Young Writers Society

Chapter 2: The Ancient Seer and Ankan Leader:

Racnel woke up the next morning feeling quite refreshed from his rest. He stretched himself on the forest floor, and looked up at the sky. Clouds as grey as the fur of wolves with temperaments as bad as that of orcs crossed the sky. It looked like, at any moment, rain would begin to fall. Then Nogune, in its weakened state, would be flooded and cleaned, and new life would begin. Someone or something else would settle amongst the ruins. But Racnel calculated that would take years when, as he would find out, it would take much less time.

Racnel looked around to see Okita, still asleep in the grass next to him. Her back rose up and down, clearly stating that she was sleeping peacefully. For a moment, Racnel wondered how long it would be before another event like the one last night happened. Then, as he remembered how Okita would be traveling with him for a few days, he suspected it wouldn’t be long.

Racnel walked over to the brown leather bag and ate some meat and bread and drank some water. He would need the energy for traveling that day, as the suspected distance to Forank was approximately a two to three day journey, depending on if storms or creatures waylaid them.

Okita woke up a while after Racnel had begun to eat. She shook her fur then licked herself clean. Racnel watched Okita lick everywhere, scratch herself, and stand up. There was a look in her eyes that made her seem like she was half asleep. Yet she was wide awake and ready to move.

“Are you ready?” the Anka asked Racnel.

“Let me finish eating and then I will be.”

Okita waited for only about a minute before Racnel put the remainders of the food in the bag and stood up, finished. He put on the leather bag over one shoulder and under another. He had thought about fastening the Steel Claw to his pants, but felt it would be dishonorable to Okita, who should have rightfully owned the blade, it being Ankan made.

“Are you not going to fasten the Steel Claw?” Okita asked him before they set out from the makeshift camp.

“It’s yours, isn’t it?” Racnel responded. “If you are an Anka, then you should have the right to wield it.” He offered the blade to Okita, who sniffed it and turned her muzzle away as a sign of refusal.

“That blade was made by Ankan hands, but it was intended for a human to wield. Don’t try to offer it to me again. Consider the blade a gift of the Ankan people to attempt to renew your trust. Also, we don’t know what dark creatures are out there, as there are more types than those orcs, and that blade is the perfect size and weight for you.”

“But I am from a small town. I do not know how to wield a blade.”

“Pharra will teach you.”

“Pharra?”

“She is the seer I was telling you about yesterday. I will tell you more as we approach her, for if I was to tell you now, you would soon forget, as the mind can focus on an infinite number of things, but once one thing takes priority, the others are shoved to the back of the mind. If I told you about Pharra, it would take your mind off of traveling and our progress would be slower.”

Okita led the way out from the clearing. They passed through the woods to the entrance of Nogune. They then began to head south down the coastline for quite a ways and into the mainland whence they reached a cliff, to head towards a pass in the mountains that blocked off the northern end of the peninsula.

Racnel looked in amazement at all the things he had never seen before stepping out of Nogune. Strange birds twittered around him. Trees he had never seen before grew in the most unlikely places. Every once in a while, he thought he could hear some other creature making its way through the undergrowth.

At the pass, Okita turned to the hills on either side.

“The pass is a high-traffic area,” she explained to Racnel as they walked up the hill closest to the ocean. “This way, we won’t be seen by anybody. Rumors might have spread about your mother being killed by that Anka and now you have to keep low until people realize you are not a demon, as your status in other cities might as well be condemned. Also, those who see me might try and kill me because of the stories.”

Racnel obeyed Okita’s order without question. She knew where she was going, and Okita was the only thing at this moment that Racnel could trust. So, he followed the Anka up and over the hills. By the time they reached the top of the mountain, the evening had almost run its course. The duo began to walk carefully down the mountain.

It was Racnel who unfortunately did not see a large rock protruding out of the ground on the side of the hill. He passed by it with his right foot, but his left sandal got caught behind the rock. Suddenly, Racnel was whirling down the hill with Okita charging after him. Racnel bumped his head on the ground, and winced from scratching his arms and legs on numerous rocks protruding from the hillside. If that wasn’t enough, he found himself flying into a tree truck chest first. The wind got knocked out of him and Racnel fell onto the ground, out of breath and bleeding in many places.

Okita came up next to him.

“Are you okay?” she asked, looking him over.

“Does it look like I’m okay?” Racnel growled, angry at the Anka for seemingly not realizing the situation. “Did you not see me fall down that hill? You idiot! Pay attention and you might know a thing or two!” Racnel grabbed his arm, which coursed with pain. He felt the warm blood trickle down his legs and arms, and even a bit on his chest. He felt sick.

Okita put her paw on Racnel’s forehead.

“What the heck are you doing to me!?” Racnel said, freaked out by what Okita was doing and his very vulnerable position. “Get away from me! Don’t do anything! What the heck is happening!?”

But Okita ignored him. She closed her eyes, and began to recite an incantation. To Racnel, it was just words.

Close these wounds, may they no longer bleed

And give him strength in this time of need.

At first, Racnel wondered what Okita was doing by chanting a seemingly meaningless incantation. Then he realized the pain had left him. His wounds bled no longer. All his breath was restored to him. He examined himself throughly to find that he was in a better condition than he had seen for weeks.

“What was that?” he asked Okita, amazed.

“That was the ancient art of healing,” Okita said. “The Nunkor call it Lichentium, and need only speak the word to get the art to work. But those who do not have it naturally must recite the incantation that goes along with the art.”

“And who taught you that?”

“The seer Pharra. But she did not actually give me the power to heal. She did not call on some force inside of me, but during one of the training sessions I went to as a young adult, where she would teach me the ways of the world, I had a vision that I met the demon associated with the power of healing.”

Racnel thought this was a load of bull.

“A vision?” he asked Okita incredulously.

“All who wish to use magic must be visited by a demon through a dream or a vision,” Okita responded. “But those who are considered unworthy never have the visions required to use the elemental magic. No one knows exactly what the criterion is to be able to use magic, but some claim it is a powerful mind. One that reaches beyond the normal boundaries of the imagination to stray beyond the accepted truth and see into the world beyond. At least, this is just a theory.”

All of this talk was nonsense to Racnel. He did not believe a single word of what he had just been told. He laid down that night, as they set up camp where Racnel had been healed, thinking how stupid Okita was. Demons? Visions? Magic? It was very likely that none of them existed. He had never heard of them before, except for the wandering magicians who used fake magic to make people believe they were so powerful, so who was it for Okita to suddenly say that these things existed? These things in mind, Racnel fell into a restless sleep.

The next day, Okita led Racnel through the forests and back onto the main path. At the pace they had traveled, quite slow because Racnel regretted having to leave Nogune and was curious about everything he had never seen or heard of before, they had made it through the fifty or so miles to the Ankan city of Forank in two days, which was mostly overlooked. On her first night on the Peninsula, Okita had traveled the same distance in three hours.

Racnel thought that the city of Forank was like every other city. It had stone houses, shops, traders selling wares, and a population of around 5000 to 7000 residents. But a few things set it apart from other cities, such as the fact that the majority of ‘people’ living here were Anka. A few humans, unafraid and unabated by the stories and legends about the Anka, had settled here, and were very good friends with the Anka they lived and worked with.

The second thing different to Racnel was his traveling companion. Okita seemed to have a lot of respect from other Anka and people living in the city. A few people and Anka bowed, and some Anka showed their necks or put their tails down. Another seemed to say to her “Welcome back!” as if she had not been there for quite a while.

The third thing different from a normal town was the frequent appearance of tents around the edges of the city. They all had a different design painted on the cloth, and seemed to open up into a large, mostly dim room. Racnel attempted to look into some of them only to see a pair of flickering eyes in the deep recesses of the tent.

Okita was searching for one of those tents. She had to look all over the city in order to find it, and had to drag Racnel over to it, as he was too busy taking in all the new sights and sounds. She understood it was his first time here and he wanted to see everything, but there was business to be done.

The tent that Okita had been looking for had no specific or intricate design on it. It was simply colored a brilliant shade of yellow mixed with a dome of black that gave someone looking down on the tent the appearance of a giant eye that seemed to draw everyone else’s eyes toward it. It seemed its only purpose was to shelter the Anka living inside of it. But what would want to live in such a dark place? Racnel crept cautiously into the tent behind Okita as the rain began to fall outside.

“Pharra!” Okita called into the darkness as rain pounded on the leather outside of the tent. “It’s me, Okita!”

Gradually, Racnel’s eyes became accustomed to the darkness. There were four rooms stretching off a sort of hallway that led to an open area at the back of the tent. Racnel followed Okita down the hallway into the back room. A strange scent hit Racnel’s nose from a platter of burning flowers at the very back of the room. It smelled like someone was burning a sweet-smelling perfume. The scent wrapped itself around Racnel as he crinkled his nose, feeling like he inhaled too much of it as he began to relax himself slightly though he felt as though he should have been wary. Small stands held candles that gave the room a small source of light.

Racnel walked around an empty, low wooden table in the center of the room to look at a statue of an Anka laying down on a small pedestal in the back. To him, it looked very realistic. There were golden circles painted on the legs. The yellow eyes that seemed to constantly draw his gaze appeared very expressive, and the mouth was curved into a smile that made Racnel think that if it was alive, it may have very well been mad. He leaned in to get a closer look at the statue.

However, it was no statue at all. The eyes blinked, and the fur on the back of the Anka stood on end.

“AAAAAAAGHHH!!” cried Racnel, jumping backwards and falling over the low wooden table. For a moment he had been quite convinced that the Anka was a statue, and so the sudden movement surprised him.

The Anka gave a small laugh. It got off the platform it had been laying on, and walked into the light and over to the table and sat down. To Racnel, it seemed its right leg was in pain, as it walked with a limp. The fur on the Anka was dark and tinged with brown in many places. The fur on its muzzle looked as unkempt as Racnel’s hair, and its golden eyes drooped as if it was constantly tired.

Okita sat down opposite of the old Anka, and motioned for Racnel to sit next to her. When Racnel had settled himself down on the floor, Okita began to speak.

“Pharra, I have come back.”

The old Anka looked at Okita, a light appearing in her eyes. That light turned into a flame as soon as she looked at Racnel, who felt like he was going to be slaughtered by the spot as she looked back towards Okita, light in her eyes once again.

“I am glad that you are back,” Pharra said in a strangely feminine voice that had neither been spoiled nor cracked due to old age. “It has been a while, and there are probably many things to discuss over what has happened over the last two years. But first explain the reason why this filthy human is on the premises.” She motioned in disgust with her nose to Racnel. In Racnel’s opinion, it seemed that in this Anka was a sense of hatred for humans ever since the stories of Ankan race being vicious had begun.

“His village was destroyed by orcs a few days ago,” Okita said. “However, the orcs attacked on the night of the full moon. Also, it seems this entire city had raised their muzzles and howled that night. Is that not what was foretold?”

Pharra thought carefully through Okita’s words as Racnel questioned what Okita had just said.

“Foretold or not,” she snorted, “he is still a human. Humans killed my family, and I do not see why you trust this one. Look at him!” Pharra pointed with her nose to Racnel, who jumped. “No dignity, no sense of accomplishment in anything he does, probably scared out of his wits easier than a pheasant about to be killed. And you say he is the prophesied one?”

Okita was looking firmly at Pharra, eyes ablaze.

The old Anka’s head dropped.

“Very well,” Pharra said, then noticed Racnel’s obvious confusion. “Human, listen to me carefully, because I will only say this once. Should you ask me again, it will take a while for me to remember it as clearly, and I might not want to do it anyways.”

Racnel gave Pharra his full attention. This was one Anka he did not want to iritate, lest he fear some consequence. Even though the Anka was old, Racnel could still see the muscles rippling underneath her skin, and he did not want to know what would happen should he piss Pharra off.

When Pharra saw to it that Racnel’s focus was distracted by nothing else, she cleared her throat. In a deep, grave voice, she began to recite a verse foretold about seven centuries ago.

Born into shadows, a young boy must fight

To fend off the darkness and reveal the light.

Rescued from destruction on the night of the moon

When all Anka howl, offering their boon.

With a blade as sharp and keen as his mind

He travels to battle to protect mankind.

Allied with the ancient demons of old

He shall go forth, so courageous, so bold.

Fear not, o young warrior of light

For there are companions who know what is right.

The ties, so important, that you shall make

Are bonds so strong no evil can break.

Take power and pride in your strongest friends

For they shall see you through to any ends.

Despair not, o warrior of man

For through you some shall trust again.

Through darkness and pain, he shall persevere.

Through despair and sorrow we shall adhere.

Through death and destruction, he shall prevail.

Till morning casts back the devil’s veil.

But all good things must come to an end

And all of Archan shall mourn for a friend

Who guided the light and broke the sway of our fears

A hero soon revived by a lover’s tears.

The incantation seemed to fill the tent. Pharra started it off deep, low, and grave, but soon her voice had rose and gained some mystic quality, like when Racnel had heard Okita talk of the other regions. For the most part Pharra kept her head down, but as she reached the final stanza, she threw her head up, her voice raised, and Racnel could see that her eyes were slightly larger than was normal, as if she had reached some odd point where the verse had consumed her whole body. When Pharra had finished, her eyes returned back to normal, and all energy that had come into her left, leaving her as old as ever.

Racnel was quite stunned. Was all that supposed to be about him? He had been rescued from a burning Nogune on the night of the full moon. The signal that warned him of danger was an Anka’s howl. “That is all mere coincidence,” he said to Pharra. “I can’t be the person foretold or whatever the heck it is. I mean, none of the prophecies foretold to one of the people in Nogune have come true.”

“Then the disgusting human seer that prophecy was told by was nothing more than a fake,” Pharra spat. “Humans are not in touch with nature like the Anka, but the race that is even more in touch with the world around them is the Nunkor. They are the elven people that live on the islands to the north. Their entire lives revolve around nature. They barely disturb it, if they can, and most build their homes into the growth rather than around it out of a desire to tap into nature’s energies. It is this ability to tap into the energy that nature itself produces that allows people to see the future. Or, for that matter, the past. This power is my profession.”

Racnel had so many questions bottled up in his head about Pharra and the Ankan race that he decided to release them, one by one, so Pharra could answer them.

“How old are you, anyways?”

“Why ask about age?” Pharra said in a disdainful tone.

“Okita said that Anka can undergo a rite of passage at nineteen. If that is so, then how would they still be alive? Don’t wolves, like other dogs, only live up to fifteen years old?”

Pharra growled.

“ANKA ARE NOT DOGS!!” she yelled at Racnel. “The Anka can change into humans, which separates us from mere canines, though I must respect them because they are essentially our roots, as we gained the ability to change because we needed a way to say to the humans to either live with us or back off. Because of our ability to change into a human, Anka can live for around one hundred and twenty five years.”

“Then how old are you?”

“One hundred and seventeen.”

“So you’re about to die, then.”

“I am not about to die. I am still strong and healthy, so it is likely I will live on until the usual age limit or longer.”

“Can you change into a human?”

“No. I did not go through the rite of passage. Besides, humans disgust me, so why would I want to be one?”

“Alright. Now, can you explain to me–”

“How many questions do you have in your head?”

“I have a lot of questions, though some were answered with the incantation of the prophecy. The others either you or Okita have to explain. Such as” – Racnel pulled out the Steel Claw and set it in the middle of the table – “this.”

Pharra studied the blade carefully.

“How did you obtain this?” she asked suspiciously, as if the blade was illegal.

“It has been in the family for 200 years, passed down to each successive son. However, it is Ankan made. So how did a blade such as this get into the hands of my family if humans hate the Anka?”

Pharra was beginning to look with amusement at Racnel. Finally, someone had come to her for her knowledge that actually had some intellect of his or her own. She smiled at Racnel and thought for a moment, deciding to explain the history of the human/Ankan conflict along with the origins of how the Steel Claw came to human civilizations. I might as well start with the beginning and finish in medias res, Pharra thought before actually beginning her story.

“Two hundred years ago, humans and Anka lived in peace with one another. To make the relationship stronger, humans allowed the Anka to have their own region, the modern day Forank Forest, among the three human regions of the Nogune Peninsula, the Tarshim Plains, and the Soron Desert. For fifty or so years, the Anka and humans lived in a state of peace, trading with one another, and even living in blended communities, which the city of Forank was back then and is today. It is this manner of living in blended communities that allowed the Steel Claw to go from Anka to humans, as the blade was given as a sign of friendship.”

It was now that the power of the Anka’s words seemed to have taken hold of Racnel completely. It was nothing that Racnel could help, though. He always had an interest in this kind of thing, but for some reason it seemed more intriguing hearing this stuff from an ancient Anka who knew more about the subject than any teacher could tell him truthfully.

“Keep going,” Racnel said.

Pharra continued:

“Then came King Dargena VII. He had lived in an area of the Resan River Valley that was often subjected to vicious fights between groups of rogue Anka. After he found out that his uncle, Dargena VI, was dying and that he had no heir, he came and took the throne, being the old king’s sole nephew. As part of a decree, he said that Anka were not a race of living things and allies but a race of demons. He first ordered all Anka to leave the Resan River Valley, and when they did not leave he sent his armies after them. Those Anka, and soon Anka everywhere, were pushed back into the Forank Forest, out of fear that they would be killed by the king’s forces.”

Having heard this all before, Okita then took up the story, and Racnel shifted his attention as Pharra sat back and allowed Okita to speak.

“The Anka were now fearful of the king’s armies. But every now and then smaller and smaller groups would patrol the forests. If they saw one, they obeyed the decree of the king, and killed them. Soon, Anka were fighting back, often killing the soldiers with a bite to the neck or simply fighting it out if the neck was protected. The Anka then began to fear the armies, as they seemed to keep coming, and decided to drive them away. This is when people began to disappear in the night, or suddenly wind up dead by morning. For the most part, it was an Ankan defensive tactic, trying to scare off the troops.

“The strategy worked, and the king’s armies eventually fled back to Rothen from all along the borderline of the region of Forank. However, there was one thing that kept the balance upset. The humans would attack the Anka during the day, and the Anka would attack the humans at night, knowing the advantage was on the other’s side if they attacked in the opposite time frame. So, the Anka did not know that the troops had left. And since the fires of the troops were gone from the edges of the forest, the Anka, and humans that lived with them, lived in fear of not knowing where the next soldier would turn up. For Dargena VII’s reign of terror, a group of workers from all over the regions came, tied him up, whipped him, scratched him with farming equipment, and eventually burned him alive.”

“The Anka now live in constant fear of the soldiers coming back,” Pharra continued again, “even after the successor, King Dargena VIII, demolished the decree, and encouraged trade between Anka and humans once more. The problem was nobody heeded these words. They were too terror struck by the words and actions of Dargena VII. The stories of the soldiers scared them, and the Anka, still fearful, attacked people on the roads through Forank, thinking it could possibly be the soldiers again. Kings Dargena IX and Dargena X, the current king of Archan, have further encouraged people to be friendly with the Anka, but there was too much terror in Dargena VII’s reign that everyone still believes the same thing will come of them in time.”

“But that is not all,” Okita said, taking the reins a second time. “There have been a few settlements that have taken the first steps back to peace. The desert city of Soron made it possible for Anka that had the ability to use magic, for there are a few who know how to use it, to attend their Academy to hone their skills. The royal city of Rothen, because of Dargena VIII’s decree, makes the Anka as equal as humans. But those settlements are the only ones that have done so. For the most part, the fear and terror from Dargena VII’s reign is still with them, and that is not including the new terror spreading across Archan. The one that you are involved in.”

“So this blade was given to humans who had special connections or were just friendly with the Anka before the decree of King Dargena VII?” Racnel asked when Okita had finished speaking.

“That is true,” Pharra responded. “And I remember this because my great grandmother was a pup when she was at the ceremony that marked presentation of that blade to your great-great-great-great grandfather, who served as a protector of this region. I believe his name was Jose Tindrem. My grandmother, as I called her, said to look for another like him, because it was likely he would be as kind or as courageous.”

“I thought you said I had no courage, no skill.”

“That was before I saw the blade. State your name.”

“Racnel Tindrem.”

“A direct descendant of him, then. All the better. Then perhaps you have the same skill as he does.” Pharra prepared to spring at Racnel, who grabbed the Steel Claw off the table and prepared to defend himself with it.

“Hold it, Pharra,” Okita said, putting her paw in front of the seer, who looked at Okita with a surprised expression. “He does not know much about the evil going across Archan. Perhaps you could explain that before going on to magic skills and fighting techniques.”

Pharra settled down.

Racnel sheathed the blade, still wary.

“Besides,” he said, “I have no idea what magic is and I need a little clarification on both the prophecy and this evil that is spreading through Archan. It would help to know that, then I could probably figure out how magic could help me.”

Pharra was liking Racnel more and more. At least he knows a thing or two, she thought. It could get interesting when he learns about magic, and eventually tries it for himself, if he has the gift. She began to tell Racnel about the prophecy.

“First of all, the prophecy was made by the Nunkor seven centuries ago. But when the chosen hero did not come along, it faded into memory. To go along with that, no one really knew what the evil was. Everything was in a general state of peace. Sure, there were fights between regions, but nothing dreadfully serious. Those wars and battles would pass, and everyone would be relieved that those fights were over. But the prophecy returned about fifty years ago as an immortal young man in the East had taken control of an island off the coast. He rules armies of dark creatures all over the island, his and ours.”

“But what is so bad about him? I mean, other than the fact he has thousands of creatures for his armies. That’s easy to take care of with our military. What I mean is, why is everyone so panicked?”

“He leads an army of elite fighters from all three races called the Forbidden Warriors. These people, Anka, and Nunkor have dipped into the arcane arts, a set of forbidden magical techniques, including illusion, hypnotism, summoning, cursing, demonic possession, seduction, and elemental control. There are 12 of these warriors remaining from the original 17, each possessing one of the seven arts. Only one has been able to take a hand at two of them, though she has been unable to master either of them. And that warrior was the Anka that killed your mother and your father in combat, the first of these forbidden warriors.”

Racnel looked shocked. He had practically been involved since the beginning.

“How are these warriors immortal?” Racnel asked.

“The ability to dip into these arcane arts comes with the side effect of living as long as you use the magic.”

“So this ability to stay living has led this Anka to kill my grandfather, my father, and my mother? This ability has been the curse placed upon my life? The curse that led to my rejection by society?”

“That Anka would have killed you tonight if you had not left. She travels so silently and swiftly that if she had left even one day earlier, she would have made it to the city even before Okita had. You would have been either dead or captured and forced to their side.”

“But why do they want me?”

“They need you, because if you are allowed to live, the prophecy shall continue. If they get to you, they shall torture you to death, ensuring that they will stay in power. Indeed, so far this threat has caused more fear to strike the hearts of men than even the stories of the Anka.”

Racnel thought about this. This was one of those times that he just needed to think though he normally didn’t have enough time to. He concentrated really hard, not even seeing Okita and Pharra looking at him with wide eyes and opened mouths, and thought about the past few days. He began to compare the song Okita had sung to him a few nights ago with the prophecy that had recently been told to him. The first thing was a few lines of the song:

I shall stay by your side till morning light appear

And dark shall never win so long as I am here.

The next thing he thought about was a few lines of the prophecy:

Take power and pride in your strongest friends

For they shall see you through to any ends.

It all made sense. The prophecy and the events of real life coincided with one another. He had been born into a family plagued by darkness. He had been rescued from the ruins of Nogune on the night of the full moon. And now he had made friends with some of the single most feared race in Archan. Things began to go back to normal. He could hear Okita and Pharra talking inaudibly to each other. He could see again.

“Is there something wrong?” he asked the two Anka.

Pharra looked at him, wondering how to break the news.

“Young Racnel,” she said slowly, “you have dipped into the arcane arts.”

Racnel looked fearful. The stories were coming back. He began to slide backwards, trying to get away from the Anka, afraid they would kill him for doing something he still had no clue about. He ran into something, and whirled around to see Okita blocking his way out while she wondered why he was behaving as oddly as he was. He whirled around again to see that Pharra was approaching him.

“Don’t look so surprised,” the old Anka said, laughing slightly. “Most people can use the art of trance. It is almost natural in living things, making it the only accepted arcane art in existence.”

Racnel looked dumbfounded.

“I thought the warriors were called ‘forbidden’ because they were shunned for using the arcane arts. Why then aren’t most people on their side?”

“Because the art of putting either yourself or someone else in a trance is quite normal. Psyching yourself up before battle or before giving a public speech is a small matter of trance. Concentrating extremely hard on something to the point you lose track of where you are is a method as well. Most visions of the demons are had by those entranced by someone else. Even speaking to someone is a form of trance. These are just so common no one really notices them unless they know about it.”

This talk was beginning to scare Racnel, and it was quite evident. He was shaking almost as violently as he had been when he first met Okita. He looked pale like he might faint.

“I say we change the subject,” Pharra said. “Where exactly do you two plan on staying? The rain has stopped, but no light appears.”

“I thought we would stay at some inn,” Okita responded. “Due to your behavior and treatment of my friend here, I thought it would be better staying away from you, so you didn’t hurt him.”

“How dare you think that!” Pharra exclaimed. “Out of the many humans and Anka that come to visit me for advice, this one has some knowledge of his own. It will be interesting if he decides to ask questions from sunup to sundown. No, you shall stay here, though I will need to make some modifications.” With that, Pharra left the room and walked down the hall.

Racnel was left looking dumbfounded.

“She is undoubtedly the strangest thing I’ve ever met,” Racnel said quietly as an inaudible mumbling of Pharra seemingly chanting found its way through the tent.

“I don’t blame you for thinking that,” Okita said. “She liked me right off the bat, though after I had three visions of the demons back to back, she took special care of me, protecting me and not letting me hang around with people less talented than me. She knows quite a bit of magic herself, but the problem is she is too old, and can’t tap into most of the energy required for it anymore.”

Pharra had by now returned.

“I modified the guest bedroom a bit,” she said, looking at Okita. “Now you may both sleep there tonight, seeing as you probably want to be near him.”

Okita nodded.

“Thank you for your hospitality,” Racnel said, feeling slightly awkward.

“There is a nice café in town that you would be able to get some food at,” Pharra continued. “As well as places to bump up your gear. You’re free to roam around town at your leisure.”

Racnel took the advice, taking some coins he found in his pockets (he normally would have lost it) and traveled down to the café to eat dinner before returning to Pharra’s house, where the seer was lying down on the pedestal and talking to Okita about the past few years.

“That wound on your paw seems to have never healed fully,” Racnel heard Okita say as he walked into the guest bedroom to lie down for a bit.

“It’s nothing to worry about, really,” Pharra responded. “It’s just I heard it was better for wounds to heal normally, as it takes getting used to healing via magic. I get medicine for it every month or so. Also, I tend to lay around all day, so it gets stiff.”

“I see. That explains your limp.”

“And I see that you’re living up to your rank. That’s good to hear, especially since I fought for you to have it. What with the mention of the royal family they practically gave it to you. Though it is sad how you came to get it. Your mother would be proud of you.”

“What is the ranking system?” Racnel interrupted, walking into the room.

“I see you’re back,” Pharra commented without turning one inch to face Racnel.

“The ranking system among Anka denotes position in society and responsibilities,” Okita explained, turning towards Racnel. “I currently am the highest of the six ranks. It is my job to maintain connections with other societies and go around talking with other leaders, as well as make sure everything is alright in other Ankan societies and keep my town in check.”

Racnel looked confused.

“Does your rank have something to do with the way those people and Anka in the city acted when you passed by them?” he asked.

“Young Racnel,” Pharra said. “Miss Okita here is the Ankan leader and ambassador.”

Racnel nearly fainted. The Ankan leader was traveling with him? “That is impossible,” he said, stuttering. “She’s practically living like a commoner if she once lived here.”

“Not only that,” Okita added proudly, “but since I am only nineteen, that makes me the youngest Ankan leader to come into power since my mother.”

Racnel wanted to faint. His eyes were quite wide open, and his skin was the color of clouds on a bright summer day.

“Are you alright?” Okita asked, tilting her head to the side.

“You can’t be the Ankan leader,” Racnel stammered, unbelieving.

“I am. The dominant female is always the ruler of the Ankan society, and if not a female, the next male in the royal family. It is believed that the female is the most intelligent and rational of the Anka. My family was killed before it was revealed to me that they were of the royal family, so I only got this position about three years ago. However, I don’t truly inherit it until I turn twenty.”

This is when Racnel could take neither sight nor thought of Okita as an Ankan leader, or anything else for that matter, any more. To Okita and Pharra, the fall seemed to take a long time. Racnel’s eyes rolled, he swayed from side to side, and soon he fell flat on his back, his eyes closed, looking as if he just fell asleep.

Okita, with Pharra’s help, summoned a powerful wind to lift Racnel and move him from the floor to the bed in Pharra’s guest room, where Racnel was laid down until he decided to wake up.

Racnel awoke later that night. He was lying on a foreign bed on his side, looking at the wall of the dimly lit guest room of Pharra’s tent. He remembered the conversation he had before he blacked out, that told him Okita was the Ankan leader. He shuddered at the thought of it, disappointed that a little rest had not driven the thought out of his mind.

Racnel had the strange feeling that someone was behind him. He did not get much chance to turn around, as something pressed up against his back before he could even react. He did not really want to turn around, anyway, fearing it was Okita. He was afraid of what she would think of the way he had acted earlier. What with her being the Ankan leader, who knew how she could punish him, if that is who she was.

“I did not mean to shock you with that information,” came Okita’s low, almost melodic voice in his ear. “I had decided not to tell you that earlier, because I thought it would freak you out even more than you were already.”

Racnel sighed.

“I’m sorry for scaring you,” the Anka continued, “which I seem to have done a lot the past few days. I was hoping you would forgive me for that.”

Racnel, listening to Okita, gradually remembered something. Something from his shortened childhood. The happiest known memory of his life. It was an odd time for it to come back, but he felt he needed to tell the Anka now laying behind him.

“I’ve met you before,” he said.

Okita’s eyes opened wide. How have we met? she thought. I don’t think I’ve seen him at any point before I first started watching him a month ago to see if he as the one.

“It was about eight years ago,” Racnel began. “I was walking along the coastline with my mother. She pointed to the woods at something close by. I began to walk towards it, wanting to know what that something she pointed at was. My mother began to scream at me, telling me to get away, as you popped out of the bushes. I only remembered you because of the eyes.”

Okita was stunned at how good a memory Racnel had. She had barely remembered that, but now it was coming back to her. The white sand beaches, the crystal clear ocean water, the shaded forest edge. It was all coming back to her.

“I remembered looking into those eyes and seeing the most benevolent soul I had ever seen in a living thing,” Racnel continued. “My mother had not yet told me of the stories of the Anka, so I had no thoughts that you might be vicious. I simply saw your eyes, and how they looked at me kindly. You seemed a bit stunned at first, but gradually I was petting you, for you did not talk to me that time, so I did not know you were an Anka, and you began to like me. It must have been the first time in a while that you had been treated kindly by a human outside of Forank.

“I heard my mother calling me back, and I tried to say ‘Mother, its alright,’ but she wouldn’t listen to me. She tried to get me to come back, yelling at me and stomping her foot on the ground. But I sat there for a while, sitting next to you and petting you, and looking into your eyes and seeing the kindest soul I had ever seen, for I had seen many people argue with my mother, and sometimes never be friends with her again, in the last few years. But right then, I felt I had found a spot I never wanted to leave. It was peaceful and free of arguing.

“Eventually, my mother was able to call me back. She told me never to go near an Anka again, and after I asked what an Anka was, she began to tell me the stories, instilling an eight-year fear of you and your kind. The experience faded into memory, but looking into your eyes that night after you rescued me from Nogune, when you told me your name, I remembered looking into those same eyes, and thinking I had found the kindest living thing. It probably would not have mattered back then if you were the heir to the throne of the Anka, or if the stories were true.”

As Racnel finished the story, Okita found herself beginning to cry. She thought about that event over and over again.

“You were... you were the first human to treat me kindly at all,” she said.

Racnel sat there in silence for a moment, surprised to think an Anka as kind as Okita never truly knew the kindness of a human until then. He turned around to see, in the dim light caused by candles in the hallway, Okita’s eyes staring into his, but now there were tears in those kind eyes. After looking at Okita for a few moments, he put an arm on her, and stroked her a few times, trying to calm her down.

Okita was moved by Racnel’s words. It was the first time he had ever told her something without fear, without hesitation. It was the first time he did not fear a response from her. She almost wanted to break down completely, but she kept herself restrained.

“That song,” Racnel said. “That song you sang that same night you rescued me. Sing it again. I need to hear the lyrics.”

Okita sang the song again, in the same haunting, enchanting voice. Racnel sat there quietly, listening to the Anka sing. He was brought back to that day on the beach, where they had sat there together and the world was at peace. When Okita finished the song, Racnel asked her a question.

“What do you mean by the lyrics of that song?”

“I would guide you and protect you on your travels through Archan, and that nothing would harm you so long as I stayed by your side. And I mean to see that through.”

Racnel’s eyes drooped. It was quite late, and traveling for two days had tired him out. He stroked Okita a few more times. Okita then licked his forehead, jumped onto the floor and walked over to and laid down on a large pillow by the head of Racnel’s bed. She fell asleep before he did, as Racnel was thinking about that day. Though it did seem like things were beginning to get better for him, it also seemed to be getting stranger and stranger. He fell asleep a short time later.