**HEADS UP** I know this starts slow but I am posting my prologue now! Sorry it took forever and hopefully you like it!
Also, I changed the title from "Hope's Dawning" to "The Dagger of Truth". Beware to those of you have already read this so you don't get caught reading it again!
Thanks so much and Happy Reading!
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CHAPTER ONE
Hot, humid air produced perspiration on her back as she worked. Birds cawed lamely and her German Shepherd panted weakly in the shade of the old oak. She ran a shaky hand across her brow as she eased up to gaze at the tree. It’s gnarled and twisted branches sagged as its brittle leaves crinkled and snapped in the faint breeze. She sighed and looked into her basket. Four small carrots and a slightly bruised squash were all she could find and they seemed even smaller in the wide span of her woven surface. She looked at her wilted and dry garden, barely four feet by five. Usually lush and green, this year it was dull and brown. She glanced over at the weeping oak and whistled. Her German Shepherd, Lucky, perked his ears up. She whistled again and he came obediently trotting over, his tail wagging feebly. “There you are, ol’ boy.” She stroked his head and the dog licked her fingers, tasting the rotten earth under her fingernails. She looked to the heavens, where the sky signaled to all that it was nearing noon. She glanced over at her little cottage a few yards away and then, to the crooked, dirt road leading through the forest and into town. She breathed heavily, knowing what she must do but hating that she had to do it. “Come on, boy,” she urged her dog, which followed her loyally back to the house.
She quickly changed into a clean dress, plain and gray. No lace, no corset, no silk overcoat. All she owned was a wool shawl she had woven herself and boots that laced up to her ankle that she worked in the garden with. They were smudged with dirt and smelled strongly of fertilizer from the farmer in town. She wrinkled her nose but knew it couldn’t be helped. She ran a brush hurriedly through her hair, before pulling it into a sensible bun, patting it into place with her wrinkled and callused hands. Lucky barked with impatience, and she smiled, which was a rare and priceless occurrence. “All right boy, lets go.” She gathered her wool shawl and basket. At the last minute, she slipped into the waistband of her skirt, a dull knife with a gold-gilded handle. Gripping it tightly, she breathed deeply before shutting her peeling wooden door with a snap behind her.
She headed around the back where she kept her wagon. It was shielded with a makeshift covering in the small barn only large enough for two stalls. One was for her wagon and another for her donkey, Rudolph. “Hey, my little mister,” she cooed, the animal snorting with obvious glee. She pulled free the bolt locking Rudolph inside and looped the reins through his mouth and around his neck. He bit down on the metal bit with a thoughtful expression.
She proceeded to lead the animal over to where the wagon waited, hooking him up. She chided Lucky when she spotted him sitting proud and true in the driver’s seat. “Now, now, Lucky. You are in the back,” she ordered, and the dog obeyed, leaping over the small wall that separated the seat from the back. Rudolph grew restless, stomping his hooves against the earth. In only dire situations did she ever leave her home to seek out the village.
And this was one of those “dire” situations.
“Enough, Rudolph,” she scolded as she finished removing the tarp. With a heave, she lifted herself up onto the bench and, in the process, she heard a nefarious sound of her hem ripping. She gasped and lifted her hem free, revealing a nine-inch long hole running from one end of her dress to the other. She closed her eyes and let her head fall back, releasing her breath slowly. Lucky came up behind her and licked her cheek with his saliva-coated tongue. She sighed and itched his ears, hearing his tail thump against the side of the wagon. Calm and collected, she slapped the reins smartly against Rudolph’s flanks, waking him from his drowsy state. The wagon started forward and she quickly covered her bare shoulders with the shawl, even with the searing heat beating down on her.
It was a twenty-five minute ride to town and the sun baked her raw. She could feel her face burning and her fingers cracking from the lack of moisture. Lucky barked at everything that moved from the butterflies fluttering in the weak breeze to the wheels beneath the wagon.
Through the forest, she could see the effects of the drought through every turn. Trees once large and healthy wilted with lack of rain and their leaves were brittle and a rusty red. The grass was a baked brown and the strands sunk lower and lower, gasping for water. High above, the sun lit up the sky, pushing all the clouds from the heavens until it was an expanse of blue with nothing to ruffle it. The sun itself was a glowing globe with rays that reached the earth with hot, searing lines of light.
She dabbed at her neck with a stained handkerchief and Lucky howled as a bird flew passed. Rudolph brayed in response and she hushed him with a soothing voice.
The ride ended too quickly and soon enough, she entered the bustle of town life. She tried to shield herself from peering eyes but it was to no avail. People will be people and stare they did. With wide, accusing eyes they peered at her, rushing their children from the streets to pave an empty path for her. She held her head high in the face of their obvious scorn and felt the jab from her hidden weapon digging into her side as if a silent reminder of what she was capable of.
But that life is no more, she mutely repeated in her head before returning to life in the bleak world.
Lucky seemed oblivious to the people’s bitterness and barked happily, sticking his head out as far as he could without falling from the wagon. Rudolph trudged forward, nipping at those who got too close, making it even clearer that this woman was not to be talked to.
Finally, she reached her destination. The preacher’s home. Actually, it was the temple but the preacher lived in the tiny room above the church. So, with a shuddering breath, she entered, quickly tying Lucky to the wagon before departing. Inside, it provided an escape from the unbearable heat. The large doors closed with a boom that echoed throughout the whole of the temple. At the sound, the preacher appeared.
A simple man with graying hair and a wrinkled face approached. When he realized who it was, he didn’t retreat like the others but took her face in his hands and kissed her forehead in a loving expression. “Ashton, the mighty god, has answered my prayers,” he announced.
“You prayed for me?” the girl wondered with surprise.
“I always have prayed for you, Dara.”
Dara bowed her head modestly. “And what did you pray for?”
“That you would come and visit, of course.” The preacher winked.
“You know I don’t unless I absolutely have to,” Dara reminded him, following the preacher towards the altar, where he eased into the nearest pew with a heavy sigh.
“I know. That is why I was praying. We haven’t seen you in almost a year, Dara.”
“I haven’t a need to come into town,” Dara explained. “Until now.”
“And why is that?” the preacher asked softly.
“The drought, Father. My garden has perished and,” Dara swallowed her pride and the preacher saw the war waging within this young daughter of Parapholiny. “I have no food.”
“So you have come to ask for help?”
Dara nodded slowly. “Please, Father Brian, you must understand. If there was any other way, I would do it but—“
“You needn’t to explain to me, Dara.” Father Brian hushed her with a look from his eyes. “I’ll give you the food you need.”
Dara breathed a sigh of relief. “Oh, bless you Father.”
“Not me, Dara, but the lord, Ashton.” And Father Brian looked to the roof of the temple. A look of serenity crossed his face and Dara’s soul craved that peace Father Brian so obviously had. But just as quickly as the desire came, it vanished because Dara knew the danger in trusting the gods.
Father Brian opened his eyes. “Lord Ashton speaks, Dara. All you have to do is listen." Dara nodded but brushed the wisdom aside as she followed Father Brian up to his living quarters where he presented her with a beautiful bounty.
Two fresh loaves of bread and a small pouch of flour are placed into her basket. Along with those are a wheel of cheese, a pouch of sugar, the leg of a pig, and an assortment of fresh vegetables and fruits. She thanked him graciously and bowed slightly. Father Brian held each side of her head and kissed her forehead before sending her off with a prayer of safekeeping.
Back at her cottage, Dara unpacked her basket filled with food. She added them up and sighed deeply. The food would keep her for little less than two weeks. In that time, she would either have to pray for a miracle or she would have to get a job. She cringed at the thought. She had lived on this plot of land since she was old enough to live alone. With Father Brian’s help, she had established this land for herself and with an amount of borrowed money, she was able to purchase a wagon, a donkey, and seeds to start her garden. With the forest around her, she was able to hunt with little restraints and life resumed.
Now, with the land cursed with drought, she could no longer provide for herself. And with this knowledge came a spark of fear that sent her heart hammering. What if she couldn’t live like this anymore? What if she finally had to succumb to society’s wishes and live like a Valerian? She shuddered and a wet nose prodded her thigh. She glanced down to see Lucky inching his way closer to the wheel of cheese perched precariously on the counter. Dara shook her head and pushed the cheese out of reach. Lucky whined but retreated to his place by the fire, which was black and dead. A trickle of sweat tickled her neck as she wrapped the vegetables for safe storage. Turning to the wheel of cheese, her stomach growled. She hadn’t eaten since the morning before. But she knew that the less she ate, the longer she could put off going to town. So, with a quick shake, she wrapped the cheese and left to tend to her wilting garden, ignoring the persisting growling in the pit of her stomach.
* * *
The sun flashed with a multitude of pinks and oranges as it embraced the enclosing darkness. Dara shifted restlessly as she pressed her back against the bark of the large oak. Lucky perched beside her, his head in her lap. She stroked his fur absentmindedly, watching the sunset with mesmerized eyes. He kicked out suddenly and she saw him stir in his sleep. She wondered what he dreamed of. Possibly of chasing a rabbit or squirrel with lightening speed. A smile crossed her lips but vanished quickly as she looked back up at the sun. Only half of its yellow body showed and it glared with the power of millions of lanterns.
A twig snapped and she froze. Lucky rolled onto his back, oblivious to the noises surrounding them. Dara slid to the right, moving her hand slowly to her hip where her knife resided. But the forest remained silent, hiding its visitor…for now. Lucky stirred again, shaking his tail weakly, his mind off in dreamland. Dara resumed her scratching of his limbs and watched as the sun made its final decent. She sighed with pleasure as the air dropped several degrees, bringing the weather to a bearable state. She leaned comfortably against the trunk of the tree and let her eyes flutter closed. The sun burned once, flashing on her closed eyelids. She knew before it happened that the damage was done and with a quick jerk, she was pulled under into a sea of memories…
“Dara, Dara!” Michael called. “What about Mama?”
“Don’t look back, Michael,” Dara whispered harshly as they crept through the undergrowth. She could hear the snorts of horses, their riders searching for the missing children, for them. She froze as one rustled the bushes near her. Pulling Michael with her, she crouched down to her belly and laid flat, praying relentlessly that they would remain hidden. The horse brushed a sapling and inched every closer. She could hear Michael’s heavy breathing beside her and quickly hushed him with a wave of her hand over his mouth. She swallowed hard and stopped breathing all together as she peered through the branches to see a horse’s hoof restlessly paw the ground. She could hear the rider groan with frustration. He was spinning his horse to face them when a voice shouted for him to return. Dara breathed easier as she watched the horse retreat, its hooves kicking up the soil.
She counted to ten, listening carefully for other signs of life. Once the forest resumed its regular chatter, she knew that it was safe. With a quick peek around, she hauled Michael to his feet. “Come on, Michael.”
“But what about mama, Dara?” he wondered again, his eyes searching hers. He was such a perceptive boy for a four-year-old, she thought.
“You know we can’t go back, Michael,” Dara said slowly, and Michael gazed at her, bewildered.
“What do you mean, Dara?” His four-year-old innocence brought tears to Dara’s eyes. But she had to be strong for her brother. So, she swallowed the wad of acrid tears forming down her throat and choked back a sob. “Michael, mama won’t be there,” she struggled to explain.
“Why not?”
“Because, Michael.”
“But why?”
“Michael,” Dara was loosing her patience. “I can’t explain to you now. Maybe when you are older.” It would be too much for a four-year-olds mind to comprehend that his mother was just executed.
Dara woke, drenched in sweat. Lucky was licking her face, whining softly. She loosened her grip on her skirt, where she had been clenching for dear life. The images still fresh in her mind made her throat tighten painfully. She bit her tongue to prevent the fresh wave of tears forming. I had never been able to tell Michael the truth, she thought bitterly. She was never able to explain to her brother that their mother had been executed and the reason behind it. When she had finally decided to tell him, it had been too late. It was all my fault, she sighed deeply, clutching at her chest with the hope that the feelings would fade. That the emotions would recede and she could be left as the girl she had hardened into to protect her sanity and identity.
A twig snapped again and Dara leaped to her feet as agilely as a cat. Years of chopping wood and harvesting had kept her fit. Lucky howled after being startled. Dara hushed him with a wave of her hand, and he quieted, accustomed to such silent commands. Dara crept towards the opening to the woods, her knife held tightly in her left hand. The woods were dark and shadowed, the brittle leaves breaking in the light breeze. It raised the hair on her neck and drew her dress tighter across her back. Lucky suddenly tensed, his nose wrinkled and ears back. With a low growl, the hair rose on his spine and he lowered to a crouch. Dara stiffened and through the trees, a silhouette appeared. Reactions still keen, Dara responded with speed as the silhouette came upon them. She spun to her knees, kicking out her foot to knock the legs right out from under the intruder. Straightening, she bowed over the figure and held the knife to the visitor’s throat.
The figure panted heavily and his hood was pulled over his face. She frowned and yanked the hood back, showing the intruder’s face. She jolted when she saw his tan skin and prominent cheekbones. “You’re a Native,” she breathed, pulling back slightly.
The young man nodded. “And you are Dara, no doubt?” He carried a thick accent, rolling his R’s with a snake-like melody.
“May or may not be,” she said craftily, keeping her gaze level. “What’s it to you?”
“I must speak with Dara,” he said with a cough.
“What does a Native like yourself want with her?”
“Just to talk.”
“A Native?” she scorned. “Yeah, right.”
The lad narrowed his eyes. “Not all Natives are thieves. It’s you Aryan’s that’s made us into what we are today.”
“I’m not an Aryan,” Dara growled, pressing the blade into the Native’s throat.
“So, you are Dara, no?” The Native grinned, and Dara cursed.
“Like I said, what’s it to you?”
“And as I said to you before, I just want to talk.”
“Why should I speak to a Native?” Dara wondered with a raised eyebrow.
“You would listen if you knew of what I wish to share with you,” the Native answered cryptically, and Dara’s interest was piqued. The Native saw her eyes sparkle and his lips parted in a smirk. “Curiosity killed the cat. “
“And satisfaction brought it back,” Dara retorted with steely eyes.
“So, are you going to invite me in?” the Native asked smoothly, receiving a glare from Dara. She glanced quickly around her before rising and hauling him to his feet. He moved to brush his tunic and trousers off when she came up behind him and held the blade against his neck again. “Nothing foul, understand?” The Native nodded, and Dara poked him in the back with her blade to get him moving.
In the house, the Native dinned on a hunk of cheese and a slice of bread smothered in fresh-churned butter. Dara watched him with curiosity. He was tall, nearly six-foot with drooping shoulders and a sunken chest. His neck bulged with tendons as he swallowed his food whole without chewing. She could see how the once befitting tunic now draped over his thin frame. “When was the last you ate?” she wondered.
The Native swallowed hard and glanced up at her with a soft shrug. “A couple days ago. I’ve been too busy staying out of trouble to eat.” And with a coy smile, he returned to his small meal. Dara shook her head, her interest flaring inside of her. She saw that his hair was the accustomed curly black with streaks of brown, the effect of too much sun. His skin was not near as dark as the NewComers but the sun had cooked it into a healthy tawny-gold. When he looked up, his eyes were a startling brown with a tinge of green lining his pupils. He raised a thick black eyebrow and chewed his food thoughtfully. “You like what you see?” Dara glowered and jumped down from the counter where she had been perched.
“What’s your name?” she asked as she had her back to him, re-wrapping the cheese and bread.
“Darwin.” She heard the slight hesitation in his voice and knew without looking at him that he was lying.
“You know my name, why can’t I know your real one?” She turned to face him, drying her hands from the remnants of cheese.
The Native looked at her with sparkling eyes. “It’s Karson.”
“Karson.” She nodded, content, before placing herself across from him. “So, what is the news you have brought me?”
“Don’t you have any questions for me first?” Karson wondered.
“Actually,” Dara began, laying her elbows on the table. “I do.
“Ask away,” Karson urged.
“How do you know me?” It was the obvious question but Dara wanted to know the answer all the same.
Karson leaned away from the table. “My tribe knows of you.”
“How does your tribe know of me?”
“Legends. Myths. Prophecies.” Karson shrugged. Dara’s air left her lungs in a whoosh and she felt faint. I came here to escape this madness, she thought wildly.
“I know but you must except the gods journey for you,” Karson replied, and Dara jolted. He immediately saw his fault and stuttered for an answer. “I-I’m sorry. I-I shouldn’t have pried. It isn’t my place.”
“You mean…” Dara struggled for the right words. “You can—“
“Read thoughts, yes,” Karson finished for her. “But only those who don’t have their mind guarded. Yours is free to access. Sometimes I can’t always control my abilities when your mind is so open.”
Dara heard the insult hidden in his words and huffed. “Humph.” She crossed her arms over her chest.
“I’ll teach you to guard it. Don’t worry,” Karson assured her with a smile.
“So, you are one of the Gifted?” she asked, and Karson nodded. “I thought those were only stories.”
“No.” Karson shook his head. “’Afraid not.”
Dara sighed and cupped her head in her hands. “Why have you come?”
“Is that the only questions you have for me?” She could hear the smile in his words. She nodded, without looking at him and heard him sigh. “All right,” He paused for a second before plunging forward. “My tribe has sent me to help you train for the up-coming battle. The Aryans have mobilized and King Theo has ordered them to march forward and destroy all Natives’. He has even got some of the NewComers on his side. I don’t know how much longer we have before he sees fit to destroy us all. We must take a stand and fight.”
Dara shook her head, her mind a jumble of thoughts. “No, no. This can’t be happening.”
“It is,” Karson said severely. “And you know your place amongst my people.”
“I have no place!” Dara yelled, slamming her fist against the table. “You know of my chosen exile. You know the reason behind my decision. I hoped to escape this—“
“You can’t escape destiny,” Karson said softly.
“You can if you run hard enough,” Dara retorted with hateful eyes.
“Why run when you can stand and fight?” Karson demanded.
“Because I have a home here. A peaceful life far away from the fighting and the wars.”
“But this isn’t your home. Your place is in Luxion at the front of the battlefield,” Karson answered strongly with passion shinning in his eyes.
“No.” Dara stood and backed away from the table. “You can’t make me go.”
“No, I can’t,” Karson admitted sadly.
“Then leave. Go! Far away from here,” Dara commanded. “Never bother me again!” When Karson stayed sitting, Dara ran from the room and out into the cool, nights air. Karson didn’t follow but watched her from the doorway, a sorrowful expression lining his face.
* * *
Dara woke in the heat of her bed, her blankets ensnaring her. She pulled against the bothersome covers and wiped her brow, which was dripping perspiration. She let her eyes scour the room, seeing that there was no sign of Karson and his lies. She breathed easier and stretched, pulling the blankets from her body and stepping onto the earthy floor. She looked down and saw that she had fallen asleep in her dress. She couldn’t remember crawling into bed last night. All she could remember was running as far as she could into the forest with tears streaming down her face. She shook the memory from her mind and hurried to pull on clean socks and her boots. She had yet to see Lucky, which struck her as peculiar. As she laced up her left foot, she heard his cheerful back and sighed, quickly leaving the room.
But what she met sent her scurrying back inside. Karson was outside playing with Lucky. Waving a stick in front of his muzzle, he let Lucky chase him all around the small plot of land. But she wasn’t fast enough in her retreat and Karson spotted her. “Finally awoken, I see,” he commented, his breathing labored from running.
“And I see that you haven’t left,” Dara observed coolly. “I told you to get, and I meant it.”
“Doesn’t mean I have to listen,” Karson smirked as Lucky nuzzled his hand, which held the stick. Karson grinned, rubbing the dog’s head before throwing the stick as far as he could. Lucky howled with glee and took off in full gallop, leaping all the while. Dara watched him go with mild amusement before turning to Karson with a steely gaze. “So, are you going to leave or what?”
Karson laughed hollowly, walking closer to her. She saw that his brow glistened from the romp and his hair plastered to his head, the sun making his eyes dance. “No, sorry.”
“Why?” Dara crossed her arms across her chest.
“Because I am not allowed to return home unless with you by my side,” he said simply, rubbing away the sweat before it hit his eyes.
“Well, I guess you will have to disappoint them. Better to leave now rather then keep them waiting with their hopes up.”
“At least they have hope,” Karson said, suddenly sober.
“Hope is for cowards,” Dara remarked, and Karson shook his head.
“You are too bitter, Dara.”
“Bitter, ha! I should be madly insane by now. Bitter I can deal with.” Dara marched back into the house, Karson ensuing behind.
“To hold such hate does nothing but make you even more bitter,” Karson said wisely, irritating Dara.
“You can leave now,” she offered rudely, making Karson smile.
“Sorry. I’m here to stay.”
“No, you are not,” Dara said sternly. “If you wish to stay, go to town and look for rent.”
“Why can’t I just stay with you?” Karson said with the tip of his head.
“With me?” Dara looked at him as though he was crazy. “Umm, let’s not and say we did.”
“Well, I have to train you. It would be too hard to trudge here and back everyday.”
“You will be training nobody,” Dara explained slowly, as if speaking to a child.
“Suit yourself. But I’m staying,” Karson replied firmly.
“No, you’re not,” Dara repeated. Karson raised to his full height, towering over her. “You do not intimidate me,” she added icily.
“Don’t I?” Karson whispered with a wicked grin. Before she knew it, she was upside down. She shrieked and Karson’s face shown with merriment as he held her by the ankles.
“Now, what do you say about me staying?”
“My answer is the same,” Dara answered stubbornly.
Karson shrugged his shoulders. “Fine.” And with a dramatic bow, he released her, letting her crash to the floor. “But I promise you that I’ll be around.” And with that, he was off, strolling into the woods, leaving Dara in a crumpled heap, glowering.
And I will try to express Dara's feelings rather then tell them!
By the way, sorry if I didn't bold some of my comments. I was running out of time.