At least Murai had never seemed concerned. He’d always told him not to worry about his lack of culinary skills because he was 'born to wield a blade'. The phrase had lost its significance though when his uncle had begun to apply it to other things. Frowing at his thoughts, he opened the door and stepped in.

He paused at the threshold until he spotted his uncle in the crowd, with a plate of steaming food in front of him. Knowing he wouldn’t be able to escape a ribbing, he moved to sit across from him.

“Took you long enough,” Murai said. “I’m on my second helping.” Despite his tone, the corners of his mouth were struggling to stop a grin. He was also fully dressed with his own katsana on his back.

“I already finished, but I figured you would like some company,” Taryn replied with a smile.

Responding with a loud snort, Murai pointed at the food line. “Get some food; you need to be at the arena in two hours.”

“Do you want me to get you thirds?” Taryn asked as he stood. “I don’t want you to faint from hunger when you fight me today.”

Looking up, Murai said brightly, “Of course—although not too much bacon." He leaned in and lowered his voice. "I'm trying to watch my weight, you know.”

Taryn smiled and strode to the back of the line to grab his own breakfast. Sly grins and stifled laughter were directed towards him, and he did his best to ignore it. Overhearing someone whisper to another of his latest attempt in the gardens made him cringe. Even though it was expected, the muffled giggle at the end made him tighten his lips.

Avoiding eye contact, he felt heat rise to his neck as he stepped forward to grab bread, eggs, and extra bacon. It didn’t help that he could best any of them with a blade. In every other area, he carried the unfortunate renown as the worst on the island. At one time, Murai had encouraged him to stand up for himself. His attempt could only be described as disastrous, and that had been the end of it. He could count on one hand the few he claimed as friends, and that included his uncle.

Withdrawing into his training had only made it more difficult. Every bit that he excelled only seemed to widen the chasm between himself and the other students, and for some reason he did not understand, many disliked losing to him. The pirate attack four years ago had been a breaking point, and many had yet to forgive him.

Catching someone shaking their head as they turned away, Taryn realized that today might be a chance to redeem himself—if he did well. Everyone knew what he had to face today, and he doubted anyone would be willing to trade places. By longstanding tradition, students completed their training by facing the very people that had taught them, and Taryn had been instructed by four masters—something that was unheard of in written history. Most fighters studied one, or occasionally two, weapons or skills throughout their time on Sri Rosen. A student with three masters had occurred only twice in the last five hundred years.

He just wished it had helped him make friends. Not for the first time, he considered the idea that his mixed heritage had something to do with it. Although not entirely elf, or human, he didn’t fit in with either crowd, and apparently, skill in a single area was not sufficient to gain entry to their circles.

Sighing, he returned to his seat and ate quickly to finish at the same time as his uncle. They dropped their dishes off for the daily dish cleaners and stepped outside to allow others to eat.

“Do you want to walk or ride?” Murai asked.

“I think I’ll walk,” replied Taryn. “It’s going to be a beautiful morning.”

Murai’s gaze lingered on him for several moments before he stretched and smiled. “That’s fine, but these old bones aren’t up for it. I’ll ride and meet you there.” With that he turned and walked towards the stables where his horse was kept.

Grateful for the time to be alone, Taryn headed out of the village on the meandering trail to Seascape, the largest of all the villages and the only port. Each year several ships came to trade and drop off or pick up passengers. At least twice a year the new students that had been selected to go to Sri Rosen arrived. Most were very young, between three and five years old for humans. Dwarves and elves arrived at the age of twenty and stayed until they reached the age of accountability for their respective races.

Once on the island, everyone began with the basics of unarmed combat. After that they could select a single master to teach them in a specific style of fighting or continue in unarmed combat. Most elves chose to study the short sword or longbow, the most common elven weapons. The few humans and dwarves usually chose a master of the broadsword, longsword, or battle axe. They would then study with that master until their Acabi ceremony.

Those who passed the Acabi could choose to return to their homeland or stay and continue their studies. Since elves and dwarves could live for several hundred years, many elected to remain. Humans usually returned home as soon as their ceremony was completed. During their training, if any student mastered a specific weapon, they were allowed to select another teacher and learn an additional skill.

While his thoughts continued to wander, Taryn strolled down the trail and enjoyed the early morning. Frequent breaks in the trees allowed a view of the gorgeous sunrise. The sun was already halfway up, with the water reflecting the colors perfectly, making the horizon disappear. Red, orange and yellow shimmered in the water and sky, setting the sea on fire.

By this time of day, students could normally be found running on the trails for their morning exercise. Today being an Acabi ceremony, however, all normal lessons would be cancelled. The trail continued to dip through the light forest at a steady decline, gently turning back on itself when it became too steep. Enjoying the feeling of solitude, Taryn broke into a run.

Swift and careful, he placed each foot on stone or hard dirt, leaving no sign of his passage. His elven heritage granted him speed and silence—but he also had stamina, which was
not
a normal elf trait. Unending endurance was only common among the dwarves, who were known for fighting for days without rest. Coming to a small stream, he leapt up to grab a thick branch twelve feet above the gurgling water, and swung himself across without slowing.