Return of the Chosen

An army of yellow lights held atop torches approached the woods at the edge of the valley of Landor. Whispers passed in the wind as forest trees woke from the slumber that had carried them through decades of peace. Redwoods and Oaks spoke in the ancient language of the Druids, warning of the threat approaching in the distance from beyond the blankets of grass that stretched across the Flat Plains to the Dark Lands. Drum beats thundered through the air in songs of war. Legions of Ogres, followed by legions of Orcs, covered the earth for miles. In a quarter day's march, the first of their lines would arrive at the forest's edge.

Maroman, the Fire Breather's army, was coming, and the last of the Great Wars was beginning. White light streaked with blue cut through the night, weaving through the trunks of the Redwoods standing at the forest's edge as the Heartwood trees sent out their magic to create a barrier against the coming evil.

"Come, Anya," Benyan called against the chaos of the village surrounding him. His fingers wrapped tight around the wood of the staff he carried. The moment he'd been training Anya for had arrived. Anya was the chosen reborn, and the prophecy that foresaw her coming was beginning. Benyan wished the fates had given him more time to prepare Anya, but all he could do was hope the lessons she had already learned would be enough for this first battle. In front of him, Anya appeared out of the throngs of fleeing villagers.

Deer, Antelope, and all the other sentient animals of the Whispering Woods fled to its center along with all the mystical creatures that lived among the trees at the command of the Maples and Oaks. In the distance, guttural growls could be heard from the Ogres who would lead the charge of Maroman's Fire Realm Army.

"I'm not ready, Benyan," Anya shouted over the noise of the panicking village. In answer, Benyan grabbed her hand and led her from the thatched-roofed houses and cobbled stone streets. Not looking at her, he started to run, knowing Anya would stay at his side. A hundred feet from the village, he raised his voice over the wind rushing against their faces.

"The time has come. You are the chosen." Anya gulped down her fear and trusted in her teacher. Her only companion since the old Druid had first appeared in the doorway of her parent's wooden cabin, proclaiming her as the one who would save all the lands from the darkness of the Fire Realms.

In the time that had passed since that night, Anya had journeyed with Benyan across great distances to the Whispering Woods, the site of the battle that would begin the last of the Great Wars. Along the way, Benyan had taught Anya to use her powers and harness the magic that had been born inside her. A power the prophecies foretold was limitless.

"Stand," The leader of the Redwood trees commanded. The Redwoods were the sentries of the forest, the first defenders against the coming attack of the Fire Realm's armies. Heat wafting from torches held above the thickly muscled arms of Orcs and Ogres floated past the stiffened branches of the Redwood trees. Behind the Redwoods, the Willow trees chanted to the sky, calling forth the water to fall from the clouds above. Drops of rain began sporadically at first before coming down in steady sheets. The glow from the torches dimmed but did not go out. Their fire magic was too strong to be doused by water alone.

"HOOOFRO," the Ogre word for charge, resonated through the night. And was repeated in the lines of Ogres running in thundering steps toward the forest's edge.

"Steady," The Redwoods called as they stiffened against the coming charge. Behind them, Pine trees shot needles out into the night air, sailing in silent whistles until they plunged into Ogre flesh.

"Hurry," Benyan called as he and Anya continued to run. "It has begun. The forest will only be the beginning. All the light will fall if we do not stand against the Fire Breather." Anya ignored the burning in her lungs and pushed her elven legs to find more speed.

Vines shot from the forest floor, racing across the ground to capture Ogre's legs as the first of their lines crashed into the Redwoods. Orcs crested the last hill at the edge of the valley. Soon, too, they would join the fight. Behind the Orcs, Sorcerers, and Sorceresses were moving and weaving with their hands to cast evil magic against the forest's magic of light.

Filthy, stench-covered Trolls raced between the legs of much larger Orcs. The Maples and Oaks hurdled boulders from deep within the forest toward the Fire Realms Army. At the back of the hoard approaching the forest, Maroman sat high atop his throne, stroking the hair of the Succubi at his feet. Fire from his lungs scorched the air with each of his breaths. With a movement of his left arm, winged Nasparu took flight with long serpent-like bodies covered in burned blackened flesh that clung to their bones and elongated snouts.

An enormous fire raged across the horizon. Anya could not see its beginning or end. In her heart, she feared it was already too late for the forest. Anxiety raced through her long limbs at the thought that she had already failed. Dark raven-colored hair floated in the deepening night behind her back as she pushed past Benyan. She could feel the warmth of her power resonating in her core. A thought rose above all others in her mind. Her time had come.

The Redwoods lay fallen along the ground, with only a few still standing to carry on the fight. The forest shrank and closed in on itself. Maroman walked now on the ground, his armies ahead of him, pushing into the mystical depths of the ancient forest. His body burned with the addicting power of the evil sorcery coursing through his veins. He was fulfilling his destiny. The Whispering Woods, the enchanted forest the Druids had bestowed with powers to keep the Fire Realms away from the Kingdoms of Light, would soon fall. Then, he would be free to march on the Elven Kingdom of Samaran before going on to the kingdoms of the Dwarves and Hobbits and finally reaching the Human Kingdom of Cerot and the Temples of the Druids.

They would all bend under his weight before his march would end. A cackling laugh escaped his lips as his eyes searched the burning corpses of the trees for the chosen. Not seeing the girl the ancient scrolls had foretold of, he couldn't help asking. If it could be that the prophecies had been written as falshoods? If there was nothing to keep him from scorching every corner of light from all the Kingdoms? Taking a breath into his blackened lungs, he listened to the screams of the dying Heartwood trees.

"Run my children." The Maples and Oaks called as they ushered sentient and magical creatures deeper into the forest. The Redwoods were falling, and soon, the Fire Realm armies would reach deep into the forest's depths. Behind them, shrubs raced to the backs of the Redwood lines. Planting themselves into the ground behind the last of the tall trees. The shrubs Formed a wall of knarled branches and poisoned thorns to give the Maples and Oaks more time to save the creatures every tree of the forest cared for.

Anya felt a hand on her arm as she raced not a hundred yards from the battle ahead. Turning, she saw that Benyan had caught her. His grasp brought them both to a stop. Her glimmering blue eyes found his brown earthen ones. With his other hand, Benyan reached up to grasp her other arm.

"Remember the lessons I have taught you, Anya. Stay with me. We must not separate when we join the fight. You are still early on in your training. You must not face Maroman on your own. We must do it together." Anya shook her head before Benyan released her. Then she turned, racing faster than before toward the forest of the Whispering Woods.

Anya wrapped her long, elegant fingers tight around her elven sword. She felt the warm tendrils of her family's ancestry seeping into her. Her ancestors had wielded the Shamyran blade in every war and every battle that was won and lost in the Elven Realms. Now, its leather-wrapped hilt rested in her hands. Power rippled through her as the elven letters engraved into the blade glowed with bright, mystic blue light. The battle in front of her seemed to stop and take notice of her presence. The air crackled with electricity as her enemies turned, abandoning their previous pursuits to come for Anya.

Whispers from ancient warriors filled her ears. The air whistled with her blade's arc as she cut through Trolls, Orcs, and Ogres. Blood sprayed against her tunic as her foes fell. She danced, her feet moving without thought. Her arms struck without command. Her body twisted and turned, moving through a deadly ballet on instinct. She lost all sense of time and awareness. She only knew the battle and the next enemy.

Maroman turned, sensing Anya's presence. This was what he had come for. Ancient fires of black magic burned in his eyes as he drew on his power. The lost dialect of the dead filled his tongue as he spit out words taken from the underworld into the air. With purpose, he turned, calling the Nasparu to his side. The chosen must be killed before the child of elves could be allowed to grow strong.

A circle of yellow flames raced around Anya, completely closing her in and vanquishing the enemies she had been striking down. Nothing could be heard above the crackling fire that stretched into the sky far above her head. She brought her Shamyran sword to her chest. Her breath fell in and out of her in heated gasps.

As quickly as it came, the circle of flames dissipated back into the soil, and when the last of the fire was gone, Anya saw only two figures. Maroman stood next to Benyan, who lay beside his feet. Maroman reached down, grabbed Benyan's robes, and lifted his upper half from the ground. Anya's mind raced. How was her teacher there? How had she lost him? Fear gripped her as her heart fell, knowing she had lost sight of Benyan's one demand. "We must not separate when we join the fight," She had failed Benyan almost as soon as he had spoken the words.

Maroman raised his black Balkerion forged steel sword high into the air. Then spoke.

"Child of elves lay down your blade, and the Druid teacher will live." Maroman's voice rang, cracked and broken in her ears. From the edges of her vision, Anya could see the Nasparu coming toward her, their dark flesh pulled back, revealing the mountain peaks of teeth lining their jaws. At that moment, she knew what laying down Terakon, the Shamyran sword that carried her family's legacy, would mean.

"Decide, child," Maroman demanded, bringing his dark sword to Benyan's neck.

"NO," Anya shouted. Bending, she laid Terakon on the ground at her feet. Rising to her full height, she stared at Maroman and waited for the Nasparu to tear her flesh from her bones. Maroman stretched his pale skin and colorless lips into a smile before he ran his blade into the center of Benyan's chest. Red spilled onto the traditional cloaks the Druid always wore. Pain ripped through Anya. A chasm opened inside her as she watched Maroman pull his sword from Benyan.

"Finish her," Maroman ordered as he let Benyan's body fall. Anya stood unmoving, her face ashen as her eyes stayed on her beloved Druid, who lay lifeless at Maroman's feet. Around her, the Nasparu approached from every direction. Their jaws snapped open and closed as they came. Anya's mouth opened. A hollow scream rose from her lungs, filling the air until nothing else could be heard.

Anya's arms stretched out from her sides. The same mystic blue light that had illuminated the engraved elven letters on Terakon's blade glowed from her eyes. The soil at her feet lifted from the ground. Rain poured down from the sky. A wind rose, twisting around her body before alighting with flame. Blue light shot from her into the sky. A shockwave rippled out from her in all directions. Shattering everything in its path.

The light faded from Anya's eyes, and her scream died in her lungs. As her senses cleared and her vision returned, she took in the bodies of the dead Nasparu lying all around her before she saw the form of Benyan's body. Racing, she flew to him, landing on her knees beside him.

"Benyan, please" Anya begged, sliding one of her hands behind his neck and cupping his cheek with the other. Slowly, she lifted his head. "Benyan, BENYAN." She cried, her shoulders shuttering with the sorrow rising inside her. "No, Benyan, you can't leave me." She pleaded, tears falling from her eyes to the skin on his face. "NO, no, no." She whispered. Closing her eyes, she lowered her forehead to his. "I'm lost without you." Benyan stayed limp in her arms. In her soul, Anya could feel his spirit leaving. But as she felt his spirit rise in her mind, she heard the Druid's deep rumbling voice.

"Anya, you are more powerful than I ever imagined. My child, you must go on alone now. I can not be here with you anymore. The Fire Breather, Maroman, has fled back to the Dark Lands, but he will come again. The fates have trusted you with every life that takes breath in all the lands. You must protect them gifted one. Travel to the temple mount of Asyrian. Seek out the one known as Osmond. He will be your guide now. Be strong, young elf. Know in the moments you need me most, I will return."

Then Anya felt the last of his spirit go, leaving her empty and blaming herself. If only she had listened and not left him. He would have lived. She stayed unmoving for a long time, keeping her forehead pressed against his before eventually rising to her feet. Weaving her hands through the air, she moved the soil around Benyan's body until he was buried beneath it. Reaching into the small leather pouch at her side, she pulled out the Langor tree seed she had carried to remind her of the one growing in the yard outside her home and pushed it into the ground where Benyan lay. Weaving her hands again, she watched the Langor tree rise from the seed, climbing from the ground until it reached the sky above her head.

Walking across the scarred earth to where she was when she first saw Maroman after the fire ring dissipated, she retrieved Terakon and placed the sword back at her side. Turning, Anya headed toward the horizons of the West. Far beyond the mountains, she saw in the distance she knew lay the temple mount of Asyrian.