Haven Chronicles

“When do we leave Marcus?” Jericho asked later that afternoon after finishing his bow,

“By my count you take your challenge in a week.” The old man replied.

Jericho soon learned why Marcus made him wait a week. He spent much of his time over the next week checking and re-checking his bag. Wondering if he had forgotten something or if he had enough, packing and unpacking his things onto his bed, Marcus could’ve taken him into the woods at any given time, but he made Jericho wait for the psychological effect. When he wasn’t checking his pack he was practicing with his new bow. It was amazing, the bow felt weightless in his hands, like an extension of his body. He had gathered a quiver of arrows only to learn he’d wasted his time. When he drew back the arrow on his bow which technically had no string, it crumbled, reduced to ashes by some invisible, the arrow was gone, two arrows wasted, three, four, Jericho stood dumbfounded. Marcus watched smiling at Jericho’s frustration, only to tell him he’d figure it out. Jericho stroked the bow gently examining it. How was it supposed to work? What kind of magic did he need to learn? His fingers reached the small ring of fire, and as his hand went over the small flame it clung to his fingers. He was stunned at how easily he could maneuver the flame. He stretched it to the other end of the bow and it left his fingers making a string that could be used. But how, normal arrows were disintegrated? Desperate, and following something primal inside him, he put his fingers where he would normally place an arrow, and a blue ball appeared, swirling in a circle Jericho felt the energy it emitting, he pulled back and released. He watched as the small blue blaze shoot away and strike a metal suit of armor they used for archery and sword practice. The familiar explosion came, the suit was in shambles metal shards were now scattered everywhere. This was some powerful magic, and Jericho realized just how dangerous he could be.

“That’s nothing; your bow is capable of so much more.” Marcus as usual had appeared behind him, frightening him.

“What do you mean? That was insane!” Jericho asked confused.

“Your bow has only one rune, there are dozens that the pyromancers use on their weapons, the most powerful ones created by your clan had to be destroyed for being to powerful, they had the ability to do what you did to that suit to entire cities. But that hasn’t been done since ancient times only the clan of the angels has that kind of power and they died out centuries ago.”

“Angels, I thought that was something to do with heaven and hell and that kind of thing?”

“Well in ancient times the angels were mages, guardians of society and guards of Heaven’s Haven, which was a society of kings, which descendants are now the nobles of today. Of course there was Hell’s Hollow, a society of brutal beasts which are now outcasts, forced to live in mountains in underground and cave cities, and fierce rivals of the Haven. Heaven and Hell clashed in an all out war which destroyed both of them, and what was left of each society started anew in the cities we have now, or the villages in the valleys.”

“Well I’ll be damned; I thought all of that was just myth.” Jericho said remembering all the stories Ozwald had asked him to read.

“Ha, not quite, but my point is the weapons can be powerful, with the right runes, and I think it’s time you add a few extra tricks to your arsenal.” Marcus said turning away.

In the shop Marcus held an open book of runes, muttering strange words. The bow glowed as if waiting for something, Jericho instinctively reached out for it. It reacted to his touch and the burning sensation began again in his hand. When he was sure it was over, he dropped it down and examined his palm. Two new runes had appeared there and on his bow.

“The talons of the Phoenix and the Phoenix’s soul.” Marcus explained. “The talons are rather easy to use but the Phoenix’s soul is a bit trickier.”

“I’m sure I’ll figure it out.” Jericho said feeling confident.

He had one day until his departure and the challenge was looming ahead of him, taunting him, making him doubt all he had learned. He had figured out how to use the talons easy enough; he had to simply picture the rune in his mind and the ends of his bow extended into a dual bladed sword that could split into two short swords. But night came and so did morning and Jericho was stupefied on how to use the Phoenix’s soul. But none the less Marcus had taken him deep in the forest, to the place where he would take his challenge. Marcus stopped at a vertical cliff.

“Your challenge is to climb this wall, and at the top there is a dragon’s nest. You are to collect the eggs and kill the mother. Not that you should worry; it’s a smaller species of dragon. They only grow up to fifteen feet at most.”

“Yeah, because it being a smaller dragon will make it easier to kill the damn thing; I guess I’ll just have to see you guys at my funeral” Jericho replied sarcastically

Marcus smiled and vanished into thin air. Jericho was stunned, although it did explain his constant mysterious comings and goings. Jericho turned to face the cliff; there wasn’t a foothold or a handhold in sight. He frowned, how in the hell was he supposed to do it? He threw his bow away from him in his frustration, and then, shortly before it had hit the ground, the Phoenix’s soul appeared in his mind. It hit the ground, but it was if the ground was some strange liquid. His bow had completely submerged and was gone. Then as if the world had shattered, Jericho’s eyesight had turned into a swirling blur, and strangest of all his shoulder blades felt as if they had split in half. Slowly, the world came back into view, and to his surprise he was hovering five feet above where he had been. He could feel them, the wings of fire that grown out of his backside, he slowly moved himself left to right and then up and down. Something inside him liked this feeling, the feeling of flight; he supposed that was his soul, now mixed with that of a phoenix. He shot upwards, far beyond the top of the cliff, above the canopy of the trees, stopping several hundred feet above it all. In the distance, there was a speck of silver, he knew what it was, it was home, it was Seaveldor, and it almost shined with the sinking sun. In the distance in the opposite direction he could see, mountains, the all too infamous Semorian Mountains, The home of the beasts that had once ruled Hell’s Hollow. It was strange for him, to his home a great citadel and fortress being overlooked by something so sinister. Coming back to reality, Jericho swooped back down to the ground where, although he didn’t know how he did it, he made his wings disappear. His bow had already reappeared by his pack when he landed although he had no recollection of taking his pack off. In the end he decided he’d finish his challenge in the morning, and he set up his camp and slept, with more questions than answers than he’d ever had before.

Morning came, and the fruit and meat slices with it. After Jericho had finished his meal he grabbed his bow and a thought came to him. How could he fight a dragon if his bow was gone so he could fly? Apparently his bow was ready for this question, and the rune of the Phoenix’s soul flashed in his mind and his wings were at the ready behind him, his bow, still in his hands. Smiling, Jericho soared toward the dragon’s nest at the top, ready for a fight.

He landed softly at the cliff’s edge, the early morning light barely peeking over the cliff’s top, and there it was, the nest that he would have take the eggs from and slay their mother. Marcus’ information seemed to be a bit off, the mother appeared to be thirty or so feet in length, and each snore released a small campfire sized flame from her snout. Jericho stepped forward, and by some unfortunate miracle, the mother heard it, her head shot up in alarm and as if becoming fully alert, she focused in on Jericho. Their eyes were deadlocked; the mother moved first, shooting forward toward Jericho, and in a split second decision, Jericho jumped off the cliff. He spread his wings and began dive-bombing toward the ground, pulling up a small distance from the ground. But the dragon was a better flyer, right behind him and shrinking the distance between them, the dragon lashed out, and its claw barely unable to reach him. Jericho, still going on instinct, did something even the dragon couldn’t predict, he stopped. The dragon swerved past him in a panic, and regained its balance ten feet from Jericho. He raised his bow, fireball ready, and fired a shot. The dragon then let out a roar, and with came a breath of fire that would have surely vaporized Jericho had it not been for his fireball, it had stopped upon collision with the dragon’s fire and began absorbing the flames; it had grown to the size of his body when the dragon stopped. It was clear that fire against fire would not be able to win this fight. Jericho then used his talons rune to draw out his two short swords, ready for the next strike. The fireball began to fade leaving only heat in its wake, and as the dragon came back into view it shot forward once again, and instinct won Jericho the battle, his blade impaling the dragon’s eyes and settling deep within its skull. The mother dropped to the ground thirty or so feet below, swords still embedded inside it. Jericho relieved that it was over, flew back to the nest collected the five eggs that lay in its cradle. He placed them gently in his pack and flew back to the body of the mother. He proceeded to chop off one of it’s paws as proof for Marcus, placing it with the eggs, Jericho began the short flight to the cottage. But Marcus had seen everything and was contemplating what to do next from the edge of the clearing. One thing was clear though, Jericho was good at what he did.