Many years ago, so many that Vargus struggled to put a number on it, Mordana had been a very different world. Life had been savage, but it had been beautiful in its simplicity. Every day was cherished. Every victory in the hunt a celebration and a time for prayer, song and dance. Every birth a miracle and every death a loss that was felt by many.
There had been five races back then. Five different tribes dotted across all of the land. The Morrin, the Vorga, the Sull, the Necheye and the Humans. Over time, their numbers grew, they spread out across the world, claimed new lands and inevitably their borders intersected.
War came for the first time and with it murder on a scale never seen before. Weapons developed from necessary tools into objects designed to rend flesh and kill. Faith flourished as prayers for victory and laments for the dead swelled. Lands were conquered and the five races became four as the last Necheye was slain.
Tired of war and bloodshed, disillusioned by the other races, the Sull retreated into their lands where they still reside. The four races became three and the Humans spread, changing with the land, adapting and developing in unforeseen ways.
But the world was still in its infancy and dangers were not limited to those who walked on two legs. Bears, wolves, lions and other dangerous beasts struggled to find their own place alongside the tribes. Some retreated into the wild. Some found a way to survive in harmony and some would not tolerate intrusion upon their territory. These few saw the tribes as prey and hunted them.
As he gave voice to the oldest of his memories, Vargus saw his old friend come back to himself. The boy retreated from his face, and for a time there was no conflict behind his eyes. He seemed content to merely listen as Vargus spoke about all that he remembered from the beginning.
“It’s not a bear,” said Vargus, pointing at where they’d last seen the creature. “It’s one of the old ones. Its kind would not share with the humans, so they were all hunted down and killed. It shouldn’t be here.”
“And yet it is,” Lanny replied.
“Why?”
“Let’s go and find out,” said his old friend, leading the way up the bank.
Once they reached the spot where they’d last seen the creature, it wasn’t difficult to follow. Its tracks were distinct and the impressions quite deep, making it stand out from all other wildlife in the area. A few times they came to rocky patches where the prints disappeared, but Lanny led the way without hesitation each time. Whether he was working on instinct or something else Vargus didn’t know.
For another hour, they followed the tracks uphill. Vargus’s thighs began to burn once more as the incline gradually increased until they reached a slope covered in loose rock. They scrambled up the scree, using their hands for balance, small avalanches of stones rattling down the hill in their wake. At this altitude, the temperature had dropped significantly, making Vargus wish he’d brought warmer clothing.
When they reached the top of the slope, a dense bank of fog lay in front of them, stretching away in all directions. It was only when he looked back down the path that he realised it wasn’t fog but a cloud bank. Below them, a huge sea of green stretched out for miles and somewhere, hidden among the trees, was the village of Morgan’s Creek.
They passed through the cloud and emerged in a forest where all sounds were muffled. Almost immediately, Vargus had the impression that he was being watched. Reaching over his shoulder, he drew his sword, the rasp of metal sounding dull. Lanny frowned at Vargus but didn’t speak or draw his own weapon.
He could probably feel it too. The scrutiny of something. There was a focused pressure on Vargus’s back, right between his shoulders. He didn’t know if its intentions were malevolent or not, but nevertheless his heart began to race.
The trees ended at a large clearing of trampled earth and here they found a few man-made remnants. Scattered pieces of ragged cloth. Broken pottery. A wicker basket and something pink rotting in the lee of a woodpile. Vargus squatted down beside the item, wrinkling his nose at the putrid smell. It was half of someone’s right forearm, a young woman he guessed by the size of the hand. It looked as if something had torn off the arm, although it was possible it had been bitten off. The red bracelet, made from ribbon and leather, fluttered in a breeze coming down from the mountains. Vargus cut the bracelet and pocketed it for later before standing up.
There was no blood on the ground but rain could easily have washed it away. He found the splintered remains of a spear but no other weapons in the clearing. This wasn’t the site of a battle. Merely a collection of curios or the remnants of several meals.
“It’s close,” said Vargus.
The prickle across his back intensified. As if summoned, he heard something drawing near. The creature stepped out from between the trees on all fours, slowly plodding towards them like a shambling bear. But it was far too large and the wrong shape to be a bear. Its front shoulders were wider than its rear legs and the horns gave it an almost bovine aspect. At this distance, he could see its mouth was too wide to be a bear and its ears sat on either side of its head instead of on top. A long thick tail trailed after it, almost dragging on the floor, but it bobbed up and down like a cat.
The creature stopped at the far edge of the clearing. It wasn’t surprised to see them, which made him wonder how long it had been tracking them. It stared at them in a way unlike any other animal and Vargus could feel it studying him. Its green eyes were not human, but there was a raw intelligence behind them, indicating an alertness he’d not expected.
Lanny raised his arms wide, palms facing outwards, and even before he spoke, Vargus knew it was his old friend who addressed the ancient creature. His voice rang out in proclamation, startling birds from the trees.
“Gralldire, I name you. Ancient nemesis of the Necheye.”
The creature bowed its head, as if acknowledging the greeting.
And then it spoke. “I know of you,” it said in a voice so powerful and deep Vargus could feel the vibrations in his chest. The words were slightly mangled, but there was no difficulty understanding it. “I was not there, at the beginning, but I was told of you. You are the First.”
“I am He,” said the Maker, bowing in return.
“And I know of you,” said the Gralldire, turning its head towards Vargus. “Weaver, Underking, Paladin and Gath.”
Vargus didn’t know what to say. Hearing stories of the Gralldire was one thing, but to see one in person, and speak with it, was something entirely different. Even for someone like him who had seen countless wonders and nightmares through the long centuries. It was unprecedented.
Not knowing what else to do, he imitated the Maker and bowed to the creature.
“I wish that our paths had crossed sooner and for a better reason,” said his old friend. “Do you know why we have come?”
“I do. It’s because of the humans,” said the Gralldire. It rumbled deep in its chest, a sound of annoyance so low that it made Vargus’s bones ache.
“They were always the most curious tribe,” said the Maker.
“They are worse than locusts and their lives burn faster than a firefly. It was ever so, but as they spread, my kind withdrew to stay hidden. Always have I sought higher ground, but in recent years it has become much worse.”
Morgan’s Creek showed signs of growing, but it had hardly spread. The village itself was perhaps only a hundred years old at most. Time meant something different to Vargus and those like him. He was starting to get the impression that the Gralldire did not measure time like humans and the other races.
“Are there others here like you?” asked the Maker.
Vargus glanced around, suddenly worried that there was more than one of them.
“I am the last of my line. I know not of any others. My isolation here has been for many long years.”
“Is that why you ventured down the mountain?” asked Vargus, thinking of the severed arm he’d found. “Did you go in search of company?”
“No. They encroached and this time I could not run. There was nowhere left to go. I thought to scare them away, but the pup tried to protect its mate and attacked. Then others came after and I sent them away.”
“More humans will come.”
“I will not withdraw.” The Gralldire flexed its front claws, sending a clear message.
“Then we have reached an impasse,” said the Maker. “You have nowhere left to go and I know it is not in your nature to yield.”
“Just so,” growled the creature. “My kind fights for every breath of our lives. And though I am weary and alone, I can only be true.”
The Maker’s smile was sad as he drew his sword. “As it should be.”
With a roar that shook the trees, the Gralldire charged.