​Fal felt as though his chest was cracking open like the skull of the runner from his meal that morning, which he so easily crushed in his jaws. His chest hurt, red hot pain radiating outward from the center, burning lightning into his shoulders, up into his throat and all the way down to his gut. His throat was parched. He badly needed water to drink, or blood. At the thought of blood, sudden, flooding nausea threatened to overwhelm him. He lost his balance and veered off, his wings tipping sideways in the air.
 
He felt tipsy like a morning flier drunk on old berries. It was all he could do to stay in the air, even as his wings flapped desperately. He couldn’t find his center. The balance so natural to him in flight was gone. His tail turned frantic circles in a futile effort to regain the equilibrium lost to him.
 
His nostrils were filled with the spicy, floral scent of her, mixed with the coppery tang of the smaller Guardian's blood. It was an enticing combination. She was so beautiful, so delicate. Even in his rage he had seen that. Nausea flooded over him at the thought, and he lurched off in the wrong direction, feeling as though he might at any moment empty the contents of his stomach.  
 
An enormous tree loomed up before him and he just barely negotiated his way around the shaggy, grey trunk by tilting his wings wildly and careening off in another direction entirely. He had to backtrack then, circling around to head back toward his cave.
 
His cave was all he wanted now, dark, comforting and safe. Whatever was happening to him he could deal with there, if only he could get back. He flapped his wings, lost his balance and crashed hard into the ground. His neck crumpled underneath, as his body rolled over onto his back and he lay there, stunned.
 
Slewing himself over onto his stomach, he promptly retched up his recent meal in an undignified series of undulating neck movements and stomach heavings. Then he pushed himself up onto his legs and began the laborious process of shuffling his way back to his cave, even as another wave of crippling pain shot through his chest.
 
*****
 
Tim ran, tears streaming down his cheeks. All he could see was that small, exquisite Guardian, ripped and bleeding. Sobs tore from his throat, wheezing through his chest. Still he ran. His body guiding him, knowing the way, his heart and mind still on the mountainside grieving over the dying Guardian. It was all his fault. He never should have hired the Hunter. He should have warned that Guardian to stay far away. He never should have let it come near the Fallen. And what about the Fallen? He had seen the way Fal flew away, haphazardly, dangerously unbalanced, making for his cave. Was Fal injured? He might not be able to do anything for that small Guardian… at this thought, Tim sobbed harder, but he could and would help Fal. His legs moved faster, leaping over stones, roots and branches in his way, carrying him back around the base of Guardian Mountain, toward Fal’s cave.
 
He careened around the side of the cave, one hand catching hold of the rough stone edge, and all but fell into the opening. The cave was dark and silent. Regaining his balance, he took several steps in, allowing his eyes to adjust. There was no looming, deeper shadow within. No sound of rocks grating beneath huge claws. No bellows-like breath. Fal was not there. Where could he be?
 
Tim went back outside and stood looking frantically in one direction then another. He heard a crashing from the woods off to his right, as of a great creature moving unsteadily through the trees. Fal! Tim followed the sounds of cracking branches and pushed his way through a patch of scrub growth. There he found Fal. The great Guardian labored, one step at a time, breasting through the undergrowth. His tail dragged the ground, wings dangled unevenly off the sides of his back, his head hung down, jaws agape and tongue lolling. His breath moving in and out in gasping heaves.
 
“Fal!” Tim rushed to his side, “are you alright?”
 
Golden eyes rolled upward at Tim, then Fal took in a shuddering breath and collapsed against him, bearing both of them to the ground.
 
*****
 
“Fal! Get up Fal!”
 
Fal felt something pushing at him, something else being pulled from underneath him. He opened his eyes. Tim was beside him, no, mostly under him.
 
Unwilling to squash the boy just yet, Fal dragged himself into a sitting position. He was aware that his wings and tail sprawled inelegantly and he didn’t care. It was enough that he was upright.
 
“Fal, are you hurt?” Tim touched his side, running gentle hands over his back, wings and legs, looking for signs of injury. The tender hands felt good. Fal leaned into them. Not because he needed such attentions, but because the boy needed to feel useful.
 
“Why did you do it Fal?” The words whimpered out of the boy as if unwilling, and unwilling Fal’s mind was pulled back to the scene on the mountainside.
 
The question, Fal thought, was not why I did it, but why did I stop? Nausea threatened to consume him and he felt retching waves move up his neck. Dizziness caused his balance to waver, and he spread his forelegs wide to stabilize himself.
 
Such thoughts were better left alone.
 
Fal cast an eye over the boy. He saw a bedraggled and gangly younger, part-man, part-boy, all human. Dirt streaked his face in tracks down his cheeks beneath red-rimmed eyes. Curly, black hair stuck out in clumps, stuck here and there with twigs and bits of leaves. His tunic was rumpled and hung askew on his thin frame.
 
Fal felt his chest expand as if something inside filled a space suddenly grown too small. It hurt, the pressure building. On a gasping intake of breath, he realized he felt something for this boy, his boy. Unwilling to pursue that or any thought further, Fal turned his head away, lunged to his feet, and made his way to the beckoning womb of his cave, Tim trailing behind.

Ell threw up her head, watching the enormous Guardian diving at her. Her jaws opened defensively, then it slammed into her. She felt the thudding impact as a tremendous weight bore her body to the ground. Huge claws stabbed and ripped agonizingly into her sides, grabbing at her neck and pinning her head to the stony earth.

She looked upward into a gaping, toothed maw, nostrils filling with the rotted flesh scent of heated breath as it came at her. Her mind filled with the horrific vision of this enormous Guardian crushing her skull in it’s jaws, like the shell of an egg.

“Git offa her you, you…!”

Terris never finished his demand as he leapt at her attacker. Out of the corner of her eye, Ell saw Terris fly through the air, thrown wide by an enormous, whipping tail. She felt a stab of fear for him, knowing Terris had already been injured even as he leapt upon her foe.

Ell prayed. One, protect these precious humans who have given so much to protect me.

She felt her heart expand and was suddenly aware of all that took place from a vantage point above, observing.

She knew this Guardian. This was Fal, the dark light.

She felt the loving presence of the One fill her to overflowing. It tingled throughout her body, easing the terrible weight crushing her into the ground, and the burning pain of the claws that ripped at her.

Her fear melted away and she was oddly curious to see what would happen next.

She knew with certainty that it was all perfect, whatever happened, and she was filled with a deep sense of peace. Then sadness welled up in her heart as she felt the agony, fear and rage which consumed Fal and her heart reached out to him.

“Elllll...!” Lisle screamed high and long, from the mountain path above. Ell saw Lisle hurtle recklessly down the mountainside, slipping sideways on the graveled surface, face contorted with anger. She charged at the Fallen, beating at him with her fists.

Another arrived at that same moment, the boy Ell had seen from the air, the one she recognized as Tim. Long legs and arms pumping furiously, he raced to Fal, pulling at him, trying to get him off of her back.

She was grateful for their efforts, even knowing they were futile.

The thought came to her, I am of the One and of the One I remain. She knew this to be her deepest truth, despite what was happening to her physical body.

Then, as her body struggled for breath beneath that terrible weight, she mind-spoke, Fal, we are ONE.

The light of the One flooded outward through the back of her heart. She felt the warm energy and an intense tingling sensation which dampened the burning pain in her back and neck from where his claws tore through her scaled hide. She felt love, huge and encompassing, engulfing her and the one who rent and tore at her.

Distantly, she felt the pain intensify in her back as his claws clenched spasmodically, powerfully, and then suddenly released.

With a shrieking roar the Fallen lifted into the air and flapped away in the direction from which he had come. She turned her head to watch him and saw that his movements were awkward. Long, dark tail wheeling, trying for balance, he pitched drunkenly in the air with none of the accustomed grace of a Guardian in flight.

Ell heaved desperate breath into her lungs, and her consciousness fell back into her body as its arching defensiveness collapsed. She felt the intense burning pain of her wounds return and groaned. A sound that vibrated from her gut and all along her neck, exacerbating the agony, and which she quickly cut short.

Lisle and Tim stood on either side of her, staring at her.

She heard the boy whisper, “I’m so sorry.” Then his feet pounded off in the direction the Fallen had taken. She didn’t lift her head to watch him go.

“Ell, you’re bl…bleeding!” She felt Lisle’s gentle hands on her back, and heard her catching intake of breath. “Oh, Ell.” Lisle quickly removed her over-tunic. She tried without success to rip it in pieces as she started to sob. Then she gave up and used the whole tunic to mop at Ell’s back and neck. 

“One bless you, Ell, yer a bit tore up,” said Terris through gritted teeth. He limped over to her, pressing his hand hard against his side. 

“There now, Younger, Ell ‘ll be alright.” Terris sounded out of breath as he moved over beside her and Ell felt another hand upon her back. “It looks a mess, but nothin’ as won’t heal up.” He paused to drag in another breath, still pressing his hand against his side. “You keep doin’ what you’re doin.’ It’ll stop the bleedin.’” Lisle snuffled, wiping her nose on her sleeve, and reached to mop Ell’s neck where it dripped crimson. Terris sank down on the ground beside Ell, breathing hard. Then his eyes rolled back, his head canted to the side, and he slowly toppled over.

Sweat pouring into his eyes, Terris heaved himself up over the rock ledge, jagged edges biting into his fingers. His palms stung, reddened with scrapes from the climb. Moss waited there at the top for him, wings whirring, her hands signaling frantically. He couldn’t figure out what she was trying to telling him. Then, she turned and pointed out toward the other end of the ledge. There he saw the man who had been hunting them, lying down, his back to them, staring intently over the edge.

Crouching, Terris gathered himself together, his terror of what he was about to do keeping his movements absolutely silent. Looking down, he carefully pulled his knife from his belt, and tested the edge against a dirty fingertip. Taking a deep breath to fortify himself, he looked up at Moss and signaled her to wait.

Jiggling up and down, eyes gleaming and teeth bared, Moss was unable to contain herself. A ferocious, miniature scream ripped from her throat and she arrowed straight for their adversary.

Terris stood up, horrified, then charged forward with his own scream of defiance. The man rose with agile grace, and turned to face them in fighting stance, knife drawn.

Terris skidded to a stop, his battle cry tapering off into something more like a whine. What am I doing? Thoughts clattered about in his head. This man has twice my reach and look at those eyes. A shiver ran up Terris’s spine. What am I going to do?

Moss leapt at the man’s face and landed to do battle with his nose, grabbing and leaning in to bite.

The man, looked cross-eyed for a moment as he focused upon his tiny adversary. He took a step backward and slapped her to the ground. With a squeak of pain, she landed hard, one wing bent at an impossible angle.

Terris looked at Moss’s unmoving figure and gave up questioning himself. Angry and dripping sweat, he circled, looking for a way to come at the man. His adversary stood motionless, eyebrows arched, a look of invitation in his eyes.

It was then that Terris knew what he had to do. A calm resolve filled him. He would do this to save his friends. He dropped his knife and stood up, hands out.

Why the little creeper. He’s giving up without even a fight. The Hunter stepped forward to grab the small man just as he lunged into him. Powerful shoulders hit the Hunter in his midsection and knocked him backward. Muscular arms locked around him, travel-strengthened legs thrust the Hunter back, back, and further back into… nothing.

The Hunter’s thoughts were calm, precise. This creeper has teeth. His body flailed for survival, arms pinwheeling through the air, then grabbing onto this small man he’d thought no match for him. As both men went over the edge, the Hunter thought with an odd sort of relief, finished, the hunt is over. His lips curved upward into a smile.
*****

​Tim ran, strong, young legs pumping hard. He had to get to the Hunter and stop him. Surely, because he had been the one to hire him, he could stop him.

He didn’t understand how Fal could want to harm this beautiful creature of the One. It was so wrong. His legs moved faster still as his heart filled with fear for the small Guardian. She loved him. He had seen it in her eyes in that one glance. She knew him. He was certain. He had to save her!

With the agility of youth, he leapt over a fallen log and kept running, his thoughts racing alongside him. In all those towns he traveled through on his search for the Hunter, it had felt so good to see the respect in men’s eyes as soon as he said he spoke for the Fallen. He had come to look for it, even crave it. It was a feeling like none other in his young life. He was even able to ignore the small voice in his mind that told him what he did was very wrong.

Now that small voice was screaming at him, and he understood that what he thought was respect was only fear. I never wanted that. Now he knew that nothing was more important than saving the small, loving Guardian.

Running hard, Tim heard a faint roaring coming from the direction of Fal’s cave. He slowed. Fal is so angry. He could feel it clawing at his stomach. His breath came in great gulps as his feet found roots sticking up from the ground and he stumbled to his knees. The roaring grew louder and then louder still, as a great shadow passed overhead, tracing along the brown earth before his stunned eyes. One forbid! He thought. Feeling Fal's rage flood through his gut and send jolting currents down his arms and legs, he pushed himself up with his hands, leaping to his feet. Desperately he ran, moving ever faster. He had to get there in time.

Tim sat in his favorite, sunny spot on the moss-covered ledge of grey rock which overhung Fal’s cave. For a time, he was mesmerized by the tiny flashes of crystalline white which sparkled in the rock beside him. Then, he leaned back into the spongey mat and rested on his elbows, lean, brown legs crossed at the ankles in front of him. The sun trickled down through the leaves of the scrubby trees surrounding the cave, a warm blanket of light flowing over the front of his body.
​
It felt so good to relax, at least for this moment. Fal had been increasingly edgy and irritable, pacing about the cave, whip-like tail lashing back and forth. When he got like that Tim had to watch out for himself. Fal was not careful about where his tail connected, and Tim had more than once been thrown against the wall. Better to sit out here in the sun and allow the Fallen to work through his temper.

Tim tilted his head back, breathing deeply of the sun-warmed air. He brushed a black curl out of his eyes and gazed idly at the wispy clouds drifting in the sky over the mountainside. Then his attention was caught by movement. He picked out a dark flier against the cloud’s fluffy white. Another Guardian! It had to be. No other flier would be so large at this distance.

It was only the second Guardian Tim had ever seen. Even though he now lived here in the base of Guardian Mountain, the only Guardian he ever saw was Fal. Beautiful as his Guardian was, Tim was thrilled to see another.

Over the past weeks he had seen Fal flying in the air, though it was an unusual occurrence. This one looked smaller than his Guardian. He strained his eyes to see it as it drifted closer, riding the wind with motionless wings extended. Now he could see that it was a rusty green, lighter than Fal’s deep emerald. As he stared, he saw flashes of ruby red along the ridges of a long, graceful neck and tail. This one was as stunningly beautiful as the Fallen, though lighter in color. Just then, it turned its head and looked right at him. He felt that glance move like a shock through his body and burst into his heart. Tim was astonished to feel tears trickling down his cheeks. Then the Guardian dipped down and disappeared behind the trees.

He was stricken at losing sight of it. So, he watched, his heart pounding, feeling desperate to see it again. He searched the mountainside above Fal’s cave, hungry green eyes traveling up to the summit and back, looking for any sign of movement.

One corner of his mind noted that all was still from inside the cave. Perhaps his Guardian was sitting now, lost in his inner world. Thank the One, thought Tim.

He continued to scan the mountainside and the sky above. Finally, he caught sight of a large figure which he knew must be the other Guardian. It was at the head of a line of smaller, human-shaped figures, moving up the side of the mountain. He stared avidly, drinking in the sight of the small Guardian.

A short time later he saw a fourth figure moving fast at an angle behind the three, and climbing up above them. The others didn’t seem to be aware of their pursuer, but it looked as though he was getting into position to attack them.
The Hunter, realized Tim, horrified.

Without conscious thought, Tim was off the ledge and racing up the side of the mountain. He had to stop him.
*****

“Gareth is hit!” Yelled Terris, turning to aid his friend. The path was narrow. On one side was a sheer drop off. On the other a rock wall and an overhang. Gareth lay under the overhang, an arrow imbedded in his thigh.

Moss, wings clattering with anxiety, landed beside Gareth, and watched as he held his leg, eyes squeezed shut, teeth gritted against the pain.

“Bloody claws,” said Gareth, “not again.” He looked up at Terris, face pale, “You’ve gotta keep going, Terris.” He moved his leg experimentally and grimaced. “I’ll catch you up. Guard them Terris! You too, Moss. Go!”

Agonized, Terris looked at his friend and clenched his jaw against whatever he might have said, knowing Gareth was right. Then he extended his hand to Moss and turned to catch Lisle as she charged back down the rock-strewn path toward them. Ell, golden eyes focused upon Gareth, trotted close behind, sending pebbles rattling down the hillside in her wake.

“We gotta get you n’ Ell up there. Gareth’ll be along. Move now," said Terris, holding Lisle's arm with one hand, as she strained toward Gareth.

Terris reached his other hand up to offer Moss his shoulder, but she took to the air, hovering above them. He then turned Lisle around by her shoulders and made a waving motion for Ell to turn as well. He gently and firmly pushed Lisle ahead of him up the path, as Ell ponderously negotiated the tight turn and moved into place to lead the way once again.

Terris scanned the rocks above them for the shooter, even as Lisle stumbled on the path, her head turned, looking back over her shoulder toward the overhang. He caught her and they climbed steadily. There was no sign of their assailant. The sun beating down was hot, the unmoving air getting thin and hard to breathe. They didn't dare stop to rest.

The path continued, narrow and treacherous with a sheer drop off down the side to their right. Terris’s eyes blurred with strain as he scanned the rocks ahead of them. Perspiration dripped down his face and into his panting mouth, tasting salty and rank.

A slight movement above and in front of them caught his attention. He saw a stealthy figure duck down behind a boulder just behind another overhang of rock. They would never be able to pass that overhang safely. Terris had to do something, but what? I’m no bowman, no fighter. All I got's a cooking knife.  

Slowing his pace, Terris called to mind the only fighting he had ever done, wrestling matches with his brothers when he was a younger. He had spent many of his early days pinned to the ground by one enormous brother or another. The only way he ever had a chance was to take one by surprise. 

Suddenly, he knew what he had to do.

Terris tapped Lisle’s shoulder. Moss whirred down to hover beside him. As Lisle turned to him, he said softly, “You keep comin’ along slow with Ell.” He slipped his pack off and handed it to Lisle.  “I’m gonna climb up and git behind that bowman, and fer One’s sake, stay behind Ell and keep yer head down.”

Lisle nodded assent with a forehead wrinkled with anxiety.  Taking the pack, she hurried up beside Ell, and pulled back on her wing. Ell slowed her pace, as Terris began to scale the wall of rock bordering the narrow path they trod, his lean muscles straining with effort. Moss zipped up beside him, shining wings a blur, landing on the rocks above, alert and watchful.

Several days passed and Gareth’s condition improved rapidly. Soon, he was sitting up, and able to lean carefully against the grayed trunk of a tree whose branches provided a canopy for their campsite hidden within Darkling Forest.  A few more days saw him standing and moving about tentatively.

Finally, he was well enough to travel.
​
The night before they were to leave, Gareth lay,  his head resting on a bedroll and hands clasped over his stomach. Lisle watched Gareth as he scanned the woods with haunted eyes. She sat with him beside their neat fire, holding slender hands over the coals. Despite it being full summer, the evening air was damp and chilly. Moss sat, watchful, upon Lisle’s shoulder, running tiny fingers through the verdant tangles of hair haloing her small head.

Ell lay curled, tail tip over muzzle, eyes open, reflecting the small flames of the campfire. Only Terris seemed relaxed,  fiddling about in his pack, pulling out various small bags of herbs and considering each one. Wagging his head in the negative, he’d stuff the small bag back into his pack and reach in for another one.

Haltingly, Lisle told Gareth of all that had happened after he was shot. She told him how Terris had saved the Guardian.

Terris looked up at them. He squared his shoulders. “I didn’t do nothin’ you wouldna’ done if you coulda’ Gareth.” Then he looked down quickly and fumbled with the bag he was holding.

Gareth carefully pushed himself to a sitting position. His lips twitched but he nodded solemnly to Terris.

Lisle continued on, telling Gareth how Moss had chased away Gareth’s startled assailant, quite possibly saving Gareth’s life. At this, Moss stood up on Lisle’s shoulder and puffed up her chest, wings lifting. She shook her fist at their remembered foe and loosed a string of staccato, clattering syllables.

Finally, Lisle told him how the Guardian sat with him, not eating, not moving for days, as Lisle cared for him the best she knew how. “W…which was n…not v…very g..good,” she said, looking down at hands now twisting in her lap.

“It was good enough. My gratitude to all of you,” Gareth looked at each one in turn as he said this. Then, eyes and head tilting up and to the side, he remembered, “I heard singing off and on, thought it was my Marn.” He turned to look at Lisle. “Was it you?”

“It e…eased y…you. I…I sang e…even when you w…went into th…that s…sleep. I d..didn’t k…know what else to…to d…do.”

Gareth shifted to look at her directly, grimacing slightly as his newly healed wound pulled. His eyes lighted,  “I had a dream.”

Gareth told Lisle of the lake and meeting Ell and the choice she had given him.

A pot crashed, jolting Gareth and causing Lisle to start. Together, they looked over to see Terris trying to regain his balance as he leapt over the offending pot now lying on its side on the hard-packed earth and stumbled to his knees. He looked up at them with an embarrassed grin.

Gareth pushed himself to his feet. Looking down at Terris he stepped over and offered him a hand up. Terris looked at the proffered hand with eyes wide, but accepted it and got to his feet. “Ta,” said Terris as he brushed off the legs of his trews, and set about righting the pot to make breakfast.

The next morning, they packed up and set off. Gareth walked up front, occasionally moving off into the woods, then returning to say all was clear. They didn’t travel far that day. Nor could they travel far for many days as Gareth gradually gained his strength back. Lisle took to feigning exhaustion at times to get Gareth to rest, and Terris soon caught on and contributed his own weary complaints. Gareth lost patience with them a few times, refusing to stop.

Unusually, several times each day Ell dropped down from where she flew above the sheltering canopy of the forest, back winging to come to land before them, dried leaves and dust flying up into the air about her. She would settle herself for a rest and look over at them calmly as if this was their usual routine. Always, this was just as Gareth felt exhaustion setting in, despite the desire to push himself. The companions soon learned that she would travel no further until they had all rested. 

That afternoon they settled by a brook. It was a comfortable place with the sound of the running water nearby. It was an hour or two before dark and they sat around a crackling fire, replete from a supper of ground flier, which Ell had provided, and Terris had seasoned with just the right herbs and a touch of salt.

Terris fiddled with the handle of a pot that needed mending. Then he looked up at Gareth. “It’s a strange thing I’ve jus’ remembered. That man what attacked the Guardian, he yelled, ‘For the Fallen!’ Jus’ like that. That man was terrifyin’, he was. He wanted to die.”

Gareth looked up sharply, “The Fallen? I remember something of that.” Gareth searched his memory for stories he had heard back when he was traveling with Lur. “There was a group who worshipped one called The Fallen. Anyone who serves the One is their enemy. Those that attacked us, they were after Ell. Makes sense her being a Guardian and of the One.”

Terris groaned. “Rend and tear it,” he said, shaking his head. He put the pot down and took out his knife and whetting stone, and began scraping the blade carefully against the stone. ”We’ll be ready for ‘em if they comes back.”

Gareth looked at him, eyebrows raised, his lips tiling upward. He recognized his own cuss words coming from Terris’s mouth, but said nothing. He was feeling a growing respect for the small man before him; glad now that Terris was with them.

“Yes,” said Gareth, “we will.”

Tim trudged into yet another village. He had traveled from town to village and further; so far, he no longer cared to know the name of each place. Always searching, never finding the man he sought.

All that wandering in strange places combined with something deeper and darker within him. It hardened him, firming up the boyish contours of his face into something a miscreant, bent on mischief or worse, would think twice about messing with. His odd, light green eyes beneath dark, glowering brows, and his long blade kept most trouble at a distance.  Knife throwing ability, honed by the pain of rejection, now protected him in his journeying. It took only one well-placed hit to warn off trouble makers. He never actually had to hurt anyone, but they didn’t know that. 

Tim entered the dingy room of the only tavern in this particular village. The much abused, wood floor creaked beneath his feet. It was early yet and the place was empty of customers. One, grimy window and a meager fire contributed little to the poor illumination. The air reeked of stale, spilt ale.

Time approached a stout, aproned man with a proprietary look about him, sweeping the floor with hard strokes. “I’m looking for the man called, ‘The Hunter.’

The man, stilled and leaned on his broom, squinting up at Tim. “I mighta’ seen him and then I mighta’ not.”

Tim tucked his thumbs into his belt and drummed his fingertips impatiently. “I am the Voice of The Fallen.”

The tavern keeper gasped and dropped his broom. He took a step away from Tim, and then another. “The, the… Fallen?” He made a warding gesture with his thumb and forefinger crossed and pressed against his forehead.

Tim had seen the gesture in each town he entered. It no longer concerned him.

“The Hunter, he, he, he…” The man paused to collect himself, looking down at the floor, suddenly submissive. “The Hunter, he comes in here reglar.”

Watching the man, Tim slowly pulled a coin from the pouch at his belt and flipped it in his fingers. “Tell me of him.”
The tavern keeper glanced at the coin and took a step closer. He flicked a look back over one shoulder and then the other. Leaning in toward Tim, he said quietly, “The Hunter hunts and tracks bettern' most men breathe.”

Tim listened, flipping the coin.

“He hunts for meat and fur, trades it in town here. But that’s not why they calls him the Hunter." The tavern keeper leaned closer to Tim’s ear and whispered, “He likes to hunt men. 'More interestin,’ he calls it.” He paused, head up and looking about himself, his hands wringing the yellowed apron he wore into a twist.

Tim continued flipping the coin.

The tavern keeper licked his lips. “He don’t come back without what he’s huntin’ for. He don’t much care what shape they come back in and neither should you if you hire him."

Tim flipped the coin at the man and dropping his apron, the tavern keeper caught it deftly with one hand, and tucked it quickly into a pocket beneath his apron.

“Where can I find him?”

“Most times he eats here when he’s not huntin’. You’ll find him if you waits long enough.” He bent to pick up his fallen broom and continued sweeping.

Tim waited several days. He slept by the hearth at night, and kept watch from a table by day. He intentionally chose a dark, corner table where he might not be observed from the door and ordered just enough to keep the tavern keeper satisfied.

On the third day a tall figure moved across the threshold of the doorway, momentarily blocking the light from entering the room. Tim looked at the owner of the tavern and the man nodded slightly at him, then he glanced casually over at the Hunter. It was difficult to make our facial features in the gloom, but the Hunter moved gracefully, like the animal he was named for. A fur-lined hide hat covered his head. A long bow was slung over his shoulder, a quiver of arrows at one hip. At the other hip he wore a long and deadly looking hunting knife in a worn, leather scabbard. Hide boots covered his feet and laced about his calves. Tim watched as he stalked across the floor and lowered himself to sit at a table facing the door, stretching out his long legs.
​
 “Ale,” the Hunter said, his voice low and husky.

“Yes, Sirrah. Right away.”

The tavern keeper busied himself filling a glass and placed it before the Hunter; nervously wiping up a non-existent spill on the table before scuttling away.

The Hunter removed his heavy hat, dark with stains, and placed it on the table beside him. Black strands of hair hung lankly about his lean, sharp-boned face. The rest of it was tied at the back of his neck with a leather thong. He drank deeply of the ale in silence.

Tim stood, holding a tankard and moved to stand beside the hearth on the other side of the room. He turned sideways to the Hunter, leaning his arm on the mantel, taking a sip now and then. He studied the man, careful not to attract his attention.  

The tavern filled up. It was a popular place being the only one in the village. The Hunter finished his meal and pushed his plate from him, reaching for his second glass of ale.

Two, large, rough-hewn men, entered the tavern. They hefted traveling packs over their shoulders and looked about themselves appraisingly, as if unfamiliar with the tavern. The tables were all occupied, each with several men, drinking and eating. All except for the table where the Hunter sat, alone.

The two men approached his table. “Mind if we sits here?” Spoke one.

The Hunter didn’t look up from his ale. “I mind,” a rough whisper.

The second man, placed his hands on the table and leaned into the Hunter. “Look you, we needs a place to sit. The tables is all full.” 

The tavern keeper stood, slack-jawed, eyes wide and staring. Then he shut his mouth with a snap and ducked behind the bar.

With no change of expression, the Hunter set his drink on the table, grabbed one of the hands on the table before him with his own, stood and yanked hard, spinning the hapless stranger about. The Hunter’s other hand rapidly unsheathed his long-bladed knife and held it to the man’s throat. A few deep red droplets welled up from where the edge of the knife pressed against skin. The man stood paralyzed in the Hunter’s grasp, eyes wide with terror. His companion backed up a step and reached hesitantly toward his own blade.

“This table’s taken,” the Hunter said quietly into his captive’s ear. Removing the knife, he pushed the man away, ignoring the companion. Wiping the edge of his blade on his pant leg, the Hunter sat back down and picked up his drink. The man stood staring at him, hand at his throat. His companion grabbed at his friend’s shoulder, eyeing the Hunter warily, and dragged him away.

Having seen enough, Tim put his tankard down on the mantel and moved quietly to stand in front of the Hunter.
The Hunter eyed him, hard gray eyes narrowing a warning. Tim suppressed the involuntary shudder that ran up his spine and said, “The Fallen has a job for you.”

The Hunter leaned back, tilted his head to the side staring up at Tim. He said nothing, considering the boy-man before him. He took a long swig of his ale, then nodded his head as if to himself. He nudged a chair toward Tim with his foot and rasped, “I’m listening.”

Tim stood at the entrance to the cave which squatted at the base of Guardian Mountain, one tan and dirt encrusted hand grasping the rough, grey rock at the cave mouth. He leaned his head inward, straining his eyes to peer into the dark depths.

He knew it was here, though he didn't know what 'it' was.  

Tim was tired. It had been three anxious suns of walking due north through the frightening Darkling Forest. Yet anything was better than the torment of living with the scorn of his brothers and father, and his own growing hatred. The nights of his journey had been terrifying,  wakeful, hearing his name called over and over. All of it had brought him unerringly to this place.

While his body might be tired, his heart was thumping hard with excitement. He just knew this was what he was seeking; this was what had been calling him. 

Wind rushed past his back, carrying browned leaves fallen too early for the season, and brushing them on by. He didn’t notice. He was too intent on studying the tiny flashes of light which blinked at him from countless crystal points embedded into the walls and ceiling of the cave.

He heard a loud, snorting breath bellowing forth from some huge beast within and startled backward, his head rearing up. He saw it then, an outline of darkness, shadowing the crystal points of light, moving slowly toward him from the back of the cave. He heard the crunching sound of movement on rock, heavy and slow.

Terror vyed  for control of his body. His mind knew he should run yet his heart kept him rooted to the spot.

A deep green, scaled forearm stepped into the light. His eyes followed it downward as long, ivory talons curved into view, then another forearm moved up beside it, cruel talons clicking on rock. A tingling thrilled through Tim’s arms and legs, his body begging him to flee. Still he did not.

His mouth dropped open unheeded, full lips dry, as Tim’s dark lashed eyes followed the gleaming, scaled forearms back up to powerful shoulders, rippling with muscle. Shoulders which shone in the light as the enormous beast emerged from the dark shadows of the cave. Tim's riveted gaze picked out the sparkling details of each scale, looking as though they were made of purest, dark green emerald. He had never seen anything so beautiful.

His eyes traced further upward to the sinuous neck, reflecting the sunlight in an emerald green so dark as to look almost black, shading back and forth with a startling sapphire blue as the neck wove to and fro in the light. The effect was mesmerizing.

Tilting his head back to look further up, Tim saw powerful jaws and ridged, reptilian head duck under the rock overhang as the beast emerged slowly from the dark of the cave, it’s claws grating and crunching over the rock floor.

Run! Run! Run! Tim’s mind screamed at him even as he ignored the fear that coursed through his body.

A Guardian. It called me here. It wants me! Awe filled his chest on a gasping intake of breath.  He had never been so sure of anything in his life. Here was power, strength, and dominance, everything he wanted and more.

Tim fell to his knees bumping his forehead to the ground, almost touching the great, ivory claws. “I will serve you with my life, Great One, only give me  your power and strength,” his words fell to the earth followed by tears of fear, release and joy.

The huge jaws lowered deliberately to hover in the air just above Tim’s head. The breath blew out through enormous nostrils and Tim felt his hair parted and blown about. He didn’t dare to move. Perhaps the Guardian will take my life. He trembled involuntarily at the thought. It would be my honor to serve so, though he hoped the Guardian would have better use for him than that. He kept his head bowed to the ground, clenching his elbows tight to his sides trying to still the trembling that shook him.

It would seem that it did have a better use for him, because he felt the warm wind of breath quiet and the great head move away.
Tim lifted his own head from the ground and risked a glance upward. Large, round pupiled eyes the color of molten gold stared down at him from the bejeweled head, green ridges, dark as obsidian, standing high.

The Guardian slowly turned, long, graceful neck curving around, claws scratching over stone, and moved back into it’s cave. Tim knelt, watching spellbound.  The beautiful creature turned it’s head back once again to look at Tim, as if in invitation.

Tim, tear streaked face full of boyish wonder and pure delight, scrambled to his feet and followed.    
  

Fal lay collapsed on his side. His Wufn was gone! The utter devastation of Wufn’s loss was impossible to comprehend. Greystone rubble on the floor of his cave dug into him, large enough for him to feel through his scaly flesh, and yet he barely noticed that discomfort. The pain inside was raging hot, burning and consuming him, eating a huge hole inside his chest. He could not understand it, how could Wufn possibly matter so much to him? He couldn’t allow it.

Wufn doesn’t matter. He never mattered.

Fal sought desperately for another reason for his agony.

 It must be his failure that matters. It is failure that eats me up inside, like a forest aflame. 

The Fallen dragged himself upright, sitting back on his haunches. He closed his eyes and felt the size and shape of the searing hole inside. It threatened to consume him entirely. He could not let that happen.

He filled that inner hole with ice, feeling the frigid cold enter and quench the flames, numbing that burned and shattered part of himself. He encased it all in thick, aqua blue ice, like the frozen rivers pouring over the far ends of the Mother, seen only in his dreams.

 I will never feel that kind of agony again. Never. When I succeed in my quest, I will have the power and control I need to feel whole. Nothing will hurt me like that again.

He sat, cold filling him deep inside. He was almost there, when unwelcome thoughts crept into his mind.

It is written, Guardians protect the balance of light and dark. I have blasphemed. I have sought the death of a Guardian. I have turned my back on the One. I suffer for this.

No! I choose. I choose my own path. I choose the path of power!

Then the voices, always the voices, slithering, creeping.

You are weak, powerless, an insignificant crawling worm.

The ice filled him completely. He was protected. He felt nothing now, nothing but the cold. It burned almost as the fire had done, but that was right. That he could focus upon, center himself with.

The sun finished crossing the sky and sank to its sleep below the horizon. The moon rose and walked with silvery footsteps across the stones outside his cave. Still he sat, centered in the cold, his thoughts silent now.

As the sun woke once more, sending shafts of pale, morning light into his cave, shimmering on the deep green scales on his forearms, he knew what he must do.

I need another to be my hands and my voice.

Benumbed and determined, the Fallen sank deep into the blackness of the void and sought that small light he had taken note of before.

*****

Tim walked along a wooded path. The boy’s slim legs moved easily, one long, black curl falling over his forehead. Green eyes, a startling contrast with his dusky skin, surveyed the trees he knew so well. He would often come, just as he had today, to spend time in the woods. To feel the sun on his back and sit upon his favorite rock and wait for the tight place in his belly to ease.

Sometimes the woods creatures came near, and he threw them crumbs from his morning cakes. The hoppers and the climbers didn’t fear him. Why should they? He wouldn’t hurt them.

Tim shuddered, remembering, and felt his belly tighten up. Six moons ago, in his twelfth change, his brothers had taken him hunting with them. He was so pleased and excited that he was big enough to go. He loved tracking through the woods as his brothers pointed out the signs of a large runner. Then they came upon the runner. Tim remembered the wonder he felt as he drank in the sight of its proud, antlered head and liquid, brown eyes staring at him from beneath the trees ahead. Then the terror and agony as the arrow pierced its side. His belly had tightened into a knot so intense he fell to the ground crying with pain. His brothers were disgusted with him, and called him a suckling, not big enough for the hunt. They sent him home in shame.

The next time, his brothers brought him along only at their father’s insistence. “Teach him,” he had commanded. Tim had gone reluctantly.

His delight in the woods, its sounds and smells had sidetracked him and he almost enjoyed himself, forgetting what was to come. Then the rooter they were tracking was hit. Again, he was doubled up with agony in his belly. He tried not to cry aloud, but the pain was too great. His brothers had refused to take him after that, saying that he ruined the hunt.

Tim reached his favorite rock in the woods and sat down, munching on a morning cake, tasting the oaten, nutty flavor he loved. He could feel the sun warm upon his back. His belly eased and he was able to think a little more clearly. It was getting so his belly was always in a knot when he was at the cottage. His brothers no longer treated him as one of them. He was shunted to the side, ignored, unworthy to be included in their jokes and banter. His father looked at him with irritation now, and something like disgust. He felt like a crawlie, something beneath their notice and it hurt badly.

A climber, tail down, moved along the ground toward him, hoping for a little bit of the cake Tim held in his hand. Tim looked at it absently, started to break off a piece of cake, then stopped. Bitterly he said, “You’re why I don’t belong. What kind of a man feeds a climber? Get out of here you!” He scooped up a handful of pebbles and threw them at the startled climber, who raced away into the trees. Tim slumped onto the rock, tears filling his eyes. I’ll show them, he thought.

He took out his knife, fingering the smooth blade and the sharp tip. He stood up, grasping the blade tip between thumb and forefinger. That grip felt familiar now because he had been practicing daily. He pulled his arm back behind his head, threw straight forward, holding his wrist straight, and released the knife. It flipped through the air to land in a nearby tree with a solid, satisfying thud. The tree was marked and deeply pitted from the repeated throws of his practice. Over and over he threw, his stomach easing with each satisfying impact of the knife. I’ll be big and powerful and then they’ll be sorry.

That night Tim lay on his cot, listening to his brother’s snoring and sighing around him. He drifted in that in-between state, almost asleep, but not quite. He heard someone call his name. Tim. That’s all, just his name. Then again, Tim. It startled him into full wakefulness. He knew he wasn’t hearing it with his outer ears. The voice was deep and resonant, filling his awareness and holding a promise of power. It beckoned him, and he started to think about traveling, being free of his brothers, his father, and their disdain.

The same thing happened the next night, and then every night for a seven day. By then he had laid his plans. His filled pack was hidden in the shed and he was ready to leave.

Early the next morning, instead of doing his chores out in the yard, he was striding down the road, pack on his back and feeling free.

Fal, known to those unlucky few as, the Fallen, rested easily on the rocky ledge in his cave hidden deep within the foothills of Guardian Mountain. His crystalline cave was a small version of Gran Bryl’s own. He had chosen it for this reason, to focus him upon his goal.

His long neck arched gracefully, shining emerald and sapphire as he moved in the fingers of sun stretching into the cave, and relaxed his powerful jaws on his chest.
 
He had just eaten, a fine, grass-fattened cud-chewer, he hunted that morning.

The foolish beast ran, he thought, as if it had a chance. It did not willingly give itself as is my due. He had enjoyed the chase though, prolonging it a bit. After all that was really the point wasn’t it?

It wasn’t as if he needed to consume meat. Though he was still young, the crystal frequency, even at the base of Guardian Mountain, was enough to sustain him. Still, he did enjoy a good chase, and the kill.

He wrapped his elegant, gleamingly scaled tail around massive foreclaws, licked clean of any sign of his morning’s entertainment. Then he settled himself upright on haunches, such a deep green they were almost black.

Closing golden, round pupiled eyes he sank deep into the blackness behind his eyelids, searching. He wouldn’t be here long. The voices were too strong here.

Opening his mental eyes, he noted that he no longer saw the accursed light of the web. That One-blasted Unity, he thought. He had left that behind when he chose to pursue his own plans. His thoughts scattered back to well-worn pathways.  I will never bind myself to the web of the One like those weakling Guardians. I will never undergo the Ritual of the One, nor will my Contracted. I will create my own Ritual of Power when I am Elder!

And the voices began.

By what right does Gran Bryl continue to be Eldress? She wastes her power. You have the blood! You are of the Chosen! But we forget, you are only a pathetic worm, a cowardly lizard. There is no power in you, only weakness. We waste our time.

Anger surged through him. Great claws ripped at the rocky ground beneath him. The grating of claw on stone jolted him to full wakefulness.

I will be Elder, he promised, and this world will know my power!

The Fallen vented his anger with a series of loud, grating roars, head thrown back, teeth bared, black-edged wings lifting, mantling. The flapping lifted him backwards, out of the sunlight, back into the thick darkness in the depth of his cave.

The power of the display was most satisfying.

He settled himself once more, shaking out his wings and folding them to his sides, and willed himself back down into the inky depths to find the one he sought.

He allowed himself to sink deeper and deeper into the void. Pathetic worm. Cowardly lizard. He ignored the voices.

A slash of brilliant light to his left momentarily blinded him. He knew this was Guardian Mountain, and that accursed Gran Eldress, and turned his attention quickly away from it.

Other lights sparkled in the darkness. He bypassed them, floating onward until he was distracted by one particular, small light. A light he had been keeping track of for several changes now. The light was turning a satisfactory shade of grey, muddy at the edges, but still a clear aqua toward the center. This small one will be of use to me, he thought with satisfaction.

We’ll meet soon boy, he promised.

Again, the voices. No power, only weakness, weakness… He shrugged them off, and cast his mind’s eye out looking further.

Finally, drifting further into the darkness, he found that which he sought, a cobalt-blue blaze of light. Ah, the Guardian, Ell. She awakens to her Self, but she is a mere hatchling. My Wufn, will have her by the time she grows to her second skin.

He felt that familiar sense of possessiveness and delicious control that came to him whenever he thought of his Contracted now. Not like it used to be, he thought, back when I was a weak hatchling, so dependent upon his unthinking cruelty.

The anger that thought engendered brought him fully alert. He never lasted long in the void, too many distracting thoughts. Too many feelings. And then there were the voices. The voices that whispered to him constantly, but especially here in this dark place.

Enough! He thought and returned to more satisfying musings. Wufn taught me well, but now he is the learner. Now he knows what fear is. He felt the spines raising along the ridges at the crest of his head, his wings lifting and spreading as the desire for power filled him.

I will have Ell. I will have the control! There will be no coming together into some One blasted Unity, he thought with satisfaction. All will know the strength of my will, my power!

The Fallen roared with the intensity of emotion and gave his wings a flapping surge of strength, hind claws squeezing, crushing the rubble beneath him.

​Then, pleased with himself, he relaxed and mind-thought, Wufn, I have need of you.