He awoke, crying out into the darkness and drenched in sweat. His thoughts raced. The whole of his small body shivered uncontrollably. "It was only a dream," he whispered to reassure himself; yet it was a dream like no other, for in the dream his secret had been discovered and the dark priests had come for him.
He stood uneasily and dipped his trembling hands into the washbasin beside his bed. The cool water sucked the pain from his eyes and mind and gently began to soothe and awaken his senses as nothing else could. Only then did he become something other than a frightened child. Only then did he become the boy of twelve whose name was Vilmos. Vilmos, the Counselor's son.
Readying for the day's chores, Vilmos tried to push the last of the dream from his thoughts, but as he leaned down to rinse his face once more in the cool water of the basin it was as though he was sucked into the water and when he opened his eyes, he was in a different place. In this place, there was no moon or stars, only boundless lines of fire cutting into the ebony of the heavens.
At his feet lay a dirt road and ahead beyond a crossroads was a forest of dark trees. The dark trees, glowing with an eerie radiance, called to him. Puzzled, Vilmos clutched his arms about his chest and followed the dirt road toward the strange light in the distance.
Beyond the crossroads was a long stretch of empty road. Vilmos hurried. As he approached the forest, the shadows grew long despite the glow in the treetops. It was within these shadows that Vilmos saw a mass of black darker than all the rest. Slowly the mass took form and it was only as he stumbled through the great ruins that he saw someone sitting within the folds of the great shadow. When the figure looked in Vilmos' direction, two thin beams of light radiated from eyes the color of a silver moon. Stare as he might, Vilmos could only see the strange eyes within the folds of the figure's hood. Vilmos asked, "Is this a dream?"
"If a dream, it is a waking dream." The voice seemed to be that of a man.
"Who are you?" Vilmos asked.
"My name is Xith, you can call me 'Shaman'." The shaman stood. Vilmos was surprised to find he could look directly into the shiny eyes without looking up. The strange eyes, hypnotizing and dazzling, danced as the shaman regarded Vilmos, and then the shaman took Vilmos' hand. The hand in Vilmos' seemed a piece of hardened leather and not the hand of a man at all.
Vilmos repeated, "Who are you?"
"Who I am is not important at the moment." The robed figure lowered his hood to reveal childlike features riddled with lines that spoke of ages past and of hardship. Although few of the ancient ones ever ventured into the kingdoms, Vilmos had read about them in the Great Book. He knew in an instant the figure was a gnome and kin to the mighty dwarves who lived in the bowels of the earth.
The shaman raised his eyes to the fires etched in the skies and then waved his hands one over the other until a glowing orb of brilliant white appeared. Within the orb was a face, the face of a woman young in her years, though still older than Vilmos. Her cheekbones were high and rosy. Her eyes were green and her hair, long and black. In a way she was strikingly beautiful, yet there was such sadness in her eyes and this sadness cut into his heart.
"Who is she?" Vilmos asked.
"A princess and the one you seek," whispered the shaman. For an instant, tension and pain was evident on the shaman's face, and then a new figure appeared within the orb. "Take a long look, Vilmos. He is of a race swept from the world of the seeing long ago. Their legend is recorded in the Great Book of your realm, yet few ever knew the truth of their disappearance. Change is sweeping the land, all the lands, and the kingdoms of elf and human are no exception."
Vilmos beaded his eyes, his heart filled with hatred. "Elves are our sworn enemies."
The shaman grabbed Vilmos' shoulders and shook him violently. "Remember the faces. The two and the one will be drawn together as are the winds clashing against the fourth unseen. Your dreams will bring them together."
As he spoke, the shaman turned to the forest. "The land called Ril Akh Arr and within dwell the shape-changing beasts of the night. Be forewarned, they come for you, for the princess, for all who would stand in the way."
The shaman paused to suck in the heavy air, and then wheeled his hands in a great circle. Just then, shadows swept through the skies blocking the fires of the heavens and the ground beneath Vilmos' feet shook violently. "This place is called Under-Earth and you, Vilmos, are the second. The first was taken from me before I could reach her."
Vilmos was puzzled. Were the stories true? Dare he ask the question that was on his tongue?
The shaman sighed. "My kingdom and people were taken away so many years past I cannot recall the day."
"Your kingdom?"
The shaman grabbed Vilmos' hand, the grip numbing as he drew a jagged blade from a scabbard at his belt. As he spoke, he dug the blade into Vilmos' palm. "Elves, gnomes and humans are all very real. I will come for you, Vilmos. When I do, the dreams end and the journey begins. Remember the faces and forget not that the fourth can blow across the mountaintops. Remember there was another before you and that they reached her before I did. Now return to your affairs. Listen to the one who will lead you to me."
The shaman paused. The shadows directly overhead now blocked out all light from the fire-streaked skies. As a great hand reached down from the heavens to grab them, the shaman hurled a brilliant green orb at Vilmos and spoke a single word, "Awaken."
Vilmos blinked and found he was leaning over the water basin beside his bed, water and blood dripping from his upturned hands. He shook his head, blinked again. In the other room, he heard his mother calling him.
"Hurry," she said. "You must gather the day's wood before breakfast!"
Out of breath from the long run, Vilmos doubled over. A good run always made him forget everything he left behind, and the sharp pain in his sides told him the run had been especially good. Vilmos stretched after the pain passed. If his leg muscles were too tense or if he strained, he'd have a tough time getting home. He then slipped on his boots. He preferred to run barefoot; otherwise the boots gave him blisters.
The wind howled up the path parting the dark woods before him. It was then Vilmos noticed how quiet the woods were that morning. He stared long into the dark wood—keeper of his secret. Here his childhood dreams were realized. In the shadow of the great trees, he could slay imaginary elves and dragons while discovering lost treasures and playing with imaginary friends.
Remembering his task to gather the day's wood, Vilmos worked to collect two bundles of firewood from the nearby thicket. Afterward, he secured the bundles with vines, and then laid them aside. The wind howling again sparked his imagination. He started up the overgrown path. He never ventured far into the woods–only far enough to be within their shadows yet close enough to see the sunlight in the clearing beyond.
Just then, he heard movement and then the crunching of leaves beneath heavy feet. He spun around to get a better look but saw only shadows.
An alarm went off in his mind. Fleetingly Vilmos thought of the girl from Olex Village, a girl too young to have been taken by a bear. Vilmos had no desire to share her fate. He stood still, his feet planted in the ground, his heart racing so fast it wanted to jump out of his chest. He picked up a large branch and wielded it before him.
Movement in the shadows caught his eye again. For an instant, he could have sworn he saw an old man carrying a gnarled cane. Holding the tree branch before him in what he hoped seemed a menacing pose, Vilmos crept into the shadows of the dark woods.
The fallen leaves and branches crunched under his boots, bringing a frown to his lips. With all those long days of hunting, he knew better than to clomp through the forest like a troll but he proceeded anyway, unafraid for the moment. It was then that the black fur and black eyes rose before him.
When the great bear reared up on its hind legs, terror gripped Vilmos' mind. His every thought told him to run, but he couldn't. It was as if he were rooted to the spot where he stood. His eyes bulging, Vilmos stared at the bear, sure any moment it would swing one of its mighty paws and that would be the end of it. Again a voice in his mind screamed, "Run!" but he could not move.
Images from his nightmare became real. In the nightmare the dark priests had come for him and like now, he had been unable to run. To save himself, he had lashed out at the priests with his secret power, and then like now, the forbidden came forth from his hands in a great surge.
In his mind, he screamed, "No!" at himself and at the bear. He squeezed his eyes shut and waited.
The great black bear roared. Vilmos squeezed his eyes tighter still. A scream building in his throat died as it escaped his lips.
Silence followed.
Vilmos waited. Thinking that surely the great bear must be charging, he gulped at the air and then mustering all the courage within him, he opened his eyes. To his astonishment, the bear was gone. In its place was a girl covered in mud and blood. She lay there on the ground, unmoving in the place where a moment before the bear had been.
Vilmos couldn't believe his eyes. Where had the bear gone? Was it possible that the girl was the bear? He had heard tales of shape shifters from other lands.
Suddenly remembering breakfast and the woodpile, he turned his gaze to the forest's edge. He saw the sun in the clearing and ran for its safety. Once he reached the clearing, he didn't stop running. He was halfway home before he realized that he had forgotten the wood for the hearth, but by then he wasn't going to return for it.
Soon afterward, Vilmos raced into the house. His eyes wide, he told his mother of the encounter with the bear but left out the part about the girl.
Lillath's face turned white. She swept Vilmos up in her arms.
Vilmos' father put aside the Great Book and stared at Vilmos with eyes that cut into his soul. "Bear or no bear, there is no excuse for using the forbidden."
Vilmos hid behind his mother. "Father, I know. The power just comes to me. I can do nothing to stop it."
"No excuses," his father said. "If you had returned after gathering the wood you never would've encountered the bear. You must resist the temptation to use what no man should possess."
His mother held him for a time, and then knelt before him, placing both hands on his cheeks. The terror in her eyes deepened. "When the tutor comes tomorrow, you will study two extra hours as penance. Understood?"
A flicker of hope to escape punishment was cut short by his father's voice. "Do you want them to come? Do you want them to take him away? This evil must be purged from his soul!"
"No, not again!" Lillath screamed. She moved between father and son.
His father reached for the whipping strap. "The penalty for use of the forbidden is death. Do you wish me to pass that sentence upon our only son? I am the village counselor. How can I make such an exception yet pass judgment on others? No, there must be a penalty paid."
Lillath backed away.
Vilmos gritted his teeth and waited for what he knew must come. The whipping was painful and just when he thought he could stand it no more the leather strap came down again. Tears flowed then and there was nothing he could do about it.
Crying during punishment like magic was forbidden. Each tear that crossed his cheek brought with it the strap. For a time it was as if the tears and the pain were one. Later, it seemed a great blanket of fog was over his thoughts. He knew the strap was upon his back but felt it no more. This was a blessing for when the boiling tonics were poured upon him to exorcise the demons within, he would feel them not.
The room moved and swayed. Vilmos knew he was being dragged to the healing room. He screamed then, his first scream, as he plunged deeper and deeper into the darkness of his thoughts and his soul. Within the darkness was a tiny speck of green and as screams leapt from his lips so did his soul leap from his body.
When he opened his eyes, a deep green valley with steep craggy walls spread out before him. A river with waters that were the deep blue of a sapphire dissected the green of the valley.
Vilmos folded out his arms, walked to the cliff's edge and jumped. As his feet lifted from the granite of the valley wall, talons replaced toes and wings replaced arms. He became a creature of his imaginings.
Alone and free, he flew as the great golden eagle. This was his special place, only his, Vilmos thought. He was the great winged bird, master of all he surveyed, who could swoop and soar, dive to the valley floor, or glide up on a light puff of air.
Vilmos looked out through the eagle's eyes and let out a cry that cut across the valley. The eagle could soar above the pristine valley. It could float on a pocket of air, sink to the valley floor, scouring for prey. It could fill Vilmos with life when pain brought his body to the brink of death, but it couldn't help him forget and it couldn't tell him about the stranger watching from afar.