Inheritors Of The Ancients

Chapter 1 The Call

The urge had come to him late in the evening. It started off small, a longing look out of his bedroom window. The moon looked back at him, almost in invitation. Jauron thought to himself how he wouldn’t have been able to resist going into the forest if he had tried. This was not his normal escape into the woods. It was a discovery! Every cell in Jauron’s body screamed – launching each footstep forward. The desire to press onward was so strong, it was almost painful. It would not allow him to stop, even for a moment. He had to keep going. The anticipation was exhilarating, though a bit alarming. Jauron hardly ever got this excited. Normally, he tried to maintain a controlled disposition. It would be inaccurate to say he lacked emotion. It was quite the opposite…Jauron’s emotions could run wild. Hence the need for control. Already he could tell that whatever control he had would be tested to its limit.

The sun had barely begun to crest the horizon, its swirl of warm morning hues still battling the night stars for dominance in the sky. The slowing cascade of pink, crimson, and orange steadily engulfed the pure white clouds; triumphantly overtaking the midnight blue and silver stars defiantly glimmering in the last vestiges of moonlight. As beautiful as the sunrise was to Jauron, he took little notice. He had his own task to accomplish. Instinctively, he knew that he would be traveling further into the Forest of Reverie than ever before. He didn’t know what, but something powerful was compelling him to venture deeper and deeper.

Not knowing what he’d find he pushed forth. Further and further he marched into the forest, fully submitting to the mysterious and inescapable impulse.

It’s not that he was afraid. Jauron knew the majority of this forest like the back of his hand. He just couldn’t shake this overwhelming need to go on, even beyond his usual private sanctuaries surrounded by nature.

The Forest of Reverie lay at the edge of Jauron’s village, Waylan. A small village far to the southeast of the Sew Kingdom, not much happened here. That suited Jauron just fine…usually. He tried to spend as much time in the forest as possible, or in other words, as much time out of the village as possible.

The Forest of Reverie was Jauron’s second home. Technically his third, since he had come to live with the McNair’s. Lady Tamryn and Declin McNair had been friends of Jauron’s parents. And though it always seemed like there was more, that was all he was going to get out of them. Lady Tamryn was loving, but the epitome of firm and commanding. Her word was law, and she had the strength to back it up. Jauron had made the mistake of challenging her authority many times. Declin, however, was mild mannered and serene. There always seemed to be something deep beyond the surface of his eyes. He was affectionate, but never let you weasel anything out of him behind Lady Tamryn’s back. They were a true team, two sides of the same coin.

Jauron sometimes wondered if being a team meant keeping secrets, but he didn’t press. It bothered him they never opened up about his parents. Whenever he would mention them, the McNair’s would almost freeze. The subject seemed to take the words from their lips. While the McNair’s were kind to him, Jauron simply felt more at home in the forest. Though he could even go as far as to say he loved them…he didn’t like feeling as if they were keeping secrets. So in turn, he kept his distance. Therefore, he spent most of his time alone.

While his body was being steered into the heart of the forest, Jauron’s mind continued to wander. He thought about himself, his place in the village, his place with the McNair’s, and his parents. He thought of his mother and father and how much he wished to be with them. His mother, Odessa Hainsley, had died long before he could even form a lasting memory of her face. His sweet and loving father, Efrim Hainsley, died when he was seven. It was said to be caused by a “mysterious” and incurable illness, but Jauron knew better. He knew the truth. His father died of a broken heart. Efrim never stopped speaking of Odessa. Her beauty, her strength – said to have been one of the strongest warriors in all of Lyra. But what Jauron heard his father mention most was his mother’s wit and kindness. You could almost see the love fill the room when Efrim spoke of her. It was soon replaced with an inexorable sense of yearning and sadness. It was as if all life drained from him upon the realization that she was no longer with them. It made Jauron almost glad that he hadn’t gotten a chance to know her, and therefore know the true torment of losing her. After the loss of his father, he was absolutely certain. He never wanted to feel that way again.

The time Jauron spent with his father was a complex mixture of love, happiness, and sadness. He often felt that the reason his father mentioned his mother so much was fear of forgetting her should he stop. Jauron both envied and pitied him. He wished to know love, even a simple closeness like that of his parents. But if life had taught him one lesson, it was that of loss. Understandably, he did not want to get too close to others. He feared caring too deeply because he feared loss. As a result, he remained reclusive to save losing himself to a broken heart.

So, while searching through the woods for the source of this ominous energy, Jauron could not help but lament at how much he truly missed his father. Hiking through the forest had been something they shared. When Efrim was well enough to do so, he would take Jauron into the forest and teach him everything he knew and loved about nature; its stability, serenity, and power. Efrim taught him how to forage as well as how to respect nature and all living things. He expressed to Jauron how nature represented the truest form of balance…that all life operated in a cycle, working together to provide for itself and all creatures that lived within. They would spend days exploring the forest, camping at night, and repeating their explorations all over again the following morning. Since the death of his father, Jauron’s time in the forest had become a small comfort – maybe even an obsession.

This fascination with the forest, and subsequent reclusive behavior, was just a small example of the many characteristics that set Jauron apart from the other villagers in Waylan… especially those his age. Unfortunately, they reminded him of this at every opportunity. One person in particular, Phenton McNair, never even had to utter a single word to prove just how different they were. You could tell merely by the way Phenton sometimes looked at him. It was as if Jauron was a puzzle and no matter how smart he was, Phenton couldn’t quite piece him together. Being the only son of Jauron’s wards, Lady Tamryn and Declin, made it no less frustrating…for either of the young boys.

Because their families were close before both boys were born, it was inevitable that they would grow up together in some capacity. The Hainsley’s and the McNair’s lived on the outskirts of Waylan, near the Forest of Reverie. Just a short leisurely walk from one cottage to the next and so Jauron was “familiar” with Phenton from the beginning. It wasn’t always so terse, but that was when Efrim was alive. It would be more apt to say that Jauron tolerated Phenton, but preferred to spend time with his father and nature. Phenton, however, was exceedingly inquisitive and enthusiastic as a child. Seeing how close their parents were, Phenton half expected Jauron to fawn over him. This expectation grew even more when Efrim passed, assuming that Jauron coming to live with him would make them “brothers”. However, one can take only so much of another’s efforts to bond while rebuffing them at every turn. To Jauron, who had grown up without a mother and losing his father, having someone be so optimistic and expectant about that particular change in living situations was a bit obtuse…to say the least. The more Phenton tried the more Jauron pulled away, widening the ever growing rift between them that was now immeasurable.

Having spent the last ten years growing up together they’d become scarcely more than strangers, at least in Jauron’s point of view. Phenton was freakishly tall for his age, incredibly handsome, with a solid build – more defined than most of the adults in Waylan. He was also surprisingly smart. Someone of his physique is often expected to be a bit oafish, but Phenton was the exception. That was Lady Tamryn’s doing. She made it a point to instill in both boys that physical or magical ability wasn’t everything. In fact, to her, they were entirely useless if you didn’t have the intellect to employ them properly. It annoyed Jauron how Phenton was sure to always do as his mother instructed, as if he had no will of his own. To Jauron, he seemed too desperate for her approval.

However, while he may have been the dutiful son around Lady Tamryn, that was not the only side of Phenton McNair. He was the jewel of the village, and as such, he was used to praise. He expected it. In short, he was narcissistic, arrogant - you name it. He wasn’t completely unworthy of the praise, but Jauron would not be the one to give it to him. To the people of Waylan, Phenton could do no wrong. He was the strongest, the most handsome, clever, and sickeningly charismatic. Anyone who met him fell in love with him almost immediately. None more so than the young girls of the village, of which Phenton took to his advantage. Even so, they loved him anyway…sometimes more. It confused Jauron to no end, but he didn’t pay it much mind so long as he could be far away from all the clamor and adoration. Even many of the young boys in the village fell for Phenton, but to them it was nothing more than respect and awe. But Jauron easily recognized their looks of “admiration” and he knew better than to call it such. That small morsel of knowledge did bring a bit of amusement.

All things considered, Jauron didn’t hate Phenton or the villagers. He couldn’t relate to them, and therefore preferred to spend his time in nature, alone. Living with Phenton made that feeling more obvious, creating what seemed like a chasm between the two.

Regardless of the distance between them, Phenton’s parents insisted on forcing the two young men to co-exist, almost constantly. Jauron didn’t know their motives, but found it quite odd. They were aware of just how unalike the boys were, however, their directions were clear and unavoidable. “You must stick together, look out for one another. Always!” Jauron didn’t know what they would be looking out for, other than Phenton’s ego, and he could already clearly see that miles away. But, he respected the McNair’s so he did as they instructed…sometimes. Jauron desired to remain solitary, invisible. For someone like him to be around the radiance and uproar that gravitated toward Phenton, was akin to torture. Especially given that when not around Lady Tamryn, Phenton attracted a crowd of followers clamoring like a flock of pigeons.

Phenton’s “flock” was a group of young boys and girls around the same age. No matter where Phenton was, members of his flock were sure to follow. He attempted to act as if it was a bother, but Jauron could tell just how much Phenton enjoyed the attention. Jauron kept his distance as much as he could but was otherwise ambivalent. The flock, on the other hand, were none too fond of Jauron. At times, they would try to make it painfully clear. And while he tolerated the glares and whispers, he refused to tolerate any overt bullying. When they could, they would attempt to corner Jauron and tease him. They would make fun of his appearance, trying to find anything out of place….anything they could target to make the focus of their jeers. “It’s the silver hermit”, they would call as they pelted him with rotten vegetables or mud, whatever they could find. Though where Phenton was the physical powerhouse of the village, Jauron was the magical one. He and Declin McNair were the only mages in Waylan. While well known, magic was not common for humans on Urth. Therefore, it was somewhat of a big deal when a mage was born. It generated a mixture of awe, apprehension, and in some cases…jealousy and/or fear. So much to his bully’s chagrin, there wasn’t anything the flock could do to Jauron that he couldn’t return to them, tenfold. And return it he did, though he preferred to avoid them altogether.

It’s not like he enjoyed spending any time with Phenton. He wasn’t going to be the subject of their jealousy and ire because he was obligated to accompany him from time to time. Thankfully, Phenton’s lackeys knew not to press Jauron too much. The bold ones, however, earned a well-deserved visit to the village healer from time to time. It may have been deemed self-defense, but Jauron couldn’t deny he got some joy out of it. However, Lady Tamryn still scolded him on occasion. She warned him of the dangers of letting his magic speak for him. No matter how much he protested, she still expected him to maintain his composure. She seemed abnormally fixated on the state of his magic. Declin did most of his magical training, or he studied alone in the forest. His father left behind books with teachings, philosophies, and runes to study. But Lady Tamryn kept a watchful eye, ready to interject whenever Jauron’s power went out of control. So, when he let loose on a bully or two…it was not without consequence.

Jauron was confident that Phenton had at least a little to do with his flock’s attempts at restraint, albeit unsuccessful at times. This was only due to his constant need to impress his parents. Plus, Jauron was sure it made Phenton feel he was some great leader or protector. Thus Jauron took advantage of every opening to slip away to one of his secluded spots in the Forest of Reverie, growing more and more reluctant to return to Waylan each time.

Having returned to his senses, Jauron came across a lake that appeared to be permanently covered by a light gleaming mist. The presence of magic was evident to Jauron the very first time he set foot into this part of the forest. It seemed to resonate with his own, and calm him. The lake was surrounded by a dense thicket of trees; their branches hanging low to the ground. The leaves here were the brightest shade of green in the forest and seemed to twirl playfully in the wind. The trees themselves seemed almost alive. It gave the impression that their branches were reaching out to the lake; like arms stretching toward a loved one just out of reach. They swayed slightly even when there was no wind present. Mist from the lake rhythmically curled its tendrils against the lowest of the leaves. Almost romantic. A silent dance of nature.

This area was home to the elemental spirits that had settled in that peculiar mist. They had welcomed Jauron, although hesitantly at first. Perhaps they sensed the magic within him being similar to their own. Shortly after, they became his only friends for most of his childhood and into adolescence. He spent many nights under the stars playing with them, though a bit mournfully at times. Jauron knew that his father would have loved to meet them and study their behavior, were he still alive. It was in those moments that Jauron missed his father the most. He cherished the times when he’d see Efrim really happy and truly enjoying himself.

Currently, Jauron had no time to play with the spirits or mourn the loss of his beloved father. The mysterious energy that was enchanting him, spurring him on, was too great. It would take monumental effort to resist. So he made a small waving gesture to the spirits that were beginning to show themselves and continued moving toward his goal.

Several hours had passed since Jauron first received the gripping need to venture into the Forest of Reverie. The night sky now completely banished by the sun towering high in the clouds. It was around noon, and the sun clearly shone through the trees illuminating his way. Bright rays of sunlight were breaking through the tree line as if aiding his footsteps.

Just a few miles further into the forest, Jauron came to a large clearing. It was filled with wildflowers and an assortment of unique fruits and berries. The clearing wasn’t exactly hidden but Jauron was already pretty deep into the forest and the path leading here was secluded and hard to find. For Jauron, this was exactly the kind of place he wanted to be. Remote. Ideal. He found himself coming here often.

It had been nearly a year since he’d found the clearing. By now he knew it well, for another reason. A very small community of elves lived in the thickest of trees not far from here. While most elves settled on a group of islands called Mythos, it was common for small clans to have remnants all over Urth. Many of these small clans were known to inhabit large magical forests in Lyra. And this clearing is where several of the young elven boys came to gather food for their village.

Jauron had never seen beings this beautiful in Waylan or any other of the human villages he’d visited. The elven boys were prettier than many of the girls. The most beautiful thus far was Gilead. Jauron could picture the first time he saw Gilead as if it had been seared into his memory. He was tall, slender, but with a firm build. His deep auburn hair seemed to glisten in the sunlight. He had it let down around his shoulders with two thin braids crowning his forehead in an interlocking pattern. It made him look wild while retaining a royal air. What captivated Jauron most were his eyes. They were such an extravagant pale green that any plant in the forest would shrivel in envy. It was the perfect contrast to his deep olive skin, which was so smooth it seemed polished. He’d been wearing a light grey tunic made of very fine cloth, hanging loosely with a deep cut neckline. The tunic was tucked into tight leather breeches. He wore no boots, but thin laced sandals that strapped up to his ankles.

Gilead noticed Jauron immediately the first time he stumbled into the clearing. Jauron had tried to hide himself behind the nearest tree to no avail. It had been too late. Gilead had spotted him and had already walked toward him. The moment Gilead spoke, Jauron felt as if he was melting. His skin started to burn, and he broke out into an intense sweat. But Gilead’s voice was like music, immediately calming the anxiety that had begun to well up in Jauron. It was a sweet sound, soft, serene, but full of life and vigor. Jauron was rendered speechless. The embarrassment of being noticed by someone as beautiful as Gilead had caught him off-guard. Before he knew it, he’d ran without so much as a word. The very next day, he returned, and the day after that, followed by the next. After finally building up the courage to speak, the two spent many nights in the clearing and many days exploring the forest surrounding. It was almost as good as having his father back, but also better in some ways.

Before Gilead, intimacy was not a concept at the forefront of Jauron’s mind. Phenton and the other boys his age in the village were a different story altogether. Sex seemed to be all they could think or talk about. It was obnoxious and another excuse for Jauron to remove himself from the group. However, it all changed the first time he laid eyes on Gilead. Now, sex was something he couldn’t stop thinking about. But for Jauron, his affection for Gilead was about so much more than sex. It was about experiencing a closeness that he’d never felt in his life. As intense as his love for his parents, but deeper in so many ways. A foreign feeling that transcended the physical plane. He could be himself around Gilead without fear of judgement or ridicule. Being an elf, Gilead had a very similar apperception for nature and Urth that really connected with Jauron. It was the first time since his father died that Jauron felt his smile was genuine.

That smile continued as Jauron recalled how they would discuss a time to meet and then make a little spot for lunch near the clearing; making sure to allot themselves some privacy. After a bit of playful banter, Jauron couldn’t help but almost attack Gilead. He was an animal ready to pounce, and Gilead was his prey. It was liberating, a mixture of animalistic desire and passion previously unknown to Jauron. But there was a softness at times, a sensual feeling of oneness. At first it calmed him and filled him with elation at the same time. Then it scared him. Scared him senseless because he wasn’t sure if this is what love felt like. Jauron wasn’t sure if he was ready for that yet – or at all. All he knew was that he wanted to spend more time with Gilead.

He was the first person since Jauron’s father that he could speak to earnestly. More than a friend, but not so much more that it would scare Jauron away. Gilead would listen intently as Jauron spoke of his father, his philosophies, and the stories he would tell of Odessa. Once he opened up, it was almost impossible for Jauron to stop.

But he had to be completely honest with Gilead about his fears, he respected him too much. So, they slowed down their pace a bit. They came to an understanding. They wouldn’t get into anything too serious, as it was still very new to them at the time. Jauron was only 16 when they met, and Gilead was around the same age – though elves aged a bit differently. He figured they had time to manage emotions and feelings when they got a bit older. Cross species marriage wasn’t an issue in their society, nor was a relationship between two men. So Gilead was patient, and Jauron was honest. Still, the way they looked at one another was intense; almost as intense as the nights they spent under the stars. It was those looks between him and Gilead that lead him to recognize the ones some of the boys in his village gave Phenton, hence his amusement. In time, they would realize their “admiration” was so much more. He had become very familiar with that look, but he wasn’t going to deprive himself of the small pleasures he gained from witnessing their unwitting desires.