Prologue

The moonlight softened the sharp edges of the distant mountains. Hazy shadows flooded across the valley, coating the land in a thin blanket of silver. The river wore a navy gown of liquid night, where stars danced and laughed at their reflections. A slight breeze wove amongst the trees in the valley, causing their leaves to become a chorus that whispered of ancient magic.
 

His face revealed deep crevasses of weariness, though his eyes shone with the brilliance of the sun. His hands were calloused and strong and hung limp at his sides. His hair was no longer thick obsidian locks, but rather thin gray wires that hugged his neck. A thin beard embellished his chin, hiding the scar that had once defined him. Though he was a king, he wore a simple tunic; pale green and hand woven cotton. Upon his shoulders rested a winter cloak, with edges lined with fur and a humble black exterior.
 

He had ruled for his people rather than himself, and for that his people had enjoyed years of prosperity. Though, it had at times felt more like a game of chance than a game of strategy. Now, as his reign drew to a close, he could feel the discomfort intensifying in the air. He could sense the growing fear in the hearts of his people, and he could only assume that it was the silence before the war.
 

No matter how many nights he came to stand upon that ridge, he could never shake the thought that it was he who had planted fear in his peoples hearts. He despised the truth; that an inception had been created when he himself had begun to fear. Fear is a plague, after successfully tainting one person, it goes on to taint all in its path. He wished he had listened to his heart rather than his ears.
 

“Listening to one's heart can be a dangerous thing.”
 

Shifting his head, he noticed that a woman stood beside him.
 

“I didn't hear you coming, Sheba,” he said.
 

“You never do,” she chuckled, voice raspy with old age.
 

Her hair hung loose, falling to her thighs in a cascade of silver. Her dress was one of silken violet, where vines clung to its sleeves and miniature bells adorned the ruffles around the skirt. It fell to her ankles, where her feet lay bare. Few wrinkles decorated her skin, yet her eyes betrayed her age. Radiant forest green pupils with specks of illuminated copper, her eyes seemed to whisper O wise one.
 

“Trevon let slip that you are leaving,” Thamos stated. An unvoiced question of whether or not that news was true hung in the air between them.

 

“Trevon should learn to hold his tongue. I told him to keep quiet.”

 

“Do not blame him, Sheba. It was merely an accident,” Thamos said as a side note. “Why do you plan to go?”

 

“I must find a book, a necklace, and a cabbage,” Sheba listed, smiling to herself.

 

“Why a cabbage?”

 

“Personal matters, Thamos. You need not concern yourself,” she waved her hand, dispersing the strange topic.

 

“Whatever you say. I have known you for years and never have you left when I needed you,” Thamos said confidently. He glanced at her, and for a fleeting moment, he saw in her eyes the same burdens that he had been carrying for years.

 

“I have been alive far longer than you can imagine, Thamos. Thirty years is hardly long enough to understand me.”

 

Thamos chuckled, beside himself with disbelief. “All these years you let me think you were just an old wise woman. Now you tell me you are an Elder?”

 

“That is more praise than I wish to accept. No, I am no Elder, and far from one. I have simply been here for little over two hundred years. I grow tired of this world, and my power wanes, yet I know I will live on.”

 

“Two hundred years is a long time. I am not surprised you grow restless.”

 

They stood in silence for a moment as a wolf cried to the moon. To Thamos, it sounded as if the wolf was signaling its pack with its twisted cries. To Sheba, the wolf was weeping to itself, wishing it could become a human, so that no one would back away from it in fear. Fear was everywhere, she thought, never could one rid themselves of it.

 

“The rumors of the South grow stronger,” Sheba said softly, staring out at the valley.

 

“I know. I can feel the fear. It is what hums in the air,” he whispered, voice almost lost to the wind. Their friendly banter had dispersed, replaced by far heavier words.
 

“It is not fear yet, my dear Thamos, only uncertainty. Fear shall only come once the rumors are proven true.”
 

“Do you believe them?” Thamos asked her.
 

Sheba laughed, “A human bonding to a God? No, Thamos, I do not believe it. Yet again, there is such thing as black magic.”
 

“Long ago, I had thought all magic was good. Now it is fleeting from this world, and every day another five people despise it,” Thamos said bitterly.
 

“It is the will of God. If Lemai wishes magic gone, then magic will go.”
 

Sheba began to hum a song that Thamos had never heard before. It penetrated his ears, drowning his limbs with its enchanting melody. He felt as if he were in a pool of wine, trying to swim through the sweet burgundy liquor. As soon as she began, she tapered off and fell silent.
 

“War is coming, Thamos,” Sheba whispered. “I do not know when, and I do not know where, but I know why.”
 

The moon shimmered in the sky, calling upon Sheba to gaze up at it in all its glory.
 

“Because as long as the people of Zadar have fear, they will grow weaker and weaker until there shall be none to rise up and fight. That is the fate of our world,” Sheba predicted.
 

“And yet you have said before that heroes can rise even from the ashes of a dead fire.”
 

“Yes, I have said that. And right now I believe it. But that does not change the fact that one must have courage in order to be a hero. I have not seen a great supply of courage in anyone of late. We have grown soft, Thamos. Too soft. Other kings, and other kingdoms, have grown too certain of themselves. After too many years of prosperity, people tend to feel more safe than they should. Prosperity comes and prosperity goes, yet it is the latter that people never choose to see.”
 

“You sound like you are having a premonition,” Thamos wondered.
 

“Not a premonition, dear Thamos, but rather stating a truth that nobody cares to acknowledge,” Sheba explained, holding something out before Thamos.
 

He reached out and lifted a thin golden circlet from her shriveled hand. The moment his fingers curled around the circlet, he understood the reason why Sheba had followed him there.
 

“You are a king, Thamos. Whether you like it or not, you must wear your crown with pride. Do not shrink from it. After all these years of clever ruling, I would have thought that you would be accustomed to the duties of your stature.”
 

“Sheba, it has been so long. I'm weary. War is brewing, and I don't think I have the strength to fight it,” he said, fingers toying with the circlet.
 

“When I first saw you on your fathers throne, I had a premonition. I saw that you would bring this small valley more glory than your father or grandfather ever did. I saw that you would grow weary. But I also saw that you would summon all the strength you have left in order to keep your people safe in this time of darkness. I knew you would be a great and powerful king, and my dear Thamos, you have lived up to my expectations. The question is whether or not you will summon that strength and fight. A premonition is not set in stone. There is no such thing as seeing the future, because the future can always change,” Sheba took the circlet from Thamos's hands and placed it upon his head. “There, now you look like the king that you truly are.”
 

Thamos took Sheba's wrist and held it tight. “Why have you never spoken of this?”
 

“I never had the need,” she answered.
 

“I assume this means that I should fight in this war?” Thamos questioned her, releasing her wrist.
 

“I cannot answer that. Assume nothing, Thamos. Choose for yourself.”
 

Thamos crossed his arms as he sat on a boulder and stared out at the sky. It amazed him how vast the sky could be, when the Earth already seemed so massive. Even the miles from where he stood to the base of the mountains seemed vast, yet there were a thousand and one other planets far above him in the night sky. He sighed, realizing that he loved his people and his valley and his wife and daughters and he finally accepted that in order to keep them safe he would have no choice but to fight. Though war was a tiring thing, he knew that he would give anything to keep his people safe. If he ever had to give his life, he would do so willingly.
 

“Did you see anything else? Or anything of late?” he asked Sheba.
 

“All the countries of Zadar will be tested. That I know as a fact. If not from my premonitions, then from my own knowledge. Caldun, Ronaria, Gutaria, and Alasia will have to work together.”
 

Thamos laughed, his deep and guttural voice invading the space around Sheba and him. “That must be a joke. It is impossible. We are all too different.”
 

“Differences aside, it is the only way Zadar will survive. This war will be a massacre, Thamos. We must be ready for it when the time comes. All of us,” Sheba said softly. She hesitated before gasping and rubbing her temples.
 

“I feel a premonition, dear Thamos.”
 

“What do you see?” he asked, watching her closely. She closed her eyes and whispered something under breath, and when she opened her eyes her fingers were glowing slightly orange. She sighed with what sounded like relief. A thin smile played on her lips.
 

“We may have our heroes, Thamos, and we might have five of them.”
 

“Ah, well, I should have expected so,” Thamos said, wondering how Sheba managed to surprise him every time she spoke. “One thing is for sure.”
 

“And what is that, dear Thamos?”
 

“Anyone can be brave, but it takes a strong heart to be a hero.”