By Raymond Keith

Chapter 1:

Black and Gray

Fantasy Novel

My father was a heartless man, and I did everything not to be like him.

He pillaged, murdered, and enslaved. My mother, one of his last victims, named me after him. N’ethilion means, ‘son of the wicked man’ or ‘son of the fallen’ in her native elfin tongue. But she gave me another name, a human name, because we lived in the world of men. Galieb means ‘beloved’ in the local dialect. She wanted to proclaim her unconditional love for me, despite the circumstances of my conception, despite what others may say or do.

But I never doubted. I knew she loved me. Every deed and sacrifice confirmed her maternal devotion.

Many resent the fate of their situations in life, like growing up without a father or being an outsider, but I never did. I always accepted my life for what it was. I felt my situation built character and maturity that I found lacking in others. Later in my life, I realized not having a father also had its disadvantages. Frankly, it all seemed so providential—like it was part of some complicated plan.

I wasn’t missing much, not having someone wicked in my life. And there were plenty of good men to fill the gap growing up.

Now I have a better understanding of why things are the way they are. I understand now it was not really my mother that named me, even if she spoke the words at my birth. Even if she had her own personal reasons. My name is part of my calling.

But this story is not ultimately about me. It is also about ‘He Who Is’, and the One He has sent. To this, I bear witness. I am just a small piece of the much larger narrative. An epic that stretches across all the ages of history.

My part of the adventure starts in the Hidden Valley, tucked between the mighty Lageheim kingdom and the vast VenKeth, the Venerable Woods. In the Hidden Valley is the Qoholet Abbey, a training ground for elite ranger sages. I spent my entire youth here.

The Hidden Valley was all I knew the first nineteen years of my life.

My first routine patrol took me along Threshold Ridge, the eastern boundary of our valley. The mountain ridge stretched from the Towering Peaks far to the north, all the way to the Ven Marshes, many leagues to the south. Everyone expected this patrol to be uneventful, including me. Few problems occurred during these patrols. But anything could happen in the VenKeth, especially on the edge of the Fae Lands.

My life changed forever when I saw boots sticking out of the ripening blueberry bushes. No one alive would lay head first with branches digging into his back. A falchion lay nearby, glinting in the fading moonlight as it dropped lower on the horizon.

The entire scene put me on edge. It felt like a test my mentors had set up, but this time, it was real.

I fiddled with the throwing axe stuck in my belt as I looked around me. I was not sure what to do at first, so I moved closer to the body to get a better look.

It was a dead male. Pale foam had dried around his thin lips and yellow stained tusks, which jutted up from an excessive under-bite and square jaw. For armor, the creature wore tanned skins and chunks of fur over a leather cuirass. It was nothing I had ever seen before. He was not a human or elfin, and he did not look like a goblin, the creatures claiming part of the forest south of here. The skin looked ashen gray in the setting moon’s light. Contrasting the skin, patches of blackened flesh had corroded the neck, the right hand, and the left thigh. A tiny needle-like shaft remained embedded in his thigh, seemingly the source of the corrosion. No rotting stench touched my nostrils, only the raw odor of sweat-infused leather.

This one died most unpleasantly just a few hours ago. I knew who killed in such ways, and it caused me alarm.

Gripping my recurved war bow, I raced forward, anxious about any upcoming encounter. Sweat trickled into my budding beard and soaked the linen under my brigandine armor despite the cool morning air. Fearing what I was going to run into, I concentrated on keeping my steps light, touching the ground with only my toes. My feet avoided noisy debris yet maintained as much speed as possible.

Gliding through the woods unnoticed is what rangers are known for.

Having elfin blood, my eyes do not need light to see as the moon dipped below the horizon. I could see even with no light at all, but then only in shades of gray and only about sixty paces at most. But I did not need my elfin vision, for by the time I reached my destination, the first rays of the sun raced horizontally between the dark trunks. The morning light highlighted the large array of mushrooms spread out across the forest floor that I sought. Fungi of many colors, shapes, and sizes sprung up from dark soil, creeping across half buried rocks and climbing the sides of massive stumps. All were beautifully arranged into a stunning garden. I knew the colony that worked the garden would be active with the rising sun.

As I approached, I took notice of many crushed mushrooms before two flashes blinded me.

“Wait! I am from the abbey! Are you safe?” I stumbled to a halt, grumbling as I squinted in pain, hands covering my eyes.

“Stay back, archer! We are on high alert!” a male voice called, barely audible if it had not been near my ear.

“I am Galieb! A ranger on patrol!”

“If you value your life, be silent! Notify the queen!” As my eyes recovered, I found myself surrounded by dozens of tiny elfin-like creatures with prismatic dragonfly wings. Faeries. A few were male, but the majority were female, no taller than the length of my hand. The males held spears or swords. The females armed themselves with bows. Tiny tunics of green covered their bodies, though of what material I could not tell. Each one’s hair was a different color, the hues matching the seven bands of the rainbow. Faeries, like bees, were almost all females except for the consorts to the queen, and the females were all her children.

In the center of the fungal colony stood the largest, most brilliant toadstool, its circumference equal to a round tavern table, its height reaching to my chest. From underneath its rim came the queen, a tiny but stunning female surrounded by eight maidens and two males, weapons prepared.

“Stand down all. He speaks true,” the queen commanded. “He comes from the abbey. And one does not forget a half-elfin. Lord Devarim always speaks highly of you, Galieb.”

I shifted my feet, trying to remember proper faerie etiquette, before bending at the waist in an awkward bow. Formalities always made me uncomfortable.

“Are you patrolling alone? Are you no longer an acolyte? Have you passed the tests?”

“Yes, as of last week.” All the consorts flustered at me for forgetting her title, causing my face to flush. “Uh, your Majesty. I saw a gray corpse laying among the bushes. I knew he had been here. Did he harm anyone?”

“Be at ease, young ranger,” the queen replied. “And you may call me Reyowin. During the night, a patrol stumbled upon us and attacked. My warriors defended the colony. After seeing that one’s fate, the rest of them fled. They still damaged some of our homes and crops before we chased them off. Thankfully, we all escaped injury. In all my long years, I have never seen eshkin in these parts before.”

Eshkin, as I guessed. My mentors spoke of them often, but I never encountered one. Eshkins are humanoids driven to excessive wickedness by their god, Eshek. “How many, if I may ask?”

“Four is all we saw,” the queen answered. “A small patrol. They came from the north, and the rest fled back the way they had come. With the elfin kingdom to our northeast, most likely they came down out of the mountains.”

“I trust your wisdom, your majesty—uh, Reyowin.” It just seems a far distance for them to travel. The Towering Peaks are many leagues to the north. Hopefully, it was just a small raiding party that wandered too far.

“My lady, how can I help?”

“Nothing for you to do here for us, young ranger. We can manage. The villages below are your concern, however.”

“Yes, your majesty. I will continue north. If they threaten Woodhaven, I will find them. If I am I able, I will notify you of any other danger.”

“They won’t be back here after seeing the effect of our poisons. And my warriors,” she added with her chin pointing out. “Be safe, young Galieb. Next time you are here, I have some morels for your mother, Edhelwen. I am sure she is proud of you.”

“I did not know you knew my mother, my lady. Proud, yes, but sad, too. Half-elfin age fast—like humans. Too fast for elfin mothers.” Few at the abbey knew her elfin name. Most in the valley only knew her by the human name she chose, Sadima. Only my mother would have told her true name to the queen. My mother was the master gardener for the abbey, having the gifted ability to enhance growth. She started that garden from scratch. Now I understood where the mushrooms came from.

“Faerie queens know many things, young Qoholet. Our years rival those of the elfin. All the Fae understand the passing of time in ways similar to the elfin.” She paused before adding, “Be careful, Galieb. For her sake. Eshkin are dangerous, and you are still a youth.”

“Yes, my lady.”

I continued following the ridge, leaving the faerie colony with my eyes alert and my war bow in hand. Studying the terrain, I could see signs of the eshkin: a newly broken branch here and there, overturned pebbles in the packed earth.

Once I found my first partial boot print, I took a moment to study it. Using my bow to measure, I calculated the length of stride and size of the foot. Following these prints resulted in more discoveries, such as distinctions in strides and foot sizes.

How many times did my mentors drag us acolytes up the ridge to look at tracks in the blazing sun and blowing snow? How many times in the middle of the night? But endless hours of training paid off, as always. These skills will save lives. How could I not find satisfaction in that?

The tracks confirmed three booted walkers.

After a few hours of travel and tracking, I slowed my pace due to the tracks looking fresher this far along.

Faint clanks came up from the valley below. Touches of smoke tickled my nose. Woodhaven was the settlement farthest north in the Hidden Valley. Were these the signs of everyday activity or new destruction? My hands turned to sweat at the thought of the village in danger. People I knew popped into my head: Reeve Fredric, Orrick, and Orrick’s flirtatious young daughter, Elfrieda. They treated me kindly during my last visit. My mind split between wanting to rush down the mountain to check on the villagers and feeling it may be wiser to follow the boot prints. Would the tracks lead me down there? Were there other eshkin about?

Other sounds suddenly caught my ears from the ridge in front of me. Guttural sounds. The harsh speech of the eshkin. The sound stood my hairs on end, and my heart pounded. I used controlled breathing to keep calm. Three enemies seemed too much for just one unproven youth.

My nerves demanded that I just let them walk away, but the Qoholet taught not the ways of cowardice.

I crept upon them like a woodland shadow. No leaf stirred, no root snared, no twig betrayed. They seemed not to fear an attack but argued without a lookout, standing in a circle. Blending myself with trunk and brush, I closed the gap until their words became clear.

Studying them seemed wise. All three were bald with ash-gray skin, similar to the corpse.

“I want to check out that village,” stated the one with a falchion hanging from his belt.

It helped I learned the eshkin speech, though it did not come easy for me. Thankfully, the old centaur, Vollyr, insisted on it.

“And I say we wait!” the largest one answered. An axe reached from shoulder to hip next to his quiver of javelins. “If those cursed faeries had not killed Grunch, I would agree with you. But we have enough trouble already.”

“And I say we go to the village. I’m hungry. Roasted pork sounds great,” the first one countered, clacking his jaws twice.

“Ha! it would take hours for you to roast a whole pig, Colb. You would starve!” stated the third one. He also sported a long axe and a quiver on his back. “But a few slabs of bacon over some coals would do.”

“Sounds good, Nark!” agreed Colb, his left hand resting on the hilt of his falchion.

“Not today,” barked the big guy.

“Come on, Dolf!” Colb protested. “Bet they’re just scrawny farmers. Like up north. Easy pickin’s. Or we could just steal a squeaker or some mutton. No need to rally the entire valley.”

Dolf exploded, punching Colb in the face with all his might, crushing his nose before sending him to the ground, dazed. “I’m tired of yer tongue!”

Dolf clacked his teeth and jutted his lower jaw out. That seemed to indicate some type of challenge. Dolf placed his foot on Colb’s chest and pressed down as the eshkin gasped. Dolf’s right hand gripped a long dagger shoved in his broad leather belt.

Was he going to kill his companion right now? The sudden brutality of the entire scene unnerved me. I had heard of this type of senseless violence, but seeing it was different. Eshkin seemed to have no regard for life.

“Both of you shut it!” Dolf’s gaze drifted between the two. Colb wheezed, trying to breathe with Dolf’s foot on his chest.

Neither took the challenge.

Dolf removed his foot, and Colb scrambled to his feet, eyeing the others through slits. His hands clenched and unclenched, the right twitching towards his falchion. Bright red blood dripped from his face onto the front of his iron-knobbed leather cuirass.

“You in front, Colb. Back to camp,” Dolf barked, then clacked his jaws once.

The three started off again, walking in a line, heading north. After that encounter, I feared even more for our villages. These creatures seemed brutal and heartless.

I followed them.

I let out a breath when we passed the Wolf’s Nose, a rock outcropping at the top of the ridge just beyond Woodhaven. The rangers considered “the Nose” the corner of our boundary, but I continued after, worrying they may turn aside or stop. Not feeling the need to stay close anymore, I slowed down, and created more space between us. No point in giving them a chance to notice me.

It did not take long after that for Nark to drift behind. My instincts told me something was happening, so I stopped behind a young tree. He slipped his long axe off his back. Dolf looked over his shoulder and started to turn when Nark planted the head of his great axe in the eshkin’s skull. Dolf collapsed like a cooked noodle without even a grunt.

The coldness of the act caused me to swallow hard. I was not rid of them yet.

Colb spun, feeling for his sword.

Nark stared at him, axe in both hands. “I’m in charge now,” Nark stated, then clacked his jaw twice. “Let’s see if we can find a squeaker down in the valley.”

Colb laughed at Dolf’s demise. I did not like the sound of its callousness. “How about its mum? I could eat a whole pig myself.”

“Maybe find a woman, too. Make her a breeder,” Nark added. He set his axe down, but keeping it within reach. He snatched Dolf’s dagger to cut off his victim’s ears. After removing the iron ring and other decorations stuck in the oversized lobes, he strung it on his belt, stacked against a few other smaller shriveled pieces.

“I’ve been admiring this dagger of his,” Nark commented as he stuck it in his belt. “This is man-steel. Took it from some lobeless round ear.”

‘Lobeless’ was apparently a slander for humans.

“Yeah, me too,” Colb replied with an expression of envy. “Good blade.” The two eyed each other warily, Nark retrieving his axe from the ground, but nothing happened. They searched their comrade’s body, stripping it of valuables, including a few coins.

Leaving their companion to the scavengers, they started off again. This time, they turned around and headed right towards me.

Dragon’s breath! Now what am I going to do?