Garren, chapter 1

Garren gazed out at the tops of the trees below him. Autumn had turned the emerald patches of leaves of the summertime into a magnachromatic quilt. The forest around him was painted with an array of crimson, gold, fire-orange and amber hues. Admiring the view, Garren took a deep breath, ingesting the familiar scent of the leaves in this part of the forest. It reminded him of a mix between fresh cinnamon and tea, and the aroma was much stronger as a result of an autumn rain that had left the leaves damp.

“Garren!”

The shout came from behind him. Garren peered through the corner of his eye to see the aged yet athletic figure of his teacher standing behind him, arms folded across his chest. Taking a closer look, Garren noticed that instead of the warm, beaming smile he was used to, the middle-aged man wore a saddened frown of concern. “A storm is coming. You must get inside.”

Not saying a word, Garren humbly turned and headed back the way he came before he had stopped to take a glimpse at the valley. The sky on the horizon was blacker than a raven’s feather, and the ominous clouds that were headed in their direction resembled shadowy demons. Garren wondered what brewed within the black cauldron of a storm in the distance. He had never seen such a storm before; his teacher, Denmont, had always kept him away whenever they came. However, he did come to learn that the storms were magical, and this time he wanted to see for himself.

Garren stopped, and turned to face Denmont, whose vacant expression showed he was lost in thought looking at the distant storm. “Master Denmont, I want to watch the storm.” He looked at Denmont for an answer. Garren hoped Denmont would say yes, though part of him knew what his answer would be.

Denmont sighed. “I knew this day would come.” He saw the curiosity in Garren’s young mahogany eyes. “You may watch the storm, provided you watch it from where I tell you to and stay there until the storm is over.” Holding back his excitement, Garren indicated with a nod that he understood.

The first boom of thunder roared throughout the land, ripping through the peaceful silence. Garren and Denmont dashed through the brush of the forest, hurrying to beat out the rainfall. “In here.” Denmont pointed to a small cave that was surrounded by thorn bushes and brambles. He kicked the bushes aside to make enough room to get inside.

Garren ducked into the cave, almost slipping on the steep angle of the slope. As he felt the smooth, round edge of the circular cave, Garren noticed it was man-made.

Denmont crawled inside shortly afterward. “From here we can see the storm while avoiding the rain and lightning.”

“What is it about the rain that is so dangerous?” Garren wondered. This would be the moment he had waited for since he learned years ago about the storms being magical. He would finally know what properties the storms had.

“I’m not sure exactly,” Denmont replied. Garren frowned in disappointment. “But I’ve heard that it dissolves human flesh, biting away at the skin. No one has survived the storm to say what it does.”

Another thunderclap rumbled, much closer this time, followed by violent rustling of leaves. Garren watched the treetops sway as though they were trying to escape the storm but were bound by their roots. When the rain started to pour, it sounded like the rain was causing the booms of thunder itself, beating upon tree, stone and ground with great force.

Garren continued to peer through the cave entrance at the blackening sky. His eyes were fixed on the dark clouds, which bubbled and churned with destructive magic. He lost himself in watching the storm, unaware of his surroundings. Looking around, he noticed that he was no longer in the cave, but in a magnificent castle courtroom. A tall, thin but strong-looking young man, who appeared to be about nineteen years of age — two years his elder — was seated on a marble bench not far from where he stood. The man paid no attention to him, and stared into the distance with a troubled look on his face.

Looking around further, Garren observed two individuals enter the room he was in, dressed in a manner that distinguished them as a king and queen. Both had bright red hair, as if their heads were on fire. The queen’s face however, was pale and sickly looking. The king wore a shiny golden circlet and a purple robe that was lined with white-leopard fur. Atop the queen’s head rested a circlet identical to the one the king wore, and she was dressed in a sparkly pale blue dress. They whispered among themselves, but Garren couldn’t make out what they were saying. He also noticed that the man on the bench only glanced at the couple for a moment before returning to his brooding stare.

“Tar-in.” It sounded as though the king had called his name, but it didn’t sound right.

“The name is Garren.” Everything went blurry, and Garren could hear his name repeated, and the voice of the king sounded more like Denmont’s voice.

Shaking his head and blinking his eyes to clear the visions from his mind, Garren noticed that he was back in the cave, but he was lying down. Denmont leaned over him, feeling his forehead with the back of his hand. “I thought I lost you, Garren. You grew deathly pale, as though your life was being drained from you. But I can see the color returning to your cheeks now.” The old man smiled, the image bringing a smile to Garren’s own lips.

Garren quickly sat up. “Is the storm over?”

“Yes, the storm has passed. I thought the storm had sucked the life from you. What happened?”

Garren described the vision he had seen, telling Denmont about the castle, the king and queen, the young man and the name “Tarin.” Denmont listened to Garren’s depiction of the details he had described so vividly. “Very strange, but this isn’t the first time that something like this has happened.”

“It’s not? Tell me, when did this happen before?” Garren’s curiosity peaked again.

“You were about seven years old, and you were playing by the river. You told me that you had seen an old woman running from something. You described everything about this woman in vivid detail: what she looked like, what she wore, and you said she held a baby in her arms. I never saw the woman, and discounted the idea, thinking you were only playing.”

Garren stopped and pondered. He couldn’t remember having such a vision. Climbing out of the cave, Garren looked around for any remnants of the storm, but to no avail. The sky was as blue and clear. The storm had come and passed like a dream.

A new blackness began to darken the sky: the blackness of night. “Come, Garren. If we leave now, we can get home while there is still light.” Denmont looked at his student, seeing the pride in Garren’s eyes and smile.

Garren followed closely behind Denmont as they headed deeper into the forest. Night was coming faster than they expected. They stopped at a dilapidated cabin in the middle of a small clearing. The roof was full of holes, all of which were covered by pieces of thick oiled hide to keep the rain and insects out. There was only one door, and all the windows were boarded up. But this was home and Garren was glad to be back.

The cabin was filled with darkness when Denmont and Garren stepped inside. Denmont removed a lantern from its hook next to the door, and lit the oiled wick inside of it. Once the room was basked in the brightness of the lantern, Garren curled up on a canvas futon in the far corner of the cabin.

That night sleep eluded Garren. He lay on his futon trying to keep his eyes closed, his mind lingering on the image of the king and queen. The queen, sick and pale as she was, still had a beauty about her that Garren wanted to see again. The king, on the other hand, had a regal appearance that Garren disliked about him. Garren didn’t care much for royalty, and if it weren’t for the queen’s beauty, he wouldn’t have liked her either.

And then there was the young man who neither spoke nor showed any emotion. Garren wondered as to the significance of this man in his vision, but then again, he couldn’t find any significance to any part of it. Nothing made sense about it. Why did he have his vision during the storm? Was it one of the storms magical properties that caused him to blank out and envision what he did? The questions burned in his mind, making more difficult for him to fall asleep.

The next morning, a weary Garren awoke to find Denmont nowhere in sight. This was uncommon for a man who believed in following a solid routine. Garren sat down at a long wooden table in the middle of the room, where a meal had already been set for him. The lack of sleep must have caused a big change in his appetite, for he ate twice as fast as normal. Stuffing a chunk of dark bread into his mouth followed by a swallow of porridge, Garren hoped Denmont would soon return from wherever he was.

As though his mind had been read, Denmont entered just as Garren swallowed his mouthful. “Morning, Garren! I was just browsing the forest for any after-effects of the storm, and found this.” Denmont pulled out a long, sharp-bladed dagger. The hilt was made of a black metal and was studded with tiny emeralds.

“Where did you find it?” Garren's eyes widened at the sight of the weapon.

“It was by the river, lying near pile of bones. Looking closer, I noticed that the bones were human.” Denmont pondered a moment. Garren knew exactly what he was thinking. “This dagger must have belonged to an unfortunate traveler who couldn’t escape the storm. Well, it can’t do him any more good now.” Denmont removed his own dagger from the sheath on his belt, and replaced it with the new black one.

Leaning back in his chair, Garren’s vision grew cloudy. He was back out in the forest, and the storm was coming again. Denmont was with him, and they were running to escape the storm, which approached them faster than they could run from it. Denmont stumbled on a tree root, and fell to the ground. Not turning back to save him, Garren kept running. “Garren!” Denmont’s voice rang in Garren’s ears. He looked back to see Denmont flailing on the ground, soaked in rain and swimming in his rotting flesh.

“Garren!” He heard Denmont’s voice again, only closer and more distinct. He felt someone shaking him from behind, and awoke from oblivion back in his home. “It’s another of those visions again. You’re starting to scare me, Garren. You must stop doing that!”

Rising from his chair, Garren shook off the remnants of his vision. He knew he couldn’t help his ability. What did Denmont know anyway? Saying nothing, Garren stomped out of the cabin.

The cool autumn air filled Garren’s lungs as he took a deep breath. He looked over at a tree stump that stood near the side of the cabin. It was his favorite place to sit alone and think. He wanted to spend his day sitting there looking at the forest, but his exercises came first.

The first exercise in Garren’s routine trained him in the art of being a pickpocket. Denmont was a thief, and had taken Garren under his training because of his age. One day when he was old enough, Denmont told him when he was younger, he would be taken into the village to operate.

Denmont had constructed a dummy dressed in a leather jerkin that had been lined with several bells on it. The object of this exercise was to remove a bauble that was hidden somewhere in one of the many pockets of the jerkin without ringing a single bell. Garren was never quite good at this exercise, always managing to ring at least one bell. Giving up after several failed attempts, Garren continued his exercises.

Denmont had also posted a marker one and a half miles from the cabin, a total running distance of three miles for the round trip. This was Garren’s favorite part of the routine. He loved to run, and his legs carried him over long distances before tiring. Denmont was always pleased to see Garren’s agility and endurance whenever he would watch Garren run.

During his run, while on the way to the marker, Garren noticed someone hiding in the bushes off to the side of the trail. Garren stopped, and carefully approached the bushes where the person hid. “What are you looking at?” he shouted.

“I was looking for my father, and heard someone running. I thought you were him.” A young adolescent rose from the bushes, brushing himself off. He was much taller and sturdier than Garren was. His blond hair fell to his shoulders like a golden waterfall. On his belt he wore a short copper sword. “Sorry for startling you. My name is Malvor.” Malvor held his hand out to Garren, a boyish grin on his face.

Garren shook his hand. “I’m Garren, and I’m training to become a thief.” He pulled out his dagger and twiddled it through his fingers in a way known only by thieves. Malvor only laughed.

“Combat is the better way to go, my friend. Why use your speed to run from a fight when you can use your hands and win it?” As he said this, Malvor flexed his arm muscles. Garren flexed his own and sighed, disappointed by the result. Malvor laughed even harder. “Well, Garren, I must continue the search for my father. Maybe our paths will cross again in the future.”

After exchanging good-byes, Malvor departed into the dark part of the forest while Garren sprinted off toward the marker. He hoped that Denmont would not be worried or disappointed at his lateness on his run.

* * *

“As I was on my run, I met this fellow named Malvor who was looking for his father. If it wasn’t for the way he was dressed, he looked like he could be one of the king’s warriors.” Garren sipped at the mug of apple cider that Denmont had prepared.

“What did I tell you about that, Garren? I want you to stop daydreaming with those visions of yours, and keep your feet on the ground where they belong.” Denmont wagged his finger at Garren.

Garren couldn’t take this. It was twice in one day that Denmont had reprimanded him, and the second time wasn’t even really about a vision. He stood up and bolted outside into the night air, despite Denmont’s shouts.

Normally he would have gone to the tree stump, but it was too close. Denmont would have seen him. Garren headed for the river instead, not thinking twice that Denmont might find him here just as well. Garren kicked himself in his mind, realizing that he hadn’t taken anything to see in the dark with. The lantern was used to light the cabin, and he had no flint or tinder to make a torch. He had to rely on the moonlight to light his way to the river.

As he looked at the pale white light of the moon, he thought of the queen. He felt just as sick as she looked in his vision, and he wished she would be there with him. He imagined her walking through the woods along with him, talking to him soothingly.

“Garren?” The voice came from the bushes. Garren looked around, but saw no one. Taking a closer look into one of the shrubs, Garren noticed a pair of eyes staring at him. He reached into the shrub, and grabbed someone by the scruff of his collar. The figure rose, and Garren could tell by the burly form of his eavesdropper that it was Malvor.

“Always in the bushes, aren’t you, Malvor?” Garren couldn’t hold back a chuckle. He released his grip on Malvor’s collar. “What are you watching me for this time? You can’t still be looking for your father.”

“I saw you running from your cabin, and you look like you need someone to talk to.” Though Malvor smiled at him, Garren read loneliness on his face. After a long pause, Malvor spoke again. “I found my father. He is dead — the storm got to him.” Malvor bit his lip then turned his head away from Garren to hide his tears. At this moment, Malvor seemed like a entirely different person then the one Garren first encountered.

Garren didn’t know what to say. He didn’t have a father of his own, even though Denmont was like a father figure to him. “My teacher, Denmont, will look after you as he has me. Come with me to the cabin.” Garren started back in the direction of the cabin, not looking to see whether or not Malvor was following him.

“I appreciate your concern, but I can’t go with you.”

Garren stopped in mid-step, and turned to face Malvor. The blond-haired adolescent had already started walking in the opposite direction, his head bowed to the ground. He stopped only long enough to speak. “I can’t depend on anyone. I am a man of the forest, and can fend for myself. I don’t need anyone’s help.”

Garren thought of saying, “Suit yourself,” but refrained, for it would only cause Malvor more pain. He knew there was nothing he could do for his friend but let him decide his own fate. Garren watched as Malvor slowly hiked through the bushes into the forest.

After moments of pondering, Garren realized that he also should be returning. He expected a long tirade from Denmont about storming out and then being late. On his way back to the cabin, Garren thought about what he would say. He stepped into the cabin, seeing Denmont fast asleep, and faked a smile as he crawled onto his futon.

That night, Garren had trouble sleeping. Dark clouds filled his mind, swirling around him. Burning rain stung his shoulders and face. As he tried to run in this dream, Garren continually found himself stumbling and tripping on his own feet. Strangely, everything about the storm in this vision was silenced. He tried to open his mouth to scream, but his voice box failed him.

Garren awoke from his hallucination cold and sweaty. He looked around the cabin, a strange feeling that something was different. Denmont still slept on his own futon in the other corner of the room, and all the windows were boarded as usual. Garren curled up again on his futon and waited until he drifted back to sleep.

* * *

The next day, Garren couldn’t remove his dream about the storm from his mind. He spent the morning at the tree stump, intent on trying to interpret all his visions up to this point. He thought of the king and queen, and the apathetic man, and of himself and Denmont caught in the storms. Each element of his images was like a puzzle to him, and thought of every meaning and connection he thought possible.

After moments of pondering, Garren jumped up with a start. “I know now!” he exclaimed to himself. “A storm is going to drive Denmont and myself from here and we will meet someone who will not care about our problems, and we will seek out the king and queen, who will help us.” Garren smiled, pleased with his ‘cleverness’.

He knew he couldn’t tell Denmont, or else he’d hear another one of his lectures about how he must keep his feet on the ground. Lately, Garren realized that he had been acting differently toward Denmont. Over the fifteen years he remembered being under Denmont’s care, he never acted this way in front of the man. It wasn’t that he didn’t love or respect Denmont any less, but Garren felt as though he was becoming a hindrance to his life.

Garren headed off to do his exercises. He hoped that Malvor would be lurking about as usual, so the two could chat, but the forest was empty. Garren assumed Malvor had finally accepted his father’s loss and moved on. Lonely again, he imagined the queen there in the forest with him, watching him train and praising his efforts.

He approached the bell-dummy, eager to remove the bauble this time. Quickly, he reached his hand into every pocket, twisting his arm in different contortions to avoid ringing the bells. In one of the lower pockets he fished out the bauble, and not a single bell had rung. Garren couldn’t believe his feat.

Someone clapped behind him. He turned around to see Denmont standing there, a wide and bright smile beneath his grayish-brown beard. “Well done, my boy. I knew you’d get it someday.” He walked up to Garren, and patted his back. A warm sense of accomplishment settled in Garren’s heart. “Come, let’s celebrate your success with a big dinner.” Smiling, Garren followed Denmont on his way back to the cabin.

“Master Denmont, when do you think the next storm is going to come?”

“We never know when Lord Multan will summon another one of those nasty storms.”

“He has us all suffer enough under his tyrannical rule. Why does he plague us further with storms?” Garren had broken a hanging branch off a tree, and flung it at the bushes.

“Who knows? Ever since that bastard started learning that black magic, his mind has been turned to evil.”

Garren remembered the story of Lord Multan, who was the younger brother of the former king, Griard. Multan disappeared for some time, returning with some ‘new knowledge.’ Griard feared that Multan’s new power would defile everything the kingdom stood for, and had him imprisoned. Instead, Multan used his magic to escape and kill King Griard. Multan pronounced Griard’s sons, who both had disappeared shortly after the king’s death, as dead and therefore he proclaimed himself High Lord. It was Multan that killed the sons, Garren grumbled in his mind. If I ever meet him I’ll run him through.

All throughout the richly cooked dinner of deer meat (which Denmont had killed himself), bread, fruit and cheese, Garren thought about telling Denmont about his recent visions and his interpretation of them. He decided to keep mum, for he didn’t want to ruin the occasion.

“So, Garren, you haven’t been having those daydreams of yours, have you?” Denmont’s question startled Garren, causing him to choke on a bite of bread.

Garren cleared his throat. “No, I haven’t.” After saying it, Garren was a bit disappointed in himself for lying, but he knew that it was the answer Denmont wanted to hear.

“Good. You see, I told you that you would do a lot better if you kept your head out of the clouds.”

* * *

Excitement shook Garren from his sleep early the next morning, long before dawn. He rose from his futon with a quick start and rushed outside to watch the sunrise. He sat on the tree stump and gazed up the sky, watching the stars that would soon fade into the coming morning.

Night diminished and the sky became filled with the vivid colors of the rising sun. Though this beautiful sight usually elated him, Garren’s heart weakened. The next storm was coming today, and Garren could already feel it in the distance. He still wished he could tell Denmont about his last vision, but the old man’s words had rejected his common sense. Besides, it would be Denmont’s own fault for not believing him.

Garren shook the thoughts from his mind. He heard footsteps, and turned to see Malvor behind him, grinning. “Aye, Garren. By yourself at your tree as usual, I see.” Malvor sat on the grass next to him.

“Another storm is coming, and I’m going to sit here and wait until it comes.” Garren slapped the ground nearby and nodded.

“If you don’t mind a companion, I’ll wait here too.” Malvor hugged his legs, and rested his chin between his knees. Garren laughed. Malvor would say, ‘If you don’t mind’ when he knew that Garren would not ordinarily approve. But in fact, Garren did want some company, though it was he queen he really wanted to be there with him.

The whole of the morning was very uneventful, and the sky was still and cloudless. Garren grew tired of sitting and waiting, but he wanted to be around when the storm came. Malvor, on the other hand, was busy sharpening his blade with a whetstone, humming gently. It wasn’t long before the two were singing in a round of sleepy chorus.

“Garren! Come here!” Their singing was interrupted by the demanding shouts coming from inside. Garren stomped off toward the cabin, wondering what Denmont wanted this time.

“Garren, I’m worried about you. You’ve been spending a lot of time with that imaginary friend of yours, and not enough time training. Up in the morning early the past few days, alone at that stump. I could tell last night you had had another one of those ‘visions’ of yours. So you lied to me. What has gotten into you?”

Garren sighed. “Nothing is wrong with me, Master Denmont. You just don’t understand me, and I doubt you ever will.” Garren stormed out. No one could understand him, not even Malvor, who was his best friend. Garren wished he had someone he could relate to — someone who was like him.