Densmark, The Chosen

Chapter 1

Tongues of red and orange licked the night sky. The clanging of harsh steel rang through the air in stark contrast to the screams of dying men. Both sounds battled to see which would rule the darkness. Armored men helped each other as well as killed each other. This was the business of war.

And yet, this business of war was not real. It was merely a vision of what could be and what was once was. It was not what was transpiring here.

Not far from the phantasmagoric melee sat a large, gray castle. Banners of gold and vermilion hung from the castle’s high parapets. From the vantage point of a window in the castle’s highest tower, a young woman safely watched the harvest of combative spirits on the field of death below her.

Her hair was like golden silk knotted into one long braid. Her eyes were like emeralds but on this night, there was no sign of their luster. Tears stained the girl’s cheeks and brought with them streaks of ruined make-up.

Her full ruby-like lips parted slightly as a sob escaped from her depths. She clutched the windowsill, her hands dug into the stone.

She turned around slowly and eyed the man who stood by the chamber’s doors. A long and purple scar covered his left cheek. His brown eyes were tired, and his face was as worn as an old shoe. He wore all black--a tunic and a pair of pants--except for his vermilion cloak. His hand rested atop the pommel of his sword which sat securely in its sheath.

The man frowned.

“Is this the end, Lord Rathbone?” asked the young woman.

“Milady, ends are nothing but beginnings in reverse.”

“Yes, but the King...”

“Apologies to the Lady Harbin, but there is no King in Callandia now. And as long as there is no King, the promise indicated by the mighty, nightly clash of spirits continues to hang over our heads.”

“Then we must find the King,” said Lady Harbin.

“Milady, have you not sent Indira to search for the King? Is that not what she is doing? And yet our enemies do the same. Prophecies are a delicate matter, especially in this case. This one changes all we know and think we know,” said Lord Rathbone.

“Then I pray that Indira is successful,” said Lady Harbin.

Lord Rathbone’s grisly visage twisted into an even deeper frown.

“She has no choice but to be. Her failure means our deaths. It is well that you pray for her success,” he said.

“Death has already claimed more than enough of our loved ones. Sometimes I wonder if God’s ears have been turned away from us,” said Lady Harbin.

“That’s a foolish thing to wonder about, Milady. Keep your focus in the right place.”

“Yes. I’ll continue to pray for the King.”

A loud scream pierced the night. It sounded unlike anything heard before. It almost sounded like a....

.... a rooster crowed. Rays of sunlight pierced the window and settled upon the brow of a sleeping young man.

Densmark opened his eyes to the new day. As he glanced around the room, he saw that he was laying in bed. A grin came to his face.

Last night’s dream felt a bit too real. His dreams were growing in intensity. How was it that fifteen-year-old boy dreamed of things like this?

Densmark sat up and yawned. It was time to get up and face the day. There were so many chores that needed to be done. At his age, Densmark was the man of the house. There was only his grandmother and himself. His mother and father had vanished from his life many years ago along with his grandfather. With those thoughts of Nana, the smells of breakfast began to tickle Densmark’s nostrils. Densmark quickly climbed out of bed.

Densmark walked into the kitchen. The first thing he saw was his grandmother making breakfast. She had whimsical, gray eyes and silver hair. Her slim figure was covered by a simple gingham dress. Her silver hair was covered by a bonnet. Nana stood over a table and scooped heaps of hot, buttery oatmeal into a bowl. A plate of bacon and biscuits sat next to the bowl.

Nana looked at her grandson through her gray eyes and smiled brightly.

“It’s about time you woke up,” she said, a hint of laughter in her voice.

“I’m sorry that I slept so late, Nana. I had another dream,” said Densmark.

Nana’s brow furrowed and her smile reversed itself into a slight frown.

“Are those nasty night-visitors still botherin’ you?” she asked.

Densmark nodded.

“Well then. That’s nothin’ that a lot of food and hard work won’t fix. You’ve got a lot of work to do today,” said Nana.

“Is that why you cooked all this food?” asked Densmark. He moved over to the table and sat down.

“A young boy needs his energy, especially if he’s going to pull the corn out of Nana’s fields.”

Densmark groaned. Pulling corn was probably the least fun of all of his chores.

Nana smiled at her grandson and sat down. She took a good look at her grandson. His curly, brown hair and his big, blue eyes reminded her of Densmark’s mother Tania. Nana missed Tania and Laurence, Densmark’s father greatly.

Densmark chewed a piece of bacon and eyed his grandmother.

“Nana, are you okay?”

“Of course, I am. I was just thinking, Denny.”

“Thinking about what?”

“About your mother and father. About how proud of you they’d be if they could see you now.”

Densmark nodded. Nana rarely spoke--if at all--about the accident that had cost Densmark’s parents their lives. Thoughtfully, Densmark continued eating his breakfast.

Nana’s gaze at Densmark intensified and for a moment, she saw a shadow of something dark hovering over the young man. She prayed that misfortune would not claim her grandson before his purpose was fulfilled.

Densmark finally finished his breakfast and placed his hands palms down and flat on the table. He sighed with contentment.

“Denny, what did I tell you about eating so fast?” asked Nana.

“Sorry, Nana. I was just really hungry.”

Nana laughed and brushed Densmark’s head with her right hand.

“It’s okay, Denny. You go and have fun out there with the corn.”

“As if there could be anything fun about pulling corn,” said Densmark.

“Anything can be fun if you want it to be. Life is just as much what you put into it as well as what you take from it.”

Having heard that, Densmark nodded and then wiped his hands off with a towel. He stood up and raced out of the kitchen, out of the house, and into the yard. He stopped by a large, wooden bucket. He picked the bucket up by its handle and gazed out at the cornfield in the near distance.

Densmark sighed.

Corn and livestock. This was how Nana provided for Densmark and herself. Working in the cornfield and taking care of the horses was the least that Densmark could do. He was glad to have someone like Nana to take care of him. He hoped that nothing bad ever happened to Nana.

Densmark began his short trek toward the cornfield.

“Denny!”

Densmark stopped in his tracks and turned around. Nana stood in the doorway. She wore a sly grin on her face.

“Yes, Nana?”

“Don’t forget to feed the horses after you finish with the corn.”

Densmark nodded. He loved playing with the horses. He even had a favorite horse. Maybe there would be a little fun for him today after all. Densmark walked to the cornfield and began the arduous task of pulling corn. As he pulled the corn, his thoughts absently trailed to the dream that he had the night before.

He was fifteen years old. How was it that a young boy could have dreams like that? Did he not have better things to dream about? Like girls or maybe even being a hero to some of those girls? But instead, he dreamed about people dying and lost kings. He could not even begin to figure out why he dreamed about such things.

And just like that, Densmark had pulled five bushels worth of corn.

Densmark stretched his slightly worn-out arms. He had pulled enough corn. The sun was high in the sky and sweat rained down from his brow. He wiped away the sweat with his shirt and then carried the last bushel of corn back to the house.

With this task finished, he now had to feed the horses. This brought a smile to his face. He loved animals. He had always carried a soft spot for them in his heart. He could never see himself doing anything to hurt them.

Densmark had problems even trying to kill insects.

Densmark made his way over to the animal stalls. The first stall belonged to his favorite horse; a black pony named Midnight. He glanced into the stall and noticed that the stall’s door was open, and that Midnight was gone.

“Huh?” said Densmark aloud

Densmark thought about the matter for a second and then slapped his forehead. He had forgotten to lock the stall yesterday. It would have been a simple thing for Midnight to escape.

Densmark glanced down at the dirt and grinned. It had been a simple matter for him to find Midnight’s tracks. After all Midnight was his favorite horse. The pony was all that he had left of his parents.

“I wonder where he ran off to,” said Densmark. A pang of worry stabbed him. Midnight could have been anywhere doing whatever it was that horses did when they ran away from home.

Densmark took a deep breath and followed Midnight’s tracks. The imprints in the dirt led down to a pond not far from the house. Densmark looked around and saw a cluster of trees on the pond’s left bank. Then he saw Midnight in the water. The pony alternated its activity between lapping up water and splashing around in it.

“Midnight?” said Densmark.

The pony stopped and turned its head toward Densmark. It neighed playfully. Densmark waited for the pony to come to him, but that did not happen. Midnight continued to stare at him.

“Boy, what are you doing out there? Get your butt over here, silly horse!”

Midnight stomped its heels in the pond and caused a lot of water to splash up. Densmark reached out and tried to grab the pony, but Midnight darted away.

Densmark sighed. Midnight wanted to play games, but Densmark had a trick for that pony. He reached into his pocket and pulled out a shiny, red apple. He held it up high for Midnight to see.

“Look what I got!”

The black pony stopped and stared at the apple. It neighed softly and then took a step towards Densmark.

Densmark offered up the apple. As soon as the horse took the apple, Densmark grabbed him.

“Gotcha!”

Midnight neighed but offered up no resistance. Densmark had pleased him by giving him the apple.

Densmark brushed the horse’s mane as it finished the apple. Then Densmark climbed atop Midnight’s back. He nudged the pony forward and rode Midnight all the way back to the horse’s stall. Once there, Densmark made sure that this time, he locked the stall. After he had done that, he fed the other horses and cleaned their stalls.

By the time he had finished all his cleaning, he noticed that the sun had begun to set.

Densmark wiped the sweat from his brow. He yawned and stretched out his arms.

“Densmark!”

Nana’s voice interrupted the calm.

Densmark stepped out of the stables and looked towards the house. Nana stood outside with her hands on her hips and her gray hair done up in a bun on the top of her head. She smiled.

“Supper’s ready!” she said.

Joy leaped within Densmark’s heart. He was hungry, and yet he had enough energy to take off in a sprint towards the house. When he got there, Nana smiled at him.

“All that hard work that you just did, surely you ought to be tired,” she said.

“I am tired. And hungry too,” said Densmark.

Nana nodded. She reached into her apron’s pocket and pulled out a damp towel. She handed it to her grandson.

“Here. Wash up and then go eat. Your dinner is already on the table,” she said.

Densmark entered the house and then cleaned his hands. He entered the kitchen and immediately smelled the hearty aroma of beef stew. On the table sat a bowl filled to the brim with the savory stew that Nana had made. Thick chunks of beef danced around inside broth alongside sliced carrots and potatoes.

At the sight and smell of his dinner, Densmark’s stomach growled.

“It looks like somebody really is hungry,” said Nana.

“Yes, ma’am,” said Densmark as he sat down at the table. He picked up the wooden spoon that laid beside the bowl and began to scarf down the stew. Indeed, he was hungry. Within mere minutes, he was both finished and full.

Nana smiled at her grandson.

“I’m not even going to bother to ask you if it was good. I can tell by the look on your face and just watching you eat,” she said.

Densmark nodded and then yawned.

“Nana, I’m sleepy,” he said. For Densmark, the only thing left to do after getting a full stomach was to go to sleep.

“Then go ahead and get ready for bed. I don’t mind cleaning up in here by myself. You’ve had such a big day doing all those important chores,” said Nana.

Densmark yawned again and stood up. He made his way over to his room. He took a few minutes to get ready for bed. When he did get into bed, he was asleep as soon as his head touched the pillow.

The first thing that Densmark did was look at his clothes. He wore a pair of black trousers and a white shirt. A vermilion cloak with gold trim hung from his shoulders. Surprised, he gasped softly. Where had these clothes come from?

His eyes darted around to take in his surroundings. He discovered that he stood atop the battlement wall of a massive castle. His eyes then glanced out into the sea of night beyond the castle.

“Your Highness, are you okay?” asked the voice of a female

Densmark’s eyes traveled in the direction of the voice, and they fell upon a beautiful girl with blonde hair. Her expression was one of mixed curiosity and concern. She wore an emerald gown that snugly hugged her curves. Densmark began to feel a sense of longing within him that he had never known before. The girl looked familiar to him, but he could not place her face.

“Your Highness, the people need you,” said the girl.

“Need me? Why do they need me?” asked Densmark. He was confused about what was going on.

“That’s a silly question, don’t you think, your Highness? Your people have always needed you. Now they need you more than ever. War is in the air, the greatest war to ever be fought.”

“War?” asked Densmark.

The girl’s face took on a somber quality. It hurt Densmark’s heart to see such a beautiful face twisted into such a harsh expression.

“War,” she said, “Our enemies harry us at every turn. Only you can save us. It is not just a question of leading us to victory. It’s a question of--”

The girl paused in the middle of her sentence.

“It’s a question of what?” asked Densmark.

“It’s a question of--”