The Last Guardians #1

[Jareena Faye]

Hey guys. Um. I need constructive criticism. And I feel like a real jerk asking for it, because I've been gone for months. And have I helped any of YOU in the time being? I think not. Ergh. But, here's the introduction, on my blind hope that you'll read it.

 

In early spring on a moonlit night

Wandered the she-wolf alone,

When there appeared in her sight

A baby, chilled to the bone.

 

Weakly it cried, for it had no food,

A lonely two-year-old child

Who had seemed of slow wit, so her parents did choose

To leave her alone in the wild.

 

Many a convict, orphan and outcast

Had been left in that wood,

For the men of the village thought no one could outlast

Its treach’ry, like the animals could.

 

However, the beasts were not all really beasts

But creatures all their own,

Who, created to look like their dumb counterparts,

Were more than flesh alone

 

For this she-wolf and all of her fathers before

Were bearers of the tale

That one would come from the desert so scorched,

And he who followed would prevail

 

Against all villains and forces and powers,

Against the world's most evil core!

He would flatten the mountains and raise up the valleys

And draw back the sea from the shores.

 

That night, there was something about the young child

That she hesitated to devour her.

Perhaps 'twas her look, or her scent, or the wild

Stubbornness in her nature.

 

But the wolf was determined to go tell the fowls,

The cougars, the rodents, the bears,

The last of the wolves, and the last of the owls,

To come, to see and to share.

 

Long did they hope, and wait, and watch

While their livelihood dwindled away.

They spoke of the stories and spoke with the child,

As their elders died day by day.

 

Years later the men came, the men came again,

Setting fire to their forest land.

Out of fear they wiped out the last of the guardians,

And took the child back again.

 

A sad, sad song still moans through the pines

Of the black wood, the song of the chosen

Who died as, even then, they sighed

For the power that could never be broken.

[Gwaihir]

Moved to the Banquet Room

 

Re-Moved to the Assembly Room, since, despite the poem introduction, the body of this is planned to be a story. Jareena, you might want to edit your first post a bit to make it clear that a prose piece will follow the poem.

~Yui

Edited March 16, 2004 by Yui-chan

[Jareena Faye]

Oooh... sorry....

[Matteo]

Most criticism fro poetry is purely in convention, alot of the 'getting better' comes from personal progress.

 

There is one thing I'll contribute to convention though; keep a close eye on your metre. You've got the beats right, but they're a bit rushed in some cases.

 

Overall a well written poem though, I enjoyed it thoroughly

[Jareena Faye]

Will the stereotypes never end? Nope! I'm going to the max!

My apoligies for the length.

 

1. Inhabitants of the Black Wood

 

Billowing clouds hooded the stars. Lightening tore down the sky, illuminating for one moment the sprouts of rice planted across the farmland. Torrents of rain splashed on a cobblestone courtyard and the three-story cottage before it. On the lowest level, cold but secure in a dank and dripping cellar, slept the slaves.

 

All but one.

 

Shanai had taken her time in rolling out of bed, as soon as the rest of the household was most certainly asleep. She was barely a young woman, but her conduct made her seem much older. Her black hair had been carelessly chopped short. Her mouth was a dark, tight line, her face stony, her eyes full of disdain and distrust. She was changing into the trousers of a farm boy, the shoes of a small man, and a tough leather jerkin, all of them stolen.

 

As she quietly slipped on the jerkin over her thin, threadbare shirt, Shanai took one last look at her only friend in the world. Adella. When she had first come there as a slave, everyone had been afraid of her. Most showed it by avoiding her--- the free men showed it by abusing her ---but Adella had been kind. Adella had given her a chance.

 

Now, without a good-bye, Shanai was leaving her.

 

Although there was not a place in that country where solemn, stifling rule was inflicted upon the weak, it was not so much a longing of freedom that caused her to go. In fact, the thought of her only friend would have been enough to make her hesitate; but the caravans arrived in the morning. With them came cloth, oil, riches, and numerous slaves, with nearly everything and every-one for sale. When the caravans left, they took with them different forms of art and different food, and different slaves. Shanai was destined to be one of them, to disappear into the desert lands.

 

She knew she would never be able to bear it. Working here was hard enough on her stubborn spirit, but to be chained to a long caravan all day, walking, never to see a tree again and never knowing what lay ahead, would be enough to make her want to die. No one had ever shown her a better alternative, except the obvious: to run.

 

Silently, for she was almost always silent, Shanai climbed the short, sinking steps of the slave quarters. Then the door opened and the air grew colder. She was charging through the rain across the courtyard. Slippery stones failed to hinder her. Ahead lay a dark building with firm walls and a curved roof. She could smell it already. The stable.

 

Inside, the sweet scent of wood chips, spring rain, and alfalfa hay were mingled with those of wet fur and fresh manure. A leak in the ceiling dripped onto a pair of gray work horses, who blinked sleepily as Shanai lit a lantern. In a nearby stall was the hunting stallion, Brickets, who raised his creamy head and grunted, stomping his hooves.

 

Brickets was a wild thing. Shanai had made him so. As a secret vengeance against her captors, she had always been spiteful to the expensive steed, abusing it when no one was looking until it was perfectly paranoid and very fidgety. Now, that act of treachery would backfire.

 

A peal of thunder crackled outside. Brickets arced his neck and whinnied shrilly. Only the snarling sky could drown the enraged horse's scream. Hooves pawed the bed of his stall. Mane tossed indignantly.

 

Shanai scowled at the animal and bit back a stern rebuke. She had always been frustrated by the fact that no amount of reasoning could get an animal to do what she wished. Tonight would have to be different, she thought, as she quickly scanned the stable for anything else she might steal away with her. Unfortunately, she didn't know how it possibly could be.

 

When she had led Brickets to the door, saddled and bridled, he looked out at the storm and abruptly stopped. Snorting, he refused move any further, terrified of the lightning. Shanai pulled at the reins with all her strength, but he flattened his ears and stood his ground like a mule.

 

Shanai sighed angrily and gave up. The horse proudly raised his head, fidgeting slightly as she climbed into his saddle. Bending over the horse's neck and trying to breathe evenly, she waited. The rain drummed on the roof, equally drumming on her nerves. Her hands gripped and regripped the reins.

 

The horizon pulsed! Seconds later thunder reached their ears, and she plunged her heels into the horse's sides. It screamed, jolted by both the noise and the pain, and bounded out of the stable, into the downpour.

 

Immediately they were at a gallop. The slave girl tried to move up and down rhythmatically, with the body beneath her, but still her inexperience left her brain feeling rattled in the wild run. Shanai could almost sense the animal's anger as he galloped across the cobblestones. Ahead stood a stone wall, quickly approaching. One pace away, the horse jolted to a stop, bending its front legs and leaning forward. Shanai was nearly thrown onto her head. She held fast, and with a jerk of the reins brought him to his feet.

 

A dim light glimmered in the window behind her. The farmer had awakened. Shanai turned Brickets around, and he obligingly trotted toward the stable again. Then she stopped him, her heart beating, and urged him toward the wall. Her own fear of the slave master was enough to motivate him. He broke into a gallop. They gained speed. Moments away from the wall, the rider shifted her weight and urged him upward. He took the signal. He jumped.

 

There was a rush of wind as they sailed out and upward. Shanai sucked her breath in sudden panic. The horse felt her fear and twisted in their descent, landing clumsily on the ground beyond the wall.

 

The steed knelt in the mud. He snorted once more. Shanai, looking back, yanked the reins urgently, and he pulled himself together, skittering from side to side, rearing and snorting. Shanai knew that she was barely in control of him, if at all. Nervously he crossed the dirt road that led to the village, and were soon moving over grass.

 

Shanai looked out at the muddy bog stretching before her. Barely visible in the darkness, a black line of trees awaited at the other side. She looked over her shoulder again at the plantation wall, still fearful that any moment some one would realize she was gone, and pursue.

 

Then, resolving to never be afraid again, Shanai sat up straight and urged the horse forward. Another flash of light illuminated them. Then, as they moveds, darkness swallowed them again.

 

 

 

THE NEXT MORNING was cold, gray, misty, and where there was enough light, just slightly gold and green. Rain water still dripped from the tree branches, cold like everything else. Pine and cedar and fir grew all around, their dark branches wound tightly together. There was hardly anything that could be considered colorful, save the patches of moss growing here or there. The Black Wood was very old, and almost everything was dead. Few of the original inhabitants still survived there. Some were monsters. Some were the monsters' prey. And two were a pair of old hermits.

 

One of these hermits was awakening now. Raising his gray head to yawn, Ashlang Akeb blinked the sleep from his eyes and looked at his surroundings, instantly alert. The previous night he had been forced to seek better shelter from the storm, and now found himself in a small cave created by several old boulders that had fallen just so, he didn't know how many years ago. A curtain of moss and vine hung over the entrance. Making his way outside, he couldn't pass them without getting wet.

 

When he had done so, however, Ash stood perfectly still and surveyed his surroundings again with the slow, careful gaze of one who had plenty of time. All was as he had expected it to be. There came no birdsong, no sound at all except the occasional wind breathing on the trees. The last of the mist was melting away. Sniffing the air, he could detect no hint of smoke. That was good enough for him.

 

Ash set out to find his companion, Webki Deniwa. For the last ten years, they had been friends. Neither were very opinionated or vocal, and that was what they liked about each other. Sometimes they spoke of the old stories of their people. Sometimes they went their separate ways to find food. And sometimes they were content to simply sit together, looking out at the trees that had grown so fast, and remembering.

 

It was hard to believe this tree was only ten years old, Ash admitted, as he came upon the towering, twisted fir, the branches of which Webki could often be found in. Having not heard his friend's call of greeting, however, Ash surmised that he was not there, and traveled southward, toward the edge of the forest. Very soon he could smell the distant mud of the swamplands... and something else... and there came noises, as well. A deep foreboding swelled in his chest as he drew nearer.

 

"Ash. I was about to fetch you."

 

Ash could not see source of the whisper, but he knew it had been Webki. Crouching low, he wound his way through the thick brush silently. He did not ask what was wrong. He knew.

 

Soon he found he was under the low-hanging branch on which Webki was perched. Directly before them was a horse, muddy, too tired even to graze the sparse grass sprouting at its hooves. Beside it was a small pile of provisions, and beyond that a girl in men's clothing. She was trying, despite her obvious fatigue and the dampness of their surroundings, to start a fire.

 

As the last guardians, Ash and Webki knew it was their responsibility to keep unworthy outsiders far away from the Black Wood. It was why they lived so close to its edge. And as the last guardians, they remembered the fire. They knew that whenever the men beyond the swamps grew so afraid of them so as to become brave, the men would come, and burn their land again. It was all they had left now, and they were fiercely protective of it.

 

They did not care who it was who sat before them. It did not matter if she was a woman or a man, or a child, a slave. They were to either frighten her away, or kill her, whichever she made the easiest.

 

"The unworthy tread upon our grounds again," Ash whispered gruffly, confident that he wouldn't be heard. His fierce eyes were fixed scornfully upon the muddy creatures before him.

 

"We have been preparing for this moment," Webki said. He shuffled his feet, edgy. "We often made plans. Which one shall we put into play?"

 

"Perhaps---"

 

"It senses something. Stay hushed."

 

The guardians fell silent as they watched the girl. She had given up on the fire rather abruptly, and her eyes lifted to search the forest, wide and fearful. She barely even seemed to breathe.

 

"It's afraid," Webki said.

 

"Perhaps it can hear us through magic," Ash suggested.

 

Shanai spoke then. Her voice was wobbly at first, then forceful, though the forest, like a blanket, seemed to swallow her voice. "Who's out there?"

 

"It cannot see us," Webki said confidently.

 

"I can hear you fools talking!" Shanai cried indignantly. "Show yourselves!"

 

Ash and Webki looked at one another, dumbfounded. This was the last surprise they would have expected, that she could hear them. They could hardly believe it. Finally, it was Ash who made the first move. Striding forward on all fours, he passed gracefully through the thorns--- a giant gray wolf with white markingss. Strong, majestic, calm. Dangerous.

 

"You can hear us?" he asked evenly, with a level of surprise most would not have detected.

 

“A guardian!” Shanai sat stiffly with her back to the tree, her mouth hanging open. "But you're dead!" she breathed.

 

Webki fluttered into view, circling down on the silent wings of an owl. As he descended, colors of brown and cream and gold flitted in and out of the light. He landed lightly on Ash's head, and craned his neck at Shanai with a pair of round eyes. "There are those of us who still survive to fulfill our purpose!" he said. His voice was soft, rich, and creamy. Only one who knew him could hear the anger in his voice.

 

"But..." Shanai began.

 

"How can your hear us?" Ash interrupted.

 

"I remember living here. Long ago," Shanai declared. "The guardians said I had the gift. I learned to recognize your voice, and..."

 

Ash's eyes lit up with recognition. "Shanai!"

 

"Yes!"

 

He recognized her scent now. "I am Ash." The wolf bent one leg as if to bow.

 

"And I am Webki," said the owl, spreading his wings. "We were both very young when the men came. When you were taken back to them."

 

"I was very young, too," said Shanai. "But I've returned. To fulfill my purpose, like you said."

 

Webki nodded. It was his and Ash's way of expressing their gladness.

 

"What other guardians have survived?" Shanai asked.

 

Another silence followed, this one heavier. Ash sat, his eyes downcast. "None. None at all."

Edited March 9, 2004 by Jareena Faye