"Legends of Caranor: Prologue" by Maleah Schmitke

Tales of Caranor

Prologue

She dreamed. The world above her home in the deep of the earth trembled. Violence spilled over the mountains of the west, driven by hatred and lust for power, but also something deeper. -- Something far more dangerous. A strange people came, a strange people with strange gods who sought only to subjugate the peoples of the ancient lands of Caranor and bring them under their dominion.

She dreamed. The new ones were many, their magics powerful, their fear of everything they couldn't understand ever more powerful. The ancient children of the Many Gods fell. They many Centres were overthrown. The people of the New Gods triumphed. The lands of the Old Kind was taken and made to serve the people of the west.

She dreamed. The Menni remained, overthrown but not destroyed. They clung to their ancient ways, even away from their ancient Centres. They faded into the wilds, refusing to be subject to strangers in their land. They sought ways to take back what was theirs, but the Menni were not so easily united. Alliances crumbled soon after they were made and with each passing year the One Kingdom grew stronger, the people of the Mother and Father more numerous.

Her dreams shifted. She saw the winged ones, children of wing and fang and claw and scale. She saw them fight their own battles against both sides. The people of the Mother and Father reviled them, the Menni feared them. They called the winged ones monsters, demons that must be destroyed. Into the mountains they fled, pushed out of forest and glen by fear and hatred. Many were killed, many lost dear ones. So much fear and hate made the world above weep and wail. She shuddered and stirred and then eyes as pale blue as ice snapped open wide to the dark. The sound of tumbling stones still echoed. She lifted her head and listened -- a whimper in the dark. She rose from her stony bed and arched her back in a stretch. The smell of blood permeated the air, even here, not fresh but old and filled with fear from ages long past. So, she had dreamed true dreams in her deep hall.

She moved in silence through the caverns, seeking the intruder she knew was there. Near the ancient entrance, nearly closed now by the movement of the land through the ages, she saw the streak of a beam of light and a figure there cowering. Curious, she drew closer. The figure heard and was on its feet, now facing her, dark eyes wide and frightened, pale hair a wretched mess, wings partially unfurled as if to fly in an instant. A child of the winged ones, she knew, though boy or girl she knew not. She met the astonishing dark eyes of this otherwise pale child and held it in her gaze so that it would not flee. It became still, trapped in her gaze as it was, and she snaked her tail forward to wrap it gently around the small body. Her touch immediately broke her spell, but surprisingly the child neither screamed nor fought, though she felt the tiny body tense. She studied the small creature curiously.

"Where are your parents?" she then asked. The child’s eyes grew wide at hearing her speak, but the child did not cower.

"Gone…dead." She knew what that meant for this child.

"Do others seek you?"

"Only bad people." A pity, no parents and none who cared.

"Then you may stay with me, child of the winged ones. I am Serrafyna."

Note: in the old languages of Caranor 'y' is a vowel and sounds similar to 'ee'.