Chapter One
A farewell to innocence
That the Jaspur trees held sway in the world, or at the very least pushed fate this way and that, most still believed. Those trees once, and once only, fashioned a woman called ‘Lamerrel’ and she it was who created legends. Those tales told of trees moving as one, the armies of Lamerrel, and of proud times when evil succumbed. But those stories were now mere whispers consigned to the drowsy dreaming of wide-eyed children and the flicker and flame of firelight.
From the ashes of those tales a race grew, a people of earthly traits, and they worshipped all things of nature and all things of Lamerrel. The Jaspur tree grew strongly in their land. Red-topped leaves and stark white trunks looked both in place and at home amongst the white leafed forests of that people, a people called the Fey.
The sun, when it rose, hit the red-topped Jaspur and the crystal-like leaves of the Fey trees, but even in the thick forest light fell to other places. One particular strand of that morning’s theatre hit a white stone sill of a window, and reflected onto the stark wash of a slatted wood ceiling. From that brushed wash it travelled onto the eyelids of a pale, angular and very sad face of a Fey child called Raculanan.
His eyes opened, and his teeth bit on his fleshy cheek. Those newly opened eyes, large and blue, shed tears and they welled and flowed past his temples to his ghostly white hair. Gathering resolve and smudging away the teardrops with his part covered wrist and worn nightshirt, he tried to force the day away. He looked out of his window and saw the sun still rising in the sky, and his efforts to push it back, to where that shining orb had once slept, failed.
The sounds of morning filtered through the window, muted and whispered. His dream had told him and told all, all the Fey, that his mother had fallen. He lay staring at the door waiting for his father, Rioan, to tap at it and come in bent and broken. He dreaded that moment.
Beside his bed a table of white wood held a cup and a plate laden with fruits from the forest. He knew that his sister, Shorelle, even in her grief, had gathered them. His mind dwelled on her, thinking of her future days, and he cried once more. His mother had fallen and so they would ask for Shorelle to replace her, and therefore Raculanan would lose his sister as well.
The tap, when it came, filled the young boy with more dread than he had imagined.
The door opened with a song, not a creak, but even that melody did not lift his despair. Shorelle poked her head around the whitewashed door and teased a smile from his sad face with a radiant grin.
“Hey Ghost,” she said “you awake? I made you breakfast, so come on, eat up.”
Shorelle opened the door further and crossed the room, sitting on the edge of the bed. She smiled to reassure her little brother, her Ghost. It made Raculanan chuckle inwardly, his sister’s smile even at this point infectious. He loved her nickname for him, loved her long, blonde hair, and just loved her. Her blue eyes looked into his and she leant in, and they hugged and hugged, and Ghost didn’t want to let go. She moved away and grabbed his head, either side of his own fine ears, looking into his glassy eyes once more, her stare intense.
“You know I have to replace our mother, so be strong, Ghost, you must be strong.”
Ghost tried to answer, but the words stuck and his chest felt like it was going to explode in sorrow. He gulped hard and mustered all, and then nodded as he finally accepted the inevitable. Yet, with all his strength, when he noticed his sister’s watery eyes his resolve nearly faultered.
“Will it ever end?” He asked. All knew of the eternal battle that raged under the earth and all knew, in the Fey lands at least, of its futility.
Shorelle, when she finally answered, spoke through stuttering lips, “Legends say that stones will be uncovered.” Her head slumped forward and she gazed at the floor. She ran nervous fingers through the braids of her long, blonde hair. “Once that task is done the war underground will end.” Her breath was shallow, nervous, and Ghost wished he were the eldest, wished he could go in her place. He wished they could run away and be together.
She looked up once more and then ran her fingers through his flowing white hair, touching his glistening eye and over his small, sharp ears. She smiled a trusting smile and, with a tear running down her cheek, rose. “I must go.”
Ghost jumped from the bed tugging his nightshirt off, dressing quickly. He pulled a simple green tunic on and his brown trousers up, and, with felt boots donned, turned, “I will see you away.”
She smiled and picked up her little brother, looking deep into his eyes.
“The task is mine, Ghost, not yours. You must look after our father.” She put him back on the bed and laughed, “After all, what are you? Six?”
Her tongue poking out, Shorelle left the room, and their home, and Pandreya, and walked away to her destiny.
“Six and a half.” Ghost shouted in defiance.
*
Pandreya, the home of the Fey and their only city, stretched from a white-leaved forest to the west all the way to distant moorlands in the east. To the south, separated by a deep valley, the Koybayashi lived and thrived and protected the Fey from enquiries. Those enquiries came, usually, from the Forbane tribes of the south in the shape of ships and somewhat suspect magic. The Koybayashi were ruthless, and would counter and repulse the Forbane, making them retreat.
All this did not concern the little Fey, and, as the sun rose slightly higher in the blue, cloudless sky, Ghost looked up, and kicked the door shut and an anger grew within him.
His window, no more than a gap in a white wall, offered him solace. Seated on its sill, Ghost looked out at their little garden, his family’s special place; from the moss-laden lawn to Shorelle’s herbs and flowers, and to a small pond fed by a stream that in its turn flowed through and into a large lake beyond. When he glanced at the lake, he could just spy blue water through the tree trunks. A glance to his little pond and he slid from the sill and loped, shoulders bent, on towards its still water. There, he dropped with a thud to its mossy and muddy bank, as despair overwhelmed him.
Alone, and in a silent world of emotion, as was the Fey way, he felt betrayed. None mourned his mother and all accepted her death. As he stared at the still water, his sadness grew to anger once more. It grew beyond that place and then died back to numbness. Ghost silently encouraged another rage; it welled from deep within and quieted the desolate numbness, the sadness of a sister’s loss so soon after a mother’s. He clenched his raging head and tears of defiance dripped. The stone that Shorelle had mentioned had to be the key, and his sister’s salvation.
Ghost looked to his right, to the rich green leaves of a thicket, his thicket and his camp. He thought back to the day when he had first discovered it and its secret hideout.
His mother had just left after a rare visit and Ghost had felt sad. Walking to the little pond, he had sought solace sitting and watching the brown, shimmering fish and croaking frogs and toads. A rustle to his right had made him turn and look. The thicket’s leaves had moved and he’d heard the rustle once more. Slowly opened before him, the plant had revealed a hollow within. Crawling inside, the leafy entrance had then closed behind him, the twisted branches offering safety and comfort and so the little boy had fallen asleep.
Ghost smiled as he remembered Shorelle’s panicked shouts, how the thicket had again moved apart to reveal her beaming, relief-filled face. His sister, he was sure, secretly hated his camp. Ghost constantly badgered her to sleep in it with him at night. Whilst she never put up a fight, being ten years his senior, camping so near her bed must have seemed such a stupid idea.
Today he just wanted to crawl into his camp and hide forever.
He heard footfalls behind him and turned to see his father marching toward him with a purposeful stride. Ghost gulped and a queasy sensation rumbled in his stomach as he waited for his father’s grief. When his father stopped before him, however, the expression was one of tenderness.
“I thought I would find you out here,” he said.
He bent and hugged his son, letting warmth flow through Ghost.
“We have a couple of moments before we must attend your mother.”
Rioan sat, his long flowing, white robes forming a little tent over his hunched legs, and his long, silver hair fell down his sagging shoulders and rested lazily on his bent back. Ghost sat with him and they both gazed out over the still water.
“Has Shorelle gone away now?” Ghost asked, his high-pitched voice ringing out in the silence.
Rioan turned and looked at his little child, his own deep blue eyes searching out emotion in the boy. “It will not be as your mother, for your sister is our healer and must come if called. Your mother was devious in that respect.”
Ghost’s tongue twitched, desperately wanting to ask his father a question but thinking it silly given the nature of the day. Eventually a boy's curiosity burst forth and a young tongue wagged free.
“Shorelle mentioned a stone, a stone that would end the war underground and free her from her task.” His father remained silent and Ghost blushed, embarrassed by the impetuous question, but then Rioan spoke quietly.
“There are rumoured to be nine stones, nine Charmstones of legend. Two are master stones, three are binding stones, and four are elemental.” Rioan drifted off again, back into his own thoughts.
“According to an ancient script, the two master stones are named ‘The Stalker’ and ‘The Prism of Light’. The sole purpose of the Stalker is to seek out the other stones, the purpose of the Prism is unknown, though rumoured to complete the nine, when the world will then change.”
Rioan fell silent once more, then nodded as if he had come to a decision. “Come, Ghost, we must go to Pandreya, to the temple,” he smiled. “Even in death, well, we wouldn’t want to keep your mother waiting. I can see her scowl now!”
His father laughed and got up and Ghost laughed as well. They started walking up a gentle incline that led from their garden into a forest, and on to the city of Pandreya, hand in hand.
“What are the other stones called?” Ghost asked.
Rioan turned to his son, then knelt and kissed the little hand that grasped his own, as he looked into those young eyes.
“The binding stones are; Unity, Keystone, and Warrior, and the elementals, Air, Earth, Fire, and Water. That they exist, few doubt, but whether the stones will ever be found, well that is a question yet to be answered.”
Ghost was eager for more, but strained to say nothing, nothing of the plan that was fast hatching in his young but now resolute mind.
From the ashes of those tales a race grew, a people of earthly traits, and they worshipped all things of nature and all things of Lamerrel. The Jaspur tree grew strongly in their land. Red-topped leaves and stark white trunks looked both in place and at home amongst the white leafed forests of that people, a people called the Fey.
The sun, when it rose, hit the red-topped Jaspur and the crystal-like leaves of the Fey trees, but even in the thick forest light fell to other places. One particular strand of that morning’s theatre hit a white stone sill of a window, and reflected onto the stark wash of a slatted wood ceiling. From that brushed wash it travelled onto the eyelids of a pale, angular and very sad face of a Fey child called Raculanan.
His eyes opened, and his teeth bit on his fleshy cheek. Those newly opened eyes, large and blue, shed tears and they welled and flowed past his temples to his ghostly white hair. Gathering resolve and smudging away the teardrops with his part covered wrist and worn nightshirt, he tried to force the day away. He looked out of his window and saw the sun still rising in the sky, and his efforts to push it back, to where that shining orb had once slept, failed.
The sounds of morning filtered through the window, muted and whispered. His dream had told him and told all, all the Fey, that his mother had fallen. He lay staring at the door waiting for his father, Rioan, to tap at it and come in bent and broken. He dreaded that moment.
Beside his bed a table of white wood held a cup and a plate laden with fruits from the forest. He knew that his sister, Shorelle, even in her grief, had gathered them. His mind dwelled on her, thinking of her future days, and he cried once more. His mother had fallen and so they would ask for Shorelle to replace her, and therefore Raculanan would lose his sister as well.
The tap, when it came, filled the young boy with more dread than he had imagined.
The door opened with a song, not a creak, but even that melody did not lift his despair. Shorelle poked her head around the whitewashed door and teased a smile from his sad face with a radiant grin.
“Hey Ghost,” she said “you awake? I made you breakfast, so come on, eat up.”
Shorelle opened the door further and crossed the room, sitting on the edge of the bed. She smiled to reassure her little brother, her Ghost. It made Raculanan chuckle inwardly, his sister’s smile even at this point infectious. He loved her nickname for him, loved her long, blonde hair, and just loved her. Her blue eyes looked into his and she leant in, and they hugged and hugged, and Ghost didn’t want to let go. She moved away and grabbed his head, either side of his own fine ears, looking into his glassy eyes once more, her stare intense.
“You know I have to replace our mother, so be strong, Ghost, you must be strong.”
Ghost tried to answer, but the words stuck and his chest felt like it was going to explode in sorrow. He gulped hard and mustered all, and then nodded as he finally accepted the inevitable. Yet, with all his strength, when he noticed his sister’s watery eyes his resolve nearly faultered.
“Will it ever end?” He asked. All knew of the eternal battle that raged under the earth and all knew, in the Fey lands at least, of its futility.
Shorelle, when she finally answered, spoke through stuttering lips, “Legends say that stones will be uncovered.” Her head slumped forward and she gazed at the floor. She ran nervous fingers through the braids of her long, blonde hair. “Once that task is done the war underground will end.” Her breath was shallow, nervous, and Ghost wished he were the eldest, wished he could go in her place. He wished they could run away and be together.
She looked up once more and then ran her fingers through his flowing white hair, touching his glistening eye and over his small, sharp ears. She smiled a trusting smile and, with a tear running down her cheek, rose. “I must go.”
Ghost jumped from the bed tugging his nightshirt off, dressing quickly. He pulled a simple green tunic on and his brown trousers up, and, with felt boots donned, turned, “I will see you away.”
She smiled and picked up her little brother, looking deep into his eyes.
“The task is mine, Ghost, not yours. You must look after our father.” She put him back on the bed and laughed, “After all, what are you? Six?”
Her tongue poking out, Shorelle left the room, and their home, and Pandreya, and walked away to her destiny.
“Six and a half.” Ghost shouted in defiance.
*
Pandreya, the home of the Fey and their only city, stretched from a white-leaved forest to the west all the way to distant moorlands in the east. To the south, separated by a deep valley, the Koybayashi lived and thrived and protected the Fey from enquiries. Those enquiries came, usually, from the Forbane tribes of the south in the shape of ships and somewhat suspect magic. The Koybayashi were ruthless, and would counter and repulse the Forbane, making them retreat.
All this did not concern the little Fey, and, as the sun rose slightly higher in the blue, cloudless sky, Ghost looked up, and kicked the door shut and an anger grew within him.
His window, no more than a gap in a white wall, offered him solace. Seated on its sill, Ghost looked out at their little garden, his family’s special place; from the moss-laden lawn to Shorelle’s herbs and flowers, and to a small pond fed by a stream that in its turn flowed through and into a large lake beyond. When he glanced at the lake, he could just spy blue water through the tree trunks. A glance to his little pond and he slid from the sill and loped, shoulders bent, on towards its still water. There, he dropped with a thud to its mossy and muddy bank, as despair overwhelmed him.
Alone, and in a silent world of emotion, as was the Fey way, he felt betrayed. None mourned his mother and all accepted her death. As he stared at the still water, his sadness grew to anger once more. It grew beyond that place and then died back to numbness. Ghost silently encouraged another rage; it welled from deep within and quieted the desolate numbness, the sadness of a sister’s loss so soon after a mother’s. He clenched his raging head and tears of defiance dripped. The stone that Shorelle had mentioned had to be the key, and his sister’s salvation.
Ghost looked to his right, to the rich green leaves of a thicket, his thicket and his camp. He thought back to the day when he had first discovered it and its secret hideout.
His mother had just left after a rare visit and Ghost had felt sad. Walking to the little pond, he had sought solace sitting and watching the brown, shimmering fish and croaking frogs and toads. A rustle to his right had made him turn and look. The thicket’s leaves had moved and he’d heard the rustle once more. Slowly opened before him, the plant had revealed a hollow within. Crawling inside, the leafy entrance had then closed behind him, the twisted branches offering safety and comfort and so the little boy had fallen asleep.
Ghost smiled as he remembered Shorelle’s panicked shouts, how the thicket had again moved apart to reveal her beaming, relief-filled face. His sister, he was sure, secretly hated his camp. Ghost constantly badgered her to sleep in it with him at night. Whilst she never put up a fight, being ten years his senior, camping so near her bed must have seemed such a stupid idea.
Today he just wanted to crawl into his camp and hide forever.
He heard footfalls behind him and turned to see his father marching toward him with a purposeful stride. Ghost gulped and a queasy sensation rumbled in his stomach as he waited for his father’s grief. When his father stopped before him, however, the expression was one of tenderness.
“I thought I would find you out here,” he said.
He bent and hugged his son, letting warmth flow through Ghost.
“We have a couple of moments before we must attend your mother.”
Rioan sat, his long flowing, white robes forming a little tent over his hunched legs, and his long, silver hair fell down his sagging shoulders and rested lazily on his bent back. Ghost sat with him and they both gazed out over the still water.
“Has Shorelle gone away now?” Ghost asked, his high-pitched voice ringing out in the silence.
Rioan turned and looked at his little child, his own deep blue eyes searching out emotion in the boy. “It will not be as your mother, for your sister is our healer and must come if called. Your mother was devious in that respect.”
Ghost’s tongue twitched, desperately wanting to ask his father a question but thinking it silly given the nature of the day. Eventually a boy's curiosity burst forth and a young tongue wagged free.
“Shorelle mentioned a stone, a stone that would end the war underground and free her from her task.” His father remained silent and Ghost blushed, embarrassed by the impetuous question, but then Rioan spoke quietly.
“There are rumoured to be nine stones, nine Charmstones of legend. Two are master stones, three are binding stones, and four are elemental.” Rioan drifted off again, back into his own thoughts.
“According to an ancient script, the two master stones are named ‘The Stalker’ and ‘The Prism of Light’. The sole purpose of the Stalker is to seek out the other stones, the purpose of the Prism is unknown, though rumoured to complete the nine, when the world will then change.”
Rioan fell silent once more, then nodded as if he had come to a decision. “Come, Ghost, we must go to Pandreya, to the temple,” he smiled. “Even in death, well, we wouldn’t want to keep your mother waiting. I can see her scowl now!”
His father laughed and got up and Ghost laughed as well. They started walking up a gentle incline that led from their garden into a forest, and on to the city of Pandreya, hand in hand.
“What are the other stones called?” Ghost asked.
Rioan turned to his son, then knelt and kissed the little hand that grasped his own, as he looked into those young eyes.
“The binding stones are; Unity, Keystone, and Warrior, and the elementals, Air, Earth, Fire, and Water. That they exist, few doubt, but whether the stones will ever be found, well that is a question yet to be answered.”
Ghost was eager for more, but strained to say nothing, nothing of the plan that was fast hatching in his young but now resolute mind.