Follow: Book 1 The Rose Tree Chronicles

Chapter One: Fate's Chosen

It was now Miseria 5, 470, and the Stone War was far from over. The Bonn and Noelle empires quickly learned that Emperor Mentir had prepared for this without their knowledge. For the entire fifteen years the empires were united, he had been secretly expanding his territory and the numbers were in his favor. Fortunately, Mentir made numbers his top priority over training, which offered some advantages. All that Bonn and Noelle needed to do was find their way around People’s ambush tactics, as well as their thick and layered armor.

A battle to the death between the Noelle Empire and the People’s Empire had left the Valley of Hills covered with the lifeless bodies of warriors; among them, the most strong and resilient. Most of the plant life had been burnt to a crisp, leaving the Valley of Hills looking colorless and macabre. The hot autumn suns had cooked all that remained of the soldiers, but now heavy rain clouds blanketed the sky, and the charred and bloodied bodies finally began to cool.

The Noelle Empire donned black armor with bones engraved into the metal to emulate skeletons, accompanied by helmets formed into black skulls. However, the uniform of the People’s Empire was quite the opposite. They wore a heavy silver-colored armor, underneath which they wore thick leather, and their helmets bore the image of their emperor. The two starkly contrasting images were scattered across the battlefield as though they had fallen from the sky.

Among the millions of soldiers strewn along the ground, one stood out and not just because he happened to be the only survivor: Gerardo of Liko, a boy of about twenty-five years of age, with the face of an eighteen-year-old. He laid on top of another body, his chest rising and falling as his lungs were the only part of him that strived to keep him alive.

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A tiny speck of light floated above the bodies and the skeletal remains of the trees; a tiny fairy. She fixed her shining blue eyes on Gerardo. Her black, choppy hair lay unkempt over her face. She brushed it away, then dusted the dirt off of her black and white striped sleeves and black and red striped stockings. She fixed her bent and twisted squirrel-skin boots which almost passed her knees and took time to catch her breath while she waited for more to happen.

Not too long later, Gerardo stirred. His eyes opened and settled on the dull gray of the cloudy sky He turned his head to his left to where a stream flowed at the bottom of a steep hill. As he pushed himself up, a sudden pain lanced through his left shoulder. His trembling hand reached back instinctively, brushing against the cold, slimy shaft of an arrow still lodged deep in his flesh. He brought his hand forward and glanced. Fresh blood.

The faint babble of the stream whispered nearby, a lifeline just out of reach. Though parched and desperate for water, Gerardo’s battered body refused to obey. Still, inch by agonizing inch, he forced himself upright. His head throbbed fiercely, the world spinning wildly, making each step a struggle to keep balance. Pressing a trembling hand to his bleeding forehead, he fought the dizziness, willing it to subside. At last, he set one foot in front of the other, his focus narrowing to a single, desperate goal: the water waiting at the bottom of the hill.

He hobbled toward the stream’s sound, each step like dragging breath from a dying man. When he reached the hill’s edge, he swayed, catching his breath. Through tangled branches and shrubs, the clear water gleamed below. His lips ached with thirst, but the journey down looked perilous. Doubt gnawed at him. Would he survive the descent? Still, he had no choice. He took a tentative step, then tumbled, careening down the slope. Roots tore at his skin, bushes scratched and bruised him, and with every jolt, the arrow buried deeper in his shoulder and sent fresh waves of searing pain through his body. He reached the stream in one piece, but he landed hard on his back, shoving the arrow through to the bone and compelling him to cry out in pain.

He lay there for a moment, motionless, the world reduced to pain and breath. Every inch of his body screamed, but slowly, the sharp edge of the agony dulled. His breaths came ragged and shallow, the wound in his back pulsing with every beat of his heart. With a groan, Gerardo began to crawl. Each movement was torture, but the sound of the stream pulled him forward. At last, he reached the water’s edge and collapsed, pressing his face into the cold, clear stream. He drank greedily, the liquid washing over cracked lips and parched tongue. For a moment, the pain faded. There was only the water, and the sheer, aching relief of it.

The pixie drifted down on glimmering wings, landing on the nearest dry stone beside the wounded soldier. She watched as Gerardo rolled weakly onto his back, only to slip once more into unconsciousness. Tilting her head, she leaned forward, her tiny form casting a faint shimmer in the dappled light, and watched for breath. He was still alive. Just as relief softened her expression, a ripple in the stream drew her gaze. The water stirred against the flow. A young naiad emerged from the depths, her form fluid and graceful. Her gown shimmered with the current, its fabric mirroring the stream’s soft waves and shifting hues. Her hair, pale as sunlight through sea-glass with the faintest tinge of green, flowed like liquid silk around her shoulders. She moved with the quiet confidence of the river itself.

Then her diamond eyes settled on the pixie. “Rein Bow. What are you doing here?”

“I was just curious,” the pixie answered with a shrug. “Why else should I want to come watch a war and hang around … him?”

The naiad cocked an eyebrow at the pixie, suspicion in her gaze. “Is that all you’re curious about?”

“Yes, that’s pretty much it,” Rein answered. “It’s a rather fascinating war.”

“I’ve been instructed to speak with Gerardo alone.”

“So speak to him alone,” said Rein. “I’m only curious about the soldier because he’s the only one alive after a battle like that!”

“Well, you’ve satisfied your curiosity,” said the naiad. “Now leave me alone with Gerardo.”

Rein rolled her eyes and took off like an arrow. When she was expectedly far away, Gerardo stirred again, and the naiad waited for the soldier to notice her presence.

Only after a long moment did he notice a figure to his right. Subtle, quiet, but undeniable. He turned his head slowly, eyes squinting through the haze. The realization struck him like a jolt. He was gazing upon a naiad. He stared, startled, unsure if what he saw was real or some fevered illusion born of blood loss and exhaustion.

“Why don’t you try to stand?” The naiad offered her hand. “It’ll help you regain your strength.”

Gerardo took her hand and rose sluggishly with a wince. Then he brushed his ratty black hair from his pale face, and tried to straighten out what was left of his uniform, to no avail.

“I’m the naiad of the Sirene River,” she continued.

“G-good afternoon, S-sirene,” Gerardo stuttered.

“My name is Mira, in fact,” she replied. “The naiad of the Sirene Lake is Sirene.”

“I’m Gerardo of Liko.”

“I know. I’ve been instructed to come speak with you.”

Gerardo shot her a peculiar gaze. “You have?”

“Do you remember Jorge of En Why?”

“I’m not sure.” Gerardo rubbed his face, as though attempting to activate a memory through the fog in his mind.

Mira lifted her hand above the stream and created a wall of water in front of him. A small scene of a soldier fighting in a battle appeared on the wall. He looked to be about ten years older than Gerardo, with black hair that past his ears, and thick facial hair.

“This is Jorge of En Why,” Mira explained.

“I remember him,” Gerardo muttered through a breath. “He hates me more than anyone else on Xyntriav. Why do you remind me of him?”

“The Xers, or Executioners—whichever you prefer—have seized Jorge. He’s been taken to Emperor Mentir’s palace and held captive in his prison. You are required to free him.”

“Why me?”

“My apologies, did you have other plans?”

“Well not necessarily, however—”

“You are the only survivor of the Valley of Hills, all other warriors are preoccupied with the war.”

“So generally, I relocate to the nearest base and continue fighting until the war’s ended.”

“Not this time.” Mira shook her head. “There is a reason why you survived. It is God’s will that you be the one to free Jorge. His bloodline is very important to the United Empires in the future, so by saving him you save everyone. You’ll leave tomorrow.”

Gerardo would have laughed, but he was in no mood to do so.

“Just one moment,” he said before Mira could leave. “Jorge loathes me. He won’t even allow me to free him. I’m hated by everyone to such an extent that they don’t want me to save their lives in battle. Your plan won’t work.”

Gerardo was growing weaker as he had been standing for too long. With Mira’s help, he sat on the edge of the stream. Mira shook her head in response to his last comment.

“We all are. But this is not my plan. And the situation is different. Jorge would have to live in that prison if you didn’t get him out.”

“Which he probably prefers over being saved by me.”

“He’ll learn otherwise soon enough.”

“Well I’m afraid you’ll have to do more convincing than that to get me to cross over enemy lines, miss. Let alone breaking into an enemy palace.”

“Saving the United Empires isn’t enough?”

“I doubt you could prove to me that’s what I’d be doing.”

Mira chuckled. “Go ahead and try to run, Gerry. You’re meant to save Jorge. You will end up doing so one way or another. I assure you that willingly is easiest.”

Gerardo remained silent with his lips pursed and watched as Mira turned to the stream. She reached into the water and brought up a silver tray of fresh fruit, hot meat, and a warm drink in a silver goblet. Gerardo gaped at the food, peering into the goblet to observe it contained, “lona,” a smooth substance resembling water which tasted much like cherry cordials. Usually, only royalty and nobility had the privilege of enjoying such a novelty. His stunned gaze glanced up at Mira.

“Have something to eat,” she said. Then she turned and approached the center of the stream. “It’ll give you strength for tomorrow.” She stopped and peered over her shoulder at Gerardo. “Oh and if it serves as the additional ‘convincing’ you so require, you will be rewarded in the end. Goodbye and good luck.”

Mira melted back into the stream and Gerardo watched with wide eyes. Then he glanced back down at the food and drink on the silver tray. He didn’t eat it or touch it; he simply sat there and stared through it.

“Well eat it,” came a voice from behind him. “It’s the first decent meal you’ve had in a long time.”

Gerardo’s gaze flicked above him, and he saw a young pixie dressed in dark clothing sitting in the remains of a tree.

“And who might you be?” Gerardo asked.

“My name’s Rein Bow.” The pixie flew in front of Gerardo so he could face forward.

“Are you here to make sure I go save the prisoner, Rainbow?” Gerardo asked mockingly.

Rein chuckled. “My name’s Rein Bow. Two words. And I suppose you could say that.”

“Well, I don’t believe any of this is really happening, but I guess I’ll just play along until I wake up or something. Maybe I went insane because of the war.”

“Pinch yourself and see if you wake up,” said Rein. “It won’t work and sooner or later, you’ll realize you haven’t gone insane. You’d be seeing a lot worse things.” Gerardo’s attention dropped to his food again. “Well, eat! Aren’t you hungry?”

“No, not really,” Gerardo answered.

“You should be,” Rein said. “Besides, it’s good food.”

“Well if the food is so good, you have it.” He set the tray on the ground so he could lay down.

Rein pursed her lips at the food, hating to see it go to waste. She set her sights on Gerardo’s left shoulder and watched him wince at the ache.

“If I tend to your wound and take the pieces of arrow out of your back, will you eat?” she asked.

Gerardo considered her offer. “How do you plan to do that?”

“The same way your miracle workers do it,” Rein answered. “Only better.”

“Better?” Gerardo asked in disbelief.

“Absolutely! Your miracle workers are terrible! It’s no wonder pixies live longer than you!”

“What can you do?”

“What can I do? Eat and I’ll show you.”

Gerardo pushed himself back up and reluctantly started eating. Rein smiled victoriously and shot off to gather everything she needed to mend his wound. Her wings flapped at the speed of hummingbird wings enabling her to zip around the trees and foliage at awe-inspiring speeds. When she returned, Gerardo had finished eating, and he held the empty goblet in his hands.

“Remove your shirt and armor,” she demanded.

Gerardo obeyed and braced himself. Every shift of his shoulder sent a fresh wave of agony through his body, but he gritted his teeth and endured.

Rein removed her gloves and rolled up her sleeves. Without a word, she spat into her hands and smeared the saliva across the rim of the goblet. With a soft flutter of wings, she lifted the goblet and flew it to the stream, dipping it into the clear water. When she returned, she handed Gerardo a couple of leaves to eat as a form of pain relief. He obeyed, biting into the bitter leaves, and barely had time to prepare before Rein poured the stream water over his wound. Pain ripped through him. Gerardo flinched and let out a groan through his gnashed teeth, his body tensing as if struck. He exhaled hard, chest heaving, then slowly regained control.

After he composed himself, Rein applied some oil from another plant to numb the wound. As the numbing balm began to seep into his skin, the sharp edges of ache began to blur, and for the first time in what felt like hours, Gerardo could breathe without wincing.

“I’m curious,” Rein said while she worked. “What’s the significance of the design on your armor?”

“The color helps us to not be seen at night,” Gerardo answered between bites of leaf. “The design is meant to frighten the enemy and show that we aren’t afraid of death.”

“Much better compared to the Xer army,” Rein said.

“I agree, the design of Mentir’s image on their helmets only reflects their ignorant loyalty to their emperor.” There was a short moment’s silence. “I couldn’t help but notice how you spat on the cup before you filled it up with water.”

“You know how naiads are made of water, and dryads of trees?”

“Right.”

“Pixies are made of stardust, and most of it’s found in our saliva. Stardust makes things lighter for us to carry, so we spit on heavy things.”

“Interesting.” There was another short pause. “So what happens if I decide not to rescue Jorge and just find my way to the nearest base?”

“Why would you want to do that?” Rein asked.

Gerardo furrowed his brow at the question. “Because trying to sneak into the opposing emperor’s palace is suicide.”

“Well let’s observe your choices,” said Rein. “You only have two of them. You want to go to another base and continue fighting; that’s you’re first choice. Well according to your own words, people despise you, so what makes you think they’ll accept you onto their base? What’s stopping them from rejecting you and leaving you to starve to death outside? You’ll probably end up submitting to the second option anyway, which is going on a heroic mission and proving to the world what you’re capable of. If you fail, that just means you’ll be dead and you won’t have to deal with people hating you anymore. At least this way you might die heroically rather than by starvation. Which option sounds better to you?”

Gerardo gave a small snicker. “I can tell you’ve done this before.”

“Done what before?”

“Convinced someone to go on a suicide mission.”

“No, but at least now I know I can.”

The silence between them stretched, giving Gerardo too much room to think. With no conversation to fill the gaps, his mind wandered back to the uncertainty ahead, and the long trail behind. It wouldn’t be the first time a base would reject him. He had been shuffled between outposts more times than he could count, always the unwanted piece, the easy one to discard. Only one unit had found no other choice but to let him stay, and that was only because they were leaving to battle at the Valley of Hills.

Rein had spoken the truth. What was the point of searching for another post that would just send him on his way again? As absurd as it sounded, sneaking into the enemy’s palace was starting to seem like his only real path forward. Mira’s voice resounded in his mind, calm and knowing. “Willingly is easiest.” It stuck with him, as did the vague promise of a reward. Maybe it was hope, maybe it just seemed like the better option, but either way, something inside him began to settle. He might as well go through with it, and see what happens.

When Gerardo had finished eating the leaves, Rein handed him some red ones from another plant to help him heal. He chewed them down without question. The taste was sharp with a tinge of soil. Once she’d cleared the final splinters from his back, Rein crushed four more leaves beneath a smooth stone, mixing their oils into a dark, fragrant paste. She rubbed it gently over the torn flesh, her touch light but confident. A soft warmth spread across his skin as the balm began to take effect, dulling the sting and easing the tension in his muscles.

“See?” she said at last. “Do your miracle workers numb your wounds before they do anything?”

“Not usually.” Gerardo carefully slipped his shirt back on. “I appreciate it.”

Rein bowed and went to the stream to wash Gerardo’s blood off her hands before putting her gloves back on. She glanced around at all of the scorched trees and searched for the positions of the two suns in the sky. Xyntriav’s suns rose in the north and set in the south, and the Southern sun rose and set first. But as they were currently shrouded by thick rainclouds, it was difficult to decipher the time, leaving Rein to make her best guess based on the settling darkness.

“We should get some sleep,” she concluded to Gerardo when she returned. “We have a long way to travel tomorrow.”

Gerardo was already lying down, feigning sleep, but his breaths had begun to slow. Rein said nothing and fluttered to a charred, hollowed-out tree where she opted to make her camp. She plucked a broad, leftover leaf, and draped it over herself like a blanket. Curling into the curve of the scorched bark, she nestled into the shadows, making herself as comfortable as the ruin would allow. The night settled around them in stillness. It didn’t take long before both had drifted into sleep beneath the open sky.