Ordadus- The Prologue (OLD #2)

I KEEP THE PEGASUS FEATHERS tucked neatly in wooden boxes that are hidden under the floorboards. There’s a separate one for Danny’s feathers and a separate one for Drew’s because they look the same - each one like a large eagle feather, really - and I can’t let them get mixed up. They need to be replenished every week, so every Sunday evening I wait for the horses to fall asleep in their stalls, allowing me to peaceably pluck seven new feathers from each of them. Winged horses are very vain creatures when it comes to their massive plumage, so if they catch me leaning over their stall gate in the black of night there’s a good chance I’ll lose a finger or two.

The stable and pasture is some distance from my cabin. When I was younger, I was more than eager to leave early in the morning to let the horses out and bring them back at night, but now? Not so much. It’s a long trek up the mountain and down into the hidden valley, where they’re concealed beneath dappled shadows of the forest, just to feed them and let them run.

Perhaps I’m acting a bit selfish, but now that I’m an old man I’d much rather stay in my cabin with my tabby cat Tiger and watch the pond. From what I’ve heard about those television sets that most people have in their homes now, the pond is a lot like that. You sit and watch it, and it entertains you.

It’s more, though. I don’t know much about TVs, as they tend to call them, but I’m pretty sure you don’t need a magical pegasus feather to turn them on. And I know for sure that any old television set can’t prepare me again for Ordadus.

I crouch next to the pond, Drew’s feather box tucked safely under my arm. I twirl a stick in the water for a few seconds to get it ready, and then I open the box to take out the last feather of the week. I hold it above the pond for a moment and close my eyes. “Please be okay, Andrew,” I whisper.

Right as the feather hits the water, the pool bubbles and begins to change colors.

The sun is setting. Dead stalks of plants, absorbing the sun’s final orange hues, litter the landscape. Hank is walking next to him, and base camp isn’t too far ahead. The hopeful American flag is in clear view.

Nonetheless, when I dip my hand into the water, I can feel Andrew’s apprehension. He’s worried. Once again, it’s the landmines.

I can see Tiger’s reflection in the water, watching the floating feather with hungry eyes. “Tiger,” I scold her. “No.” The feather floats dangerously close to her and, as usual, she’s ignoring me. I can see her tail twitching as she kneads the floor with her paws, ready to snatch her prey.

“Tiger, no!” I take my hand out of the water to grab the stick. But it’s too late. She swipes at the feather and within a mere second has it in her claws. The scene in the pool instantly vanishes and Tiger is watching me with a triumphant gleam in her eye, the dripping feather in her mouth.

“Damn cat!” I yell, and throw the stick at her. She jumps cleanly out of the way but drops the feather on the ground, thank God, permitting me to get up and snatch it. Indifferent to the curses I spit at her, she slinks out of the cabin. I slam the door after her and return to the pool, cradling the feather.

She’s done this before - just to irk me, I’m sure - but never when I’m on my last feather. Normally I’d fetch a fresh one from the box, but it’s Sunday and the box is empty. I’m not sure if it’ll work; magic is unpredictable.

With no better option than to try it out, I bend down and gently release the feather into the water. As the pool begins to change colors and bubble again, I let out a sigh of relief. But after a few seconds, it still hasn’t focused. Reds, blues, greens, and flashes of white are all I can see. The water churns and bubbles, the feather tossed about on its surface.

I back up from the pool slowly, another curse for Tiger creeping onto my tongue. But once again, the pool surprises me. The bubbling fades and the random colors and flashes of light dissolve, permitting a crisp new scene to surface in the water. I can see a bright sun breaking through a range of mountains, rolling green fields sparkling with dew, and a herd of black faelk swarming below.

Wait, what? My heart skips a beat. Faelk? 

This must be a mistake, I tell myself, and plunge both of my hands into the water. Utter confusion meets my equally bewildered fingertips, mingled with a sense of doom and rising panic. But one thing’s for certain: it’s Andrew. And he’s suddenly falling from the sky and straight into the open arms of Ordadus.

What happened?

I'm powerless to do anything but sit and watch.

A/N: This might become Chapter One eventually, but for now it's just replacing the old prologue.