Dreamer's Rhlem, Chapter 1

[Haibane Shadsie]

OKay... I was red-penning myself on the fourth chapter of my novel (of 9 chapters and 2 mini-chapters... making it... 11 in all? Some of my middle chapters and my final chapter are really long, so I might consider breaking them up into more chapters). Anyway... I'm pretty sure I've got my first chapter in a submittable-publishable state. I've reworked it somewhere between 5 and 50 times, I think.

Including all the time I've spent polshing the book, and the time I spent on a series of illustrations (something that started as a graphic design class project), I've been working on it 3 - 4 years now? Keep in mind, I've spent so long on it because of those illustrations and lots and lots of little polishing/reworking things.

Well, I decided to share my first chapter here for a limited engagement, just to have even more fresh eyes on it. I plan to delete the topic after a week or so... I'm a little paranoid about plagerism. I trust most of the people here, I just don't trust the occasional trolls that come in.

This novel chapter, the characters, the names, and the world, are all Copyright ME. You steal, I sick bloodthirsty lawyers on you... and I AM serious. This novel is something that I have a lot of backing on as far as people knowing that it's mine, and it's something I'm willing to fight for.

Anyway, the novel is one of the fantasy genre, so those who dislike the genre, leave now. Some of my main characters have "magical" talents, but none of the heroes are magic users - heavy magic use is reserved for the story's main villian, so I don't think most people here will have any problems with it.

Actual story chapter in reply post to follow, because it will take up too much room!

[Haibane Shadsie]

Chapter One

The Wind Dog Catches a Scent...


The army of stunned followers stood encircling the prone young man on the forest floor. His Companion, L’ayela, a wind dog, rested her head upon his shoulder and whimpered. The warm light of late afternoon, dappled by tree-shadows, fell gently upon the boy’s face. The air was thick with the smells of blood, sweat, and the leather armor of the men he had commanded. They had just won a small victory – at a great price.

Ara Macau thought he had dragged the wounded Jairrus away from the battle just in time, but he had been gravely mistaken. The healing wyroot elixir was not working. The wound was much too deep.

Jairrus stroked the shining white coat and elegant folded white wings of the wind dog, L’ayela, as his life seeped red into the ground from the axe wound in his chest. He coughed and signaled that he wanted to say something.

“My followers,” he rasped, “you have been wise, strong, and brave. You have served your roles well. I regret that I have not done as well in mine.” Jairrus coughed again. Blood trailed from the corners of his lips, “This…has never happened in a Cycle before, and I am sorry to be the first. L’ayela, I want you to scent the winds - to find another Hero…to…take my place. Ara Macau, I want you to train my replacement well, as you did with me. Warrabi must be defeated…Maybe, I was not the true Hero for this Cycle…I leave with deep regret…”

Jairrus slowly closed his eyes and turned his head to one side. L’ayela lowered her ears and licked his cheek goodbye. She raised her head in a long sorrow-filled howl, stretching her great white wings to the sky. Other beasts nearby, and even some of the men, joined in the mournful bay of her cry.

Ara Macau sighed deeply. The admonition that Jairrus had given him to train whatever new Hero was brought to him weighed heavy on his heart. The first and only Hero he had ever counseled now lay dead before him. He had taken the privileged and important task of Hero’s Trainer, and he had failed the young man.

He had been Companion in the last Cycle thus qualifying him well for the role of Hero’s Trainer, but now, for the first time in all the written and unwritten history of Rhlem, the destined Hero had been killed. It was not uncommon for a few followers of a Hero to die during the course of a Cycle or even for one of the Hero’s Companions to be killed, but it never happened to the Hero himself, at least, not until now.


Ara Macau held that it must have been his fault. He pondered that he should have concentrated more upon combat skills when training Jairrus. Maybe then, the young Hero would have avoided that axe blow and still be breathing now.

Jairrus said something about how he might not have been the true Hero for this Cycle. Macau could not bear to think that it was true. Jairrus was noble and courageous; he showed all the signs of a Hero. If something had been even in the least bit amiss, surely he would have seen it.

The other followers began gathering branches for a funeral pyre. L’ayela was still baying her grief, her forepaws the color of rubies where they rested upon her fallen friend’s chest. Ara Macau shook his head. He decided to ask her, even in her greif. She was the Companion, she would know if she had somehow made a false choosing.

“L’ayela,” he began.

“I know what you are about to say, Ara,” L’ayela snapped, turning her long nose to face the old man. “He was a true Hero. I followed his scent from afar - and it was correct! A false choosing is not possible for me.”

L’ayela howled loud and long some more. The dog instinctively snapped at the men of Jairrus’ company as they began to tenderly pick up the young corpse. She stopped and apologized when she realized what she was doing, and reminded herself that her master was not merely wounded and having a healing rest. He required a proper burning or burial. She whimpered at the thought, not wanting to believe it. As her paws rested upon him, she felt not the slightest stir of breath, and, killing all of her vain hope, his skin grew steadily cold beneath her paw pads.

L’ayela wept great canine tears and softly whined as she reluctantly left what had once been Jairrus in the care of the humans. She wandered to a nearby stream behind a stand of young trees. The rivulet bubbled over smooth rocks cheerily, as if to mock the sorrow she felt. She eased herself into its frigid water to wash the blood from her fur. As it flowed over her, even she was shocked to see just how crimson she had turned the brook.

She watched the blood of her friend being swept away downstream. She felt the empty swell of loss and rage within her grow. She shook herself free of the tormenting water until she felt that she had properly purged herself of the horror it had brought – but in the reflections the droplets created, all she could see was the face of Jairrus.

After she finished drying herself, she returned to the impromptu camp, her wings sagging. At that time, the sun was dropping behind the western hills and stars were beginning to twinkle in the darkening eastern sky. Jairrus’ body was wrapped in a black cloak and it rested upon a crude pyre. L’ayela studied the faces of the men encircling the structure. Some faces held grief, one or two – a prideful disappointment. There were a few followers that had joined Jairrus in the quest merely for their own senses of glory. Most of the faces held fear, born of a deep uncertainty as to what was going to happen to the quest – and to the world for that matter.

The wind dog stifled a growl. Though she had camped with these men, had shared meals and stories with them, they disgusted her now. A disgraceful pack to give last honors to a courageous and noble man! she thought with contempt. Aside from Ara Macau and herself, they had been all that poor Jairrus had. They had not known, nor had loved Jairrus nearly as well as she and Macau had.

Ara held a torch aloft, shielding his tears with his free hand. He staggered toward the pyre, his bitter sorrow impairing his ability to walk straight. A young man of the company helped him. L’ayela stepped up to the two and addressed Ara Macau. She held her snout straight and her head high. Ara regarded her with glistening eyes, and, struggling with a tear-strangled throat, asked her what she wanted of him before he began the funeral.

“I know what I must do,” she said, staring at him with a gaze of determination, “and I must make haste. If there is a scent out there, I must not let it grow cold.”

Ara nodded. “I understand,” he whispered. “Do as you must.”

L’ayela glanced back at the pyre. “I regret leaving like this, but time grows short. I truly... do not wish to witness this, either. I will come back to honor the ashes later, but...” she hung her head.

“Go,” Macau intoned. “You’ve a final request to fulfill.”

L’ayela flapped her great white wings and took off into the twilit sky to follow the wind. She opened her nostrils wide to take in the smells drifting there. It was a particular scent that she sought, once she found it, she would follow it to the chosen. As she flew, she let memories wash over her, reflecting on all that had brought her to this moment. She blinked back hot tears.

L’ayela the wind dog was destined as the Companion for this Cycle of Rhlem’s history. She felt the call as a pup, even before her mother had taught her litter to fly. She had been born in the midst of the Dark time and had seen the evils and horrors of Warrabi’s regime first-paw. She felt it was an honor and privilage to have been the chosen Companion this time, and had spent many years practicing the art of wind sensing – though, truly, it was an inborn ability, a talent to be honed. It had been three years now, on a cool night much like this one, that she had found Jairrus.

An idealistic teenager, he fit every major standard for the Hero Archetype – a person chosen by destiny to bring peace and freedom to the land. He was a peasant, helping his mother support herself on their little farm on the outskirts of a tiny village in the Marvillosa Mountains.

Heroes always came from humble circumstances. Not once in the entire history of Rhlem had a Companion discovered their Hero in a palace. Jairrus showed himself to be noble and kind, and, as most Heroes do when told their destiny by a Companion, Jairrus did not believe it when L’ayela revealed her choosing to him.

The young man did not want to leave his mother alone without his help on the farm. He was all that she had. In fact, he had never seen the face of his father - another sure sign that he was a Hero.

During most Cycles, the Hero’s birth came about by some unusual circumstance or their father was some person of power who had abandoned them at birth. Oftentimes this person would be a wizard or a king, and sometimes even the chief Villain. When L’ayela met Jairrus, she knew that her nose had been right. If the smell could be mistaken, the youth’s nobility and circumstances could not.

Jairrus had refused to heed her request, and remained on the farm. There was little L’ayela could do. She informed him that she would return when she was ready.

The issue concerning his mother and farm was decided for him a few days after a scouting party of Warrabi’s soldiers raided when he was out one day. He had gone to do some wild mushroom gathering for her in the nearby forest. When he had returned, he found her lying by the doorstep of their torched abode with her throat cut. Shortly after, L’ayela returned and found him within the ruins of his home. This time, he followed her.

[Haibane Shadsie]

The winged canine took the young man to the cavern of Ara Macau, his destined Trainer. Ara Macau was very old, though he had the vigor and semblance of a man in his late thirties. He had lived for over three hundred years and the hair of his head and the hair of his beard were still as black as fine onyx stone.

Ara Macau had the gift of being able to speak with birds and had lived a simple life in the wilds until he sensed that he was to be the Companion to the previous Hero of Rhlem, Aparek a century ago. After the end of the Golden Age that Aparek brought ended, Warrabi rose up and there were many bad years before Ara Macau sensed that he was to be a Hero’s Trainer and L’ayela came to him with Jairrus.

Shaking herself free momentarily from thoughts of the past, L’ayela soared on, letting the wind carry her where it pleased. She saw the tiny orange light far in the forest below, the burning funeral pyre of her fallen master. She shook off the view, returning to the quest at hand.

The wind dog scented the air as she flew. Willows from the north, a meal of trout and onions being made on the plains to the west... a newborn child in the city to her east.... a thunderhead to the south of her, ready to burst with fresh rain.... none of these in particular she yearned for. She adjusted her wings slightly to take her higher, out of the ordinary smells. She needed the right aroma, a special scent.

As she crested the peak of a mountain, she caught a distinctive odor wafting over its summit. “There!” she said to herself, “The scent! A Hero!” She spun about to return to the exact spot she had found it. She caught her bearings and followed it. There was something odd about this scent, though. It was strong – obviously a Hero-scent, but where it was coming from was an utter surprise. It trailed off not to a distant land, nor even over the sea... it trailed off into time and space itself, into the very fabric of existance!

She yelped in realization, and whispered to herself in wonderment. “The new Hero is from another world?”


________________________________


Tamara stood in the family living room, rocking baby Henrí back and forth, back and forth in her arms, trying to coax him back to sleep. Justin, her husband, got up the last time he was crying, so it was her turn. Tamara had been told by her friends many times that she was immensely fortunate to have found a man as caring and willing to help her out with the kids as he was.

He was the most excellent of fathers to their five-year-old daughter, Jaclyn, and their three-month-old son, Henrí. Justin changed diapers, got up as often as Tamara did for the middle-of-the-night feedings to prepare a bottle for the baby, and was quite willing and even enthusiastic about playing “tea party” with Jaclyn.

He was the one who usually got the new kindergartner up and off to school in the mornings while Tamara took care of the morning rush at the small coffee shop that the couple owned.

Justin and Tamara had their share of problems and fights during their six years of wedded bliss, but not nearly the problems that most other young couples that they knew had. Tamara felt especially blessed of God for Justin. He was not given to that macho, dominant rubbish that most of her friends’ husbands were. Their marriage was a truly equal covenant.

The living room, in fact, the entire house, was perfumed with what Justin humorously called “new baby scent.” There was the soft, sweet, dusty aroma of baby powder, the flowery-yet-antiseptic smell of baby wipes, the sharp, sour smell of spit-up stains on fabrics, which, even after washing, retained the odor, and, if one had a nose sensitive enough to notice it, the plastic smell of disposable diapers. The house was slightly over-warm, not hot, but not quite cool enough for Tamara’s comfort. She did not want Henrí to catch a chill.

The children, Jaclyn and Henrí were special treasures. Jaclyn had an imagination that could be rivaled by no other child, “Given to her by her mother,” Justin had said. And Henrí was a blue-eyed little angel.

Except, of course, when he was waking everyone in the house up at 2:30 am. Justin had tucked Jaclyn back into bed and went back to bed himself, leaving Tamara to take care of the babe. The glowing numbers on the digital clock on the desk next to the couch now read 2:56 am and he was beginning to quiet down. Tamara began to hum and then to softly sing a song that was familiar to Henrí.

“Ha!” a voice said in the darkness “How do you expect the child to have peaceful dreams when you sing him something like that? He’s likely to have nightmares about falling out of trees!”

Tamara quickly turned around, looking for the source of the voice from nowhere.

“Who’s there?” she called out, fear rising in her heart, for the voice did not sound like that of her husband or daughter. When there came no reply Tamara thought that she might have just imagined it. After all, it was three in the morning and she had not received much sleep.

Henrí cooed and babbled, making little fussy noises. He had stopped crying and was just beginning to drift into slumber. Tamara returned rocking him. She mused at her own foolishness and sang her own eccentric variant of a nursery song, deciding that the lyrics could use a touch of the modern world:

“Hush, little Henrí, don’t cry so hard, Momma’s gonna use her credit card…”

“Already teaching him to become a capitalist? The values of conspicuous consumption?”

This time, Tamara knew that she heard something. She held Henrí close, her heart pounding. The voice began speaking again, this time whispering.

“You have nothing to fear from me.”

As she slowly turned around, Tamara’s eyes met the source of the voice. She nearly dropped her son. Sitting upon her living room couch was a…white German shepherd with wings? The creature was surrounded with a faint cream-white glow. Tamara blinked several times. “I really do need sleep,” she muttered.

“I am not an illusion,” the apparition stated.

“You’re not? What are you?” Tamara asked tentatively. She thought that maybe an angel of some sort was visiting her, but she had never heard or read anything about an angel taking the form of a dog.

“I am L’ayela, a wind dog. I come from another world, another dimension, if you will. My home is Rhlem, and it needs your help.”

“R-lem, R-R-Rhlem?” Tamara asked, choking on the pronunciation of the word. It had a sound almost like that of one coughing up phlegm.

“It is a world not much like this one,” L’ayela began to explain. “It is a world filled with what you would call ‘magic’. Rhlem is in a Dark age right now, and you are the one who must save it. You are the Hero – er - Heroine.”

“Heroine?” Tamara queried. “How would that be?”

“You are to come to my world, defeat the evil tyrant Warrabi, and bring about a Golden Age,” the wind dog replied, “I came here to find you for this purpose.”

“There must be a gas leak or a bottle of glue open somewhere in this room or something… or else I seriously need sleep…” Tamara muttered, holding baby Henrí close to her chest as she walked circles around the living room.

“Like I said before,” L’ayela interjected as she watched Tamara, “I am no illusion and Rhlem is real, though it is much like a dream to people of this world. No doubt you will think it so when you return from it.”

“Return from it?” Tamara asked as she turned to face the dog. As she did she found herself standing in woodland clearing, surrounded by tall trees. The white winged dog stood beside her but Henrí was gone, vanished from her grasp.

It took a moment for the shock to hit her. Her eyes widened as the realization of what had happened struck home. It was hard to breathe and she gasped for air.

“Henrí!” the young mother cried.

“He is safe,” L’ayela assured, “He was left back in your world.”

“Where are we? Send me back right now! Henrí! Henrí!”


(Still posting... stupid word limit!)

[Haibane Shadsie]

“This is Rhlem,” the dog said as she looked around where they had landed, “or, more precisely, Frensworth Forest. You have been chosen as the Heroine. You cannot go back to your world until you defeat Warrabi and bring the Age of Peace to my world. The Cycle has destined you and you cannot escape your destiny.”

“But I can’t be your Heroine or whatever!” Tamara retorted, “What will my family do without me? My son and daughter need me! My husband needs me! Take me back! Take me back NOW!”

“Not to worry about your family, my mistress,” L’ayela tried to reassure her. “When you return to your world no time will have passed. It will be as if you had never left it, no matter how much time you have spent here. You may not even remember Rhlem upon your return - if you do; it will be as if it were a dream. You will return in the same place at the same time as when you left.” She looked puzzled at the woman – even Jairrus had not been so argumentative.

“No! No!” Tamara cried in despair. “Please... I must go back! My baby needs me! My daughter... my husband.... You are out of your mind! I don’t belong here!” Tears streamed down Tamara’s face, profuse and salty. She dropped to her knees and looked up to the sky. Azure, white, and viridian swirled above her, the clouds and the leaves in the trees in a spinning, eccentric dance, echoing her mind’s confusion.

Tamara felt a frigid fear course through her, a mother’s panic. Her chest felt icy, the warmth of her child’s body, pressed against it only moments before, fading, and then gone. Her heart felt as if a rough, meaty hand was clenching it. She screamed.

L’ayela nuzzled her with her wet nose. “If it will help your adjustment to this world,” she said, “you may think of yourself as simply a dreamer, having a dream. I must take you to a friend of mine; he lives several miles from here. I will explain Rhlem and your role in it at this time as we walk. I could have transported us directly to his cavern, but you need the time and the walk to convince you of the reality of this world. Come.”

Tamara stared at her hands. Her fingers were curled and stiff, like claws, as she shook and sobbed. Henrí had been there – right there in her arms. He was gone, and, whatever the wind dog said, she did not know for sure that he was safe in his crib. She could have dropped him to the floor upon her disappearance from her living room. All she knew was that he was gone. Tamara knew she had left Jaclyn safe and sleeping soundly in her bed, but her baby – her helpless, tiny baby Henrí.... Tamara curled into a whimpering ball on the forest floor, not knowing what to do, trapped in despair and utter powerlessness.

Then, L’ayela bit her.

The woman howled in surprise and anger as she grabbed her right arm. There was no blood, but a pink bruise quickly formed on the skin.

“Snap out of it!” L’ayela demanded. Tamara glared daggers at the dog. The beast had obviously never had children, and didn’t understand.

“You’ll return to them as if you had never been here,” the animal re-iterated, “It will be as if no time had passed! Your baby is safe. Your daughter is safe. Your husband is safe. They are all safe and it will not do for you to be like this. Pull yourself together!”

Tamara stared at the German shepherd. She said, beginning calmly, but her voice rising in volume with every word; “If you do not take me home right now, mongrel, I will rip every feather from those pretty wings of yours and burn them right under your nose!”

L’ayela yelped. “I cannot do that, my mistress! You have been chosen! The passage between our worlds is closed! If I tried to take you back, the barrier would throw us both back! Please, my lady... just... think of this like a dream. You will get used to this world, trust me.”

Shaking, and trying to convince herself that she was, in reality, in bed with her husband, deeply sleeping and experiencing a dream, Tamara got up off the ground. She followed the white winged dog as it led her through the resplendently verdant forest. The trees were adorned with leaves of countless different hues of green and the very air seemed to sparkle. There was nothing else right now for her to do.

It felt to Tamara almost as if she were within a Henrí Rousseau painting, with the semi-surreal trees and ferns, their broad leaves and strange to her, and the many colors of green. There were deep, dark greens, bright yellow greens, bluish, teal greens, and even greens that looked like they were mixed with red. The forest looked to be one of a temperate climate, but had just enough of a jungle quality, and a purely dreamlike sense, to remind Tamara of the borderline surrealism of the work of the artist. She had long been a fan of his works, but, as she looked around her, she decided that she had never truly wanted to be inside the world of any of his paintings. The deep jungles of his canvasses, with their unbelievable varieties of green, portrayed something of a paradise, but also a wildness with which Tamara felt slightly uncomfortable. This forest around her gave her the same feeling – a dream and a nightmare melded into one strange thing.

Tamara was surrounded by colors she had never seen before, smelled the aromas of flowers she had never smelled before, and breathed air more fresh than she had ever tasted. She felt strange and magical and she felt a bizarre peace, unusual, she thought, for someone who had just been ripped away from her home and transported to an alien world.

The young woman was overcome with the heady smell of rotting leaf litter. The forest was fresh with the aroma of pine, providing a gentle coolness, refreshing among the thick, warm stew of fungus, wet leaves, and loam. A breeze toyed with her hair and long strands of it tickled her nose. She smoothed the stray hairs back over her head with her right hand. The weather was warm, the sun lending a comforting caress to her skin.

Tamara shivered when she stepped into shady areas. They kept the damp cold of the forests’ morning, the trees sheltering them from the late afternoon light. She breathed deeply and began to enjoy the beauty of these woods.

[Haibane Shadsie]

Still, she was an alien here, and thought of her children. She demanded of L’ayela again to send her back home, but the wind dog simply smiled a doggish grin and ignored her. Images of Henrí crying in his cradle presented themselves in her mind, of Jaclyn asking her father “Where’s mommy?” when she got up in the morning, and of Justin calling the police, worried sick about her, fearing her kidnapped, or worse. There would be one of those “Missing Persons” stories on the local news. The police might even label poor Justin as a suspect in her murder; as such things often happened when no bodies were found after a while in those cases.

Tamara jostled herself out of her reveries and snapped back to reality, a very strange reality.

“The world of Rhlem is a world of symbols and Archetypes,” L’ayela said, loudly enough to capture Tamara’s attention. “Um, to explain, our Archetypes are models, roles that people must play out. People of Rhlem are usually born into these roles. They are our destiny, and we cannot change what we are destined to be. Time in this world moves in a continual stream that is made up of Cycles. In all of our history, the Cycles have repeated. Very few records exist telling of a time before the Cycles. The way they have always worked is this: always, there would be a Golden Age of peace and prosperity followed by a time of darkness and war, only to be followed by another Golden Age.”

The dog stretched her wings and licked her lips. All this talking was making her thirsty. She smelled water up ahead on the trail she had chosen to lead her human companion. It would be a short while before they reached it. Tamara would probably need a drink by that time, too.

“Always,” the animal continued, “a Hero Archetype would come to bring an end to the Darkness Age and create the Age of Peace, which would last until he died or even several years longer under his offspring or friends. Then, always, a new age of Darkness would begin, typically with the rise of some powerful wizard or minor king.

“Usually, within a Cycle, to bring about a Golden Age, the Hero needed to defeat the Villain in battle or to beat him in a race to find some powerful object or secret. This Cycle, the Hero and their companions must search for the legendary Ruby of Kaynadala, said to give its possessor the power of Transformation.”

Tamara nodded, and grunted, not really listening. She kept her eyes on the winged dog to make herself look as though she was hanging on every word. Her mind was still on her family, her tiny Henrí, in particular. She attempted to mask her worry and to be polite.

“At this time Rhlem is in one of its periods of conflict.” L’ayela explained, “The evil tyrant-wizard, Warrabi, has risen as the head Villain Archetype of this Cycle to impose his cold and bloody rule upon the lands. His armies have taken many kingdoms and in those places, freedom and morality are all lost. Chaos reigns. We are afraid of him taking all kingdoms and subjugating all Peoples. Few are free anymore.”

“Is the Hero and a Companion…whatever…the only Archetypes you have?” Tamara asked, trying to convince herself again that she was asleep, and that this was some psychological game that her subconscious mind was conducting that she had to play out in dream in order to wake up.

“Oh, many Archetypes,” L’ayela answered, “There are soldiers of the Darkness (they are unfeeling people or creatures, and serve Villains for their own gain, or else are slaves held by some evil magic, the latter, I feel sorrow for). Then there usually is the Redeemed Soul, someone who serves the Darkness for a while, then comes to realize their error and comes to the Hero’s side, and, of course a lively assortment of Artists, Tricksters, and the like. As repetitive as my Rhlem is, it is seldom boring.

“The most important of the Archetypes to the Hero, or the Heroine, which you are,” she continued, “is the Hero’s Trainer or Teacher. They are called the same as Companions are and train the Hero in special skills. They also counsel like Companions do.”

As Tamara walked, listening to L’ayela speak of Cycles, of Heroes, of Companions and Villains, the forest seemed to grow steadily less alien to her. It was if she really belonged here, as if her real life was a dream. Am I in some sort of trance? she mused.

L’ayela wondered if this woman was truly the person who was meant to save Rhlem. I sniffed her out, she thought, she smells correct, but what if she ends up like Jairrus? Did I choose this Tamara by mistake? She has young children, for Rhlem’s sake!
The dog shook her head, trying to work out her colliding thoughts as she walked. She looked up at Tamara intently.

I really should have left her in her world... Unskilled, unschooled in combat... she’s an Earth woman who has thus far lived a gentle life. I am a disgrace! I am the failure among Companions! To make not one, but two false choosings... the Creator must despise me to give me such a confused nose.

“What’s wrong, puppy?” Tamara asked, noticing the dog’s head hanging.

Alright. L’ayela decided, I’m taking her back.

“Stand next to me.” L’ayela commanded, standing straight and serious, beginning to spread her wings. Tamara did as told, confused, but believing that it was, for the moment, the best thing to do to listen to the animal in this strange dream she was having.

The wind dog felt a tremendous sting throughout her body and was thrown to the ground with a painful howl.

“L’ayela!” Tamara cried, kneeling down to help the feathered animal, which, to her eyes, had been standing straight and still one moment, and was five feet behind her the next, hurled as if by the hand of an invisible giant.

L’ayela picked herself off the ground, shaking leaf litter from her fur and wings. “I just tried to take you home,” she said, “I was having doubts as to your Heroine status. They’ve been answered.”

“Oh.” Tamara said simply, rather in disbelief of what had just happened. She could think of no more to say. She wanted to go home, but, having decided that she was asleep, and with the sweet, balmy breezes of the forest enchanting her in a most bizarre and pleasant way, she thought that she would awaken when her alarm clock buzzed or when Henrí cried again. She and the wind dog resumed walking.

“I, as a Companion, have special abilities,” L’ayela began to inform in her pedantic way.

“Aren’t you already special?” Tamara asked, “I mean…you are a talking dog with wings!”

“I have a special ability, too,” the dog replied, “I cannot be harmed by any weapon forged of metal - weapons made by human hands. I suppose a spear tipped with stone could harm me, but I have never been unfortunate enough to find out. Swords pass through my being as if I was merely a mist or a vapor.”

Tamara nodded her head. “Um, hum,” she mumbled. L’ayela snorted. Clearly, Tamara was not listening.

“I also have the not-often used talent of passing between worlds. It exhausts me, so I use it only when necessary, like to find you.”

“How many worlds are there?” the new Heroine asked.

“I do not know. I’ve been to six besides this one, my home, including your world. It is an ability shared by all my kind, the wind dogs, unlike my immunity to forged weaponry, which is unique. Others of my kind have told tales of worlds beyond the six that I have traveled to. It is said that there is an infinite number. No one knows for sure. Your world seems central to them somehow - it was a place where a sacred event occurred.”


“A sacred event?”

“I have spoken of Archetypes, of Heroes arising from humble beginnings and ambiguous parentage to rescue Rhlem from evil. The legends say that your world once had someone similar and he, himself, was the Creator of all the worlds. He died in your world, conquering evil in the process.”

A resonance rang in Tamara’s mind. “How?” she questioned; “How would you know about something like that? I mean...you... you are an animal!“

“There are many creatures in Rhlem; you would call them ‘fantastic’, that are more than mere animals. Wind dogs are such a People. We are like humans, beings of three elements, Spirit, Mind, and Body - though we have bodies like those of animals. How the knowledge of some aspects of your world arrived in Rhlem, the specific tale has been lost with the ages, though there is certain knowledge that has existed in Rhlem since the beginning of time - Rhlem’s time and beginning.”

[Haibane Shadsie]

“Then,” L’ayela further explained, “the Cycles began. The reason for them is the same as the fact of great evil in your world. Many souls reject the ancient knowledge to set out to create their own truths, which are not truth. That is why head Villains rise and why Heroes must arise to put Rhlem back into balance. Otherwise, Darkness would take over and last forever. Many fear that the Darkness is close to doing that, conquering over light and peace in Rhlem.”

A weird expression lined Tamara’s face as L’ayela attempted to explain the dynamics of Rhlem. They were things that were going to take this woman from Earth more than a scant few hours to understand.

“The Golden Ages have been growing shorter and the Ages of Darkness and war longer. It is thought that the various servants of Darkness have been coming into the possession of more of Rhlem’s magic as of recent Cycles and causing the Darkness to grow stronger. Some wind dogs have left to other worlds, other creatures and people with them, fearing the end of Rhlem.”

“You are the first wind dog I have seen in my world,” Tamara stated, almost laughing at the strangeness of her situation, speaking with a talking dog with wings, but restraining herself due to the gravity of the conversation topic.

“Because I allowed myself to be seen by you. If any others of my kind had immigrated to Earth, they would be cunning and remain unseen by human eyes. They would be like the wind.”

L’ayela suggested that she and Tamara stop to rest. L’ayela was much worn from her world leaping that day, bringing Tamara with her. Tamara was herself quite exhausted, having not slept for more than an hour due to the needs of her infant son before being torn away to this alien world. L’ayela continued to chat on, particularly about Heroes and Companions past. She spoke on about such grand names as Thwinkey the Woodswoman, Fpherrus the Unicorn Stallion, and her namesake, the human L’ayela of Lazario. She re-iterated to Tamara that Rhlem was real and that she was not going home until she had accomplished her destiny, but doubted the young woman believed it yet.

As she lay down upon a bed of thick moss between two trees next to her wind dog Companion, Tamara mused about her confusing situation. What does one dream about when one is already within a dream world? Tamara, at this point, decided that the way to escape this dream and to go back to reality, where her husband and children awaited her, was to simply go to sleep within this world. Of course! she thought, It’s so simple!

The winged dog and woman slept into the afternoon. At least, Tamara tried to sleep. She found herself waking up every fifteen minutes or so, very used to having to awaken to tend Henrí. She felt horrible. She wanted to escape, but her mind would not allow her to. L’ayela awoke, refreshed. Tamara remained tired and haggard.

L’ayela tried further to explain the Cycles, Archetypes, and magic of Rhlem along the path. She elaborated on her role as the Companion, Tamara’s protector and guide. She explained on a deeper level the Hero’s Trainer, who, for this Cycle was Ara Macau, and her friendship with him. .

“He is an ancient man who was a brave warrior and he possesses the ability to communicate with birds. He is a rather gruff man, but I’m sure you will come to like him soon after you meet him. He’s generous, kind, and a rather easy man to like. He will further teach you more of your role as the Heroine here and will train you in the skills necessary to fulfill it.”



[End of Chapter Post]

Read and Review!

[MillyFan]

This is great. Absolutely great. I love it. Send me the book when you get published.

[true_noir_chloe]

You've made me a fan. I love your story, Shadsie. It's really good.

[Photosoph]

That's so cool! I realise you posted this a while ago... have you managed to publish it or anything yet? If so, I would really like to find your book and read the entire thing!

[Esoteric]

It is very well written. I'm impressed with it. You must have been polishing it for quite some time.