The Tale of Souls - Prologue and Chapter One

Prologue

Morning creeps up over a windswept prairie. Tall, sweet prairie grass shimmers in the sunlight as the sun rises higher above into the flat, blue sky, streaked with a few sparse wisps of white cloud. Down below, brown huts made of mud and thatched with dried grass dot the plain in a round cluster. A network of footpaths trail between the largest buildings and between pens of sheep and goats and lean horses flicking their tails in the shade of barns with walls made of stones. Fields of grain paling into browns and golds sway between the outermost homes in a steady wind.

A woman is bent over in one of the sprawling vegetable gardens, strands of her dark hair clinging damp to the back of her sun-browned neck. Shoots of grass grown up between the vegetable rows brush against her shins where her coarse skirt, the color of dry dirt, has been hiked up to almost her knees with a bit of cord. She squints in the sunlight and creases form at the corners of her eyes as she plucks fat, green caterpillars from tomato stems and drops them into a basket. A young man in a white shirt that ripples in the strong breeze works beside her, sharing the basket. A child’s short shriek followed by a splash makes the woman look up to the road. Just across it, two young boys are fishing a third, smaller one out of the creek. Their mother is walking quickly over, bunching up the hem of her skirt in her hand to dry the boy’s face. The woman in the garden turns her attention back down to her work.

Not but a few moments pass before another shriek, distant and multiplying, carries in from the outskirts of the village, followed by the sound of pounding hooves and carts tumbling. A woman comes running from around one of the huts with the sounds on her heels, trailing a child behind her by the hand. "Nadie-vaho! They're here!" Everyone in the gardens is already running or else turning to.

A tall horseman in a copper chestplate and leather armor gallops into the street in a cloud of dust and reins up. He tosses a burning torch onto the roof of the nearest hut and draws his short sword with a ring as the thatching lights and sends up smoke. He digs his heels into his horse's sides, drunken gaze leveled on the scattering villagers and hooves beat again on the dirt. Half a dozen more join him from the sides, jumping stick-and-twine fences and scattering goats. One of them kicks the dark haired woman down as he passes and the next tramples her under his horse. By the time the village men have gathered their slaughter knives and sickles, the attackers are gone. Seven people are dead and half the village is burning.

Chapter One

Harnon lolled on the delicate quilts that made up his bed. He didn't want to get up today, not when he knew Falembaifar wished to speak with him. He blinked at the cotton cloth above him that shielded him from the eyes of others before finally giving in to his sense of duty and rising for the day. After dressing in his fur-lined tunic and trousers, Harnon stepped foot into the light of day.
Dawn had come.
The previous nights in the North had seemed restless and more than a few were ill at ease with this particular site, so close to the land of the Misericords. But he didn't mind. The Misericords wished to live in peace; no trouble would come from the Chieftains as long as he lived.
"Harnon!" a young Hybrid woman called. "Get over here! I've had breakfast ready for a half-hour." She sat on a stool next to a small fire, over which a pot was hanging from a stand. The Hybrid motioned to another stool beside her.
"Coming, Astoria," Harnon answered diligently. "What kind is it?"
"Beef, wild garlic, and onion, with a few of the carrots we bought in Owl Tree a few days ago," the Hybrid answered.
As she prepared Harnon a small bowl, he looked her over. There was a scar over her left eye from a goblin attack several years ago, some smaller ones scattered across her body. Her elegant, longer ears ended in slight curves-- from her Elven mother. Her dark blood-red hair opposed her right leaf-green eyes, and her pale cheek glistened in the pale light flickering through the trees.
"Here," she said suddenly, handing him a wooden bowl with a small serving spoon. "I may or may not have added a bit of dark ale to give it some kick."
"And I'm guessing you may or may not have stolen it from those greedy merchants in Owl Tree after they decided to scam you?" Harnon replied, a small glint in his eyes.
"Maybe. Maybe not. The gods know they deserved it either way."
Harnon chuckled in reply, "At least you weren't caught." A pause. "...you weren't caught, right?"
"Eh... I escaped before they called their mercenaries from the East if that's what you mean."
The Chieftain rolled his eyes. "You're as bad as Sílriel sometimes, you know that?"
"At least my father's not overbearing and a shrew, but instead six feet under in a box of pine."
"...you do know he's my cousin, right?"
"Yeah, like... five million generations ago!"
"More like... my great-great-great-great-grandfather's, second son's son."
"So?" Astoria asked.
"So, he's never going to die," Harnon said. "And, no, we're not killing him!"
The Hybrid pretended to pout. "You're mean, not letting me kill who I want anymore."
"No, I'm just the responsible one."
"Which makes me the fun one!"
Harnon sighed. "I love you."
"I know."
"...you're still not saying it back?"
"No, Harnon," Astoria said a little more seriously. "I don't want to say it out where someone that doesn't need to might hear it."
"Are the two of you done squawking like the tiny songbirds you are or am I going to have to drag Harnon to see my father," a third voice disrupted.

"Exactly!" Astoria said as if to prove her point.
"Sílriel already knew," Harnon protested. "She's the one that got us together, remember?"
"I'm still here," the Light Elf said in a sing-song voice.
Harnon sighed. "Fine," he groaned. "I'm coming..."
The Chieftain stood, stew in hand, and followed Sílriel into part of the forest, near a mighty river. "He's in a mood today," she warned. "He's being particularly cryptic."
"Falembaifar is always cryptic," Harnon replied quietly. "No one ever understands a word he says."
"The Seers do."
"I'm no Seer."
It was Sílriel's turn to sigh. "Just... be patient with him."
"I always am."
~~~
"Harnon." The Elf King greeted the Chieftain with his head held high, bony face looking at a nesting eagle in one of the many cottonwoods. "I trust you are well?"
"I am, King," the human answered. "And how do you fare?"
"Well... for the time being. Walk with me."
Falembifair was tall, even compared to the towering Harnon. He was, even by Even standards, dangerously thin. His dark eyes were unnatural for Light Elves, as was his paler skin. Sílriel's looks came from her tan, bright-eyed mother-- may she rest in peace.
"You must be wondering why I have sought this meeting," the King said at last as they started down the rocky road southwards.
"I am," Harnon answered.
The King took a deep breath. "Trouble is coming, son of Himlben. The South is being disrupted by foreigners. You have respected the wishes of the Misericords and remained neutral, but your neutrality cannot last."
Harnon felt his mouth become dry as he realized what the Elf was saying. "I will not go to war and cost more lives than necessary."
"Riders will be coming to you soon. Messengers. I suggest that you heed their words, Chieftain. Your hand will be forced before long."

"My hand can't be forced," the human replied. "I'm careful."

The Elf King stopped, eyes looking into Harnon's. "Yes, Chieftain... too careful. And that will either save you... or destroy you."
And with that, Falembaifar disappeared.