by Andrei Petro
(prologue, excerpt from a longer story)

Veya opened her eyes slowly, blinking several times to try to get rid of the tiny spots of light that danced in her vision. She was so very tired, but she didn’t want to fall asleep—not yet. She swallowed a yawn, sat up in her bed and grabbed the big leather book that sat on the table beside it. Actually, did books sit on tables, or did they maybe do something else? Stand? Lie? Veya frowned, not quite sure. She’d have loved to think about it more, she just didn’t have the time. Grandpa would be downstairs by now, and she knew he couldn’t stay long. She wanted him to read two stories this time before he went away again.

It wasn’t Grandpa’s fault that he left, Veya knew that, but it still made her sad. She tried to keep from yawning as she stood, wiped her grimy hands on her not-much-cleaner skirt, and made her way down the stone steps to see Grandpa.

Grandpa wasn’t her real grandpa, he was just an old man that came to visit sometimes. He was so very kind to her, though, and he would always read when he visited. He never seemed to have time for more than one story, but this time he would, Veya decided fiercely, clenching her little fists tight around her book. Grandpa wouldn’t leave this time without reading two. She wouldn’t let him.

Veya’s legs worked extra hard as they made their way down steps that were too big for her. Still, it was easier to go up and down them than it had been when she’d been little; ages and ages ago… or was it just months? It was clear proof that she was growing taller, it just had to be, and she’d argue with anyone who dared to tell her otherwise.

Not that there was anyone to argue with. Veya lived in the great big house alone, well, mostly alone. That was why Grandpa had to stay and read to her. Two stories… at the very least.

Grandpa was sitting by the fireplace, just like always. There was no fire burning, since Veya didn’t know how to make one and Grandpa never did when he came. Maybe he didn’t know how either. It was night outside, and the only light in the whole room came from two small glowrocks on the dining table that Veya’d found while exploring the caves. Their faint pale light barely reached past the table’s edge. That was fine, she liked the dark better anyways. By day the house seemed much too big for her—full of strange things that she didn’t quite understand. Papa could have told her what they were for, but he and Mama were gone now. They were gone, but all their things were still there, almost as if they were waiting for them to come back. Veya scowled and pushed that thought far, far away.

“Ninehveya, child,” Grandpa said from the corner. His voice, like always, was a little raspy, as if his throat were dry. Veya wondered, yet again, if maybe he was thirsty. If he was, he never mentioned it when he came. “You’ve grown so much bigger.”

Veya stopped, turning to him with a frown. Silly Grandpa; there must be something funny with his eyes. He’d just seen her a little over a month ago, and even she knew that she hadn’t grown that much in a month. Actually… had it been longer than a month? She wasn’t sure. The days had started blending together now that she was all alone and it was hard to keep track. The real reason, though, that she was frowning was because he’d used her full name. Veya hated whenever anyone used her full name.

“I brought the book, Grandpa,” Veya said, casting aside her annoyance quickly, so that it wouldn’t interfere with story time. “If you hurry, you can read me two stories.”

“Patience, child,” Grandpa said, watching her from out of the darkness. He had very pale eyes, milky and white, and Veya was glad that she was still young. She would hate to have eyes like Grandpa’s. She didn’t say anything of course; she wasn’t that rude. Veya just stamped her foot in irritation, letting him know that she was not in the mood for this. She wanted two stories, and Grandpa was being slow.

“Have you been eating enough?”

“Yes. Can we read now?”

“Frost is fast approaching. It’s not too cold for you at night, is it?”

“No. Can we read now?”

“Patience, child. Are you washing every day? Cleaning your room? Studying your letters?”

“Yes, no, yes… can we read-”

“You’re looking pale, Ninehveya.” Grandpa interrupted, his raspy voice full of concern. “Are you sure you’re eating enough?”

Veya snorted softly, thinking that Grandpa had some nerve calling anyone pale.

“I eat my roots and beans every day, and the vegetables from the garden,” Veya recited, knowing that it was the only way he’d leave it alone. “I also go out and gather mushrooms sometimes, and I caught a rabbit the other day.” That last part was true—although she’d felt so bad for it that she’d let it go—but the first part was a lie. Who in their right mind would ever eat a slimy, icky mushroom? She’d rather have eaten the bunny. Quite honestly, Veya didn’t eat most days, because she wasn’t usually hungry. Probably best not to mention that to Grandpa, though. He’d just fret the way old people did, and then she’d never get her stories.

“What about you, Grandpa, have you been eating enough?” she demanded, pointing an accusing finger at him. Grandpa gave another raspy laugh and seemed to shake his head, although it was hard to tell in the darkness.

“No child, unfortunately I haven’t been, but I am not an eight-year-old girl. If you don’t eat right, you’ll never grow to be big and strong like Kerrol the Bold.”

Veya’s eyes widened, and she promised solemnly to eat right. She wanted to be like Kerrol—wanted it more than anything ever, and she would do just about anything to make it happen. Well, except eat a mushroom of course. She wasn’t crazy. 

“Will you read me that story, Grandpa? The one with Kerrol and the Dragon?”

“Again?” Grandpa asked, and Veya could tell he was smiling, although she couldn’t see it. She could just sense these things sometimes.  “I thought you wanted me to read you something new. Perhaps the Tale of Middik and the Fox?”

“I do. That’s why you’re reading two stories today,” Veya said, as if it were obvious. Old people were just so silly sometimes. And besides, she knew that other story too. She knew all the stories in the whole book, the Tales of Light, like she knew her own name.

“We’ll see, child,” Grandpa at last said sadly. “You know I can’t stay.”

Veya said no more, hurrying forward to hand Grandpa the book before sitting down on the once-fine rug and folding her tattered grey skirt underneath her. There were plenty of chairs around, but she never used them, preferring to sit on the floor. Those were Papa’s chairs, and she kept clear of them with him gone. It wasn’t like he or Mama were dead, she was sure of it, but they were gone, and she knew they weren’t coming back. It was as simple as that.

Grandpa took the book and opened it slowly, flipping through it. There was no light, but she knew he could read the book just fine. Grandpa didn’t ever seem to need light as he slowly turned page after page. Veya clicked her tongue in frustration. She knew right where the story was, of course—it started in the middle of page 81—but as Grandpa turned pages she could do nothing but fidget and play with the grime on her toes. How had they managed to get so dirty?

“In the village of Sherum, high up in the mountains, lived a boy named Kerrol,” Grandpa began at last, and Veya squealed in delight. “He lived all alone in his little house by the river. His parents had died soon after his birth, and he had no relatives. The other villagers avoided young Kerrol when he walked by, muttering as they passed about the Curse of the Golden Eyes, which they were sure had plagued their village for countless years. Whenever a child was born in the mountains with eyes like molten gold, misfortune was sure to follow, and young Kerrol had been born with golden eyes as pure as the veins of ore in the mountains.”

Veya nodded emphatically, feeling quite sorry for poor Kerrol. He was just like her, with no one around to take care of him. Veya sighed, wishing she had eyes like molten gold pure as veins of ore. She wasn’t exactly sure what that meant, but it sounded nice. 

“One day an old man walked into the village of Sherum, tired and dusty from the mountain roads. The stranger begged for a place to rest, but he had nothing to offer in return and was turned away from door after door in the village. At last he came to Kerrol’s little house by the river and asked to stay. The boy greeted the old man warmly, for he was very lonely, and shared what little he had to eat with him.

‘I have nothing to offer you in return for your generosity,’ the old man said when the meal was finished.

‘There is no need,’ Kerrol replied, offering the old man his own bed for the night while he slept on the floor. ‘Your company is its own reward.’

The old man was impressed, and the following morning he thanked the boy before going on his way. The next night as Kerrol lay sleeping, he had a dream.”

“I don’t ever remember my dreams,” Veya interrupted, as if it were important. “I don’t even think I can dream.”

“Everyone can dream, Ninehveya,” Grandpa said.

“Even you?”

“Once,” Grandpa replied out of the darkness, “but not for many years. Do you wish for me to keep reading?”

Veya nodded her head so enthusiastically that it made her neck hurt a little. Worth it.

“In Kerrol’s dream, the old man appeared to him, but he was different than in the waking world. He was greater than he had been.

‘Greetings, young Kerrol.’ The man said, ‘I am Styrrix, god of dreams and prophecy. The people of your village turned me away in their ignorance, and I have decided to punish them. I have called upon my servant, the terrible dragon Ziyosuthros, to lay waste to their lands and erase the name of Sherum from the memory of men. You alone honored me, and I have come to warn you to leave before my servant arrives with fire and ruin.’

When Kerrol heard these things, he was dismayed. ‘Please, Lord Styrrix, have mercy on my kin. They did not mean to cause offense. They did not know it was you who they were turning away. Had they known, they would have welcomed you warmly.’

Styrrix, Crafter of Men’s Dreams, regarded Kerrol. ‘Tell me,’ the god asked, ‘what reason do you have to defend them? They have always treated you poorly, and they have never accepted you amongst them.’

‘They are my kin, and this village is my home,’ Kerrol replied. ‘I need no other reason.’”

Grandpa paused to turn the page and Veya frowned, just like she always did at this point. She didn’t really understand Kerrol’s answer. People were always mean to him, just like they were to her. Whenever she left her house and went near town it was always the same. Children threw rocks at her if she got too close and adults threatened her, trying to scare her away. Most of the time it worked, and she ran back to her house and cried for hours. Had people thrown rocks at Kerrol too, saying that they wished he would disappear? Maybe they had, and yet he still wanted to protect them. Veya wasn’t sure she would do the same thing in his place. She wanted to be brave and good like Kerrol, but sometimes she wanted bad things to happen to the mean people in town.

Sometimes she wanted them all to die.

She pushed that thought away as soon as it formed, feeling guilty. She thought about how sad people got when they were dead, and she didn’t want everyone to be sad like that. She brushed away her tears before Grandpa could see them.

“The God Styrrix regarded the young man for a long time. At last he spoke, saying, ‘Ziyosuthros will descend upon this village at sunset on the day the moon changes her face, eighteen days from now. You have proven yourself worthy of my favor through your kindness, and if you aim to fight the dragon I will not hinder you, though he is one of my servants. He is a deadly foe, and should you wish to prevail you must seek out the Goddess Keeshar, who lives in the center of the Earth on an island where three rivers of fire meet. Only she can guide you to victory, should you make it that far.’

‘I will make it,’ Kerrol replied boldly.

Styrrix said no more, sliding out of the young man’s dream and filling his mind with pleasant things until he woke.

Morning came, and Kerrol packed what few provisions he could and set out for the caves high in the mountains, finding his way after many trials down to the center of the Earth. He wrestled the Great Bear of Lur, outwitted the White Fox with a Hundred Tails, and recovered the Moon Sapphire from the greedy hands of Isogg the Giant, among other great deeds. At last, on the morning of the thirteenth day, he reached the center of the Earth, where three rivers of fire meet.”

Veya nodded eagerly, her fingers drumming on her legs in excitement.

“When Kerrol reached the island in the middle of the flames, he found a young girl sitting on the fiery shores, facing the rivers. She turned and smiled as he approached, but where her eyes should have been there were nothing but empty sockets opening to black eternity.

‘Welcome, bold one,’ the goddess said, ‘you have travelled far, and overcome many dangers. I am Keeshar the Painter.’

‘Painter?’ Kerrol asked, noting the hollow sockets. ‘What is it you paint, my lady?’

‘The future,’ Keeshar said with a little laugh, reaching into the river of fire before her and scooping up a handful of flames. ‘My brother sent you to me because I shape the lives of all as I see fit. Tell me, bold one, what do you long for? Name any wish, and I will see it granted.’

‘I seek a way to save my village from the dragon Ziyosuthros,’ Kerrol said, bowing low in supplication. ‘Please, Great One, help me.’

‘Curious,’ Keeshar the Painter said, regarding him with eyeless gaze. ‘You could ask for anything, any boon at all, and I would grant it. A kingdom of your own, or riches beyond imagining, or even the hand of the fairest maiden in the world. And yet you ask me for this. Why is that?’               

‘Those things I can achieve on my own,’ replied Kerrol. ‘I can forge a kingdom with my own two hands, I have no need for riches that I have not earned, and I wish for no woman who does not love me of her own choosing. But Lord Styrrix said that only you can guide me to victory against the dragon, so I must seek your aid.’

The Painter smiled, for the young man had spoken well. In a jar, she gathered fire from each of the three rivers around her island, Phaleon, Veshina, and Zamalid. She then pulled a tooth out of her mouth and tossed it into the jar, and mixed in three drops of her own blood. From the jar she drew out the spear that men called Athraniasis, the Skytooth. Its tip shone with the light of both Sun and Moon, eternal twins, and its shaft was of purest gold.”

Grandpa paused to turn another page, and Veya sighed loudly again. She wished she had a spear like that. Maybe then people would be nicer to her. Or, if they weren’t, she could wave her spear at them and scare them into leaving her alone and they wouldn’t call her a freak or a monster anymore. That would be so nice. Grandpa cleared his throat and continued in his raspy voice.

“Keeshar presented the spear to Kerrol, saying, ‘This weapon can pierce the hide of any beast. But be warned, the dragon will not be easily overcome. You must strike Ziyosuthros in his left eye, for that is his weakest point.’ Kerrol bowed as he accepted the spear, and the goddess leaned forward and kissed him upon the forehead. ‘I give you the blessing of haste and the blessing of this island. No flames will touch you for a year and a day, and your skin will be tough as the rocks themselves. Now go, bold one, and save your village. Your wish has been granted.’

Kerrol returned to his village with all haste, aided by Keeshar’s favor, arriving in the late afternoon of the eighteenth and final day just as the sun began to sink below the mountains. The village was peaceful, and many of the villagers scowled when they saw that Kerrol had returned. Some marveled at the spear in his hand, but still they muttered amongst themselves, saying to one another, ‘A golden spear for the boy with golden eyes. You can be sure no good will come of this.’

Kerrol said nothing to the other villagers. Instead, he went to sit on the great rock on the outskirts of the village, called the Highrock, and waited for the sun to set. As he sat, he prayed to Lord Styrrix and his sister Keeshar, asking for guidance and the strength to protect his home. The two gods heard and were pleased.

Ziyosuthros the Terror came out of the mountains with a roar of flame and smoke, circling the village once before landing in front of the Highrock to face Kerrol, who rose to stand atop it. The great beast had massive wings that blocked out the sun, scales of purest black, and eyes of molten gold that glowed with malevolence.

‘You have dragon eyes,’ rumbled the beast, his massive and terrible head leaning down close to regard Kerrol. ‘I have no quarrel with you, hatchling. Leave while you can, for I will soon bring ruin to this place and erase it from the memory of men.’  

‘I will not leave,’ Kerrol replied, ‘for this is my home. I give you the same offer, Ziyosuthros. Leave while you can. If you do not turn back, I will be forced to take your life.’

Ziyosuthros the Terror laughed, and the sound of his laughter echoed off the snowcapped peaks and was heard in every land from the mountains to the sea. ‘You are a bold one, but it will not save you. A thousand seasons I have flown above this land, and never has my hide been pierced. Your doom is at hand.’ He lunged at Kerrol and his terrible claws smashed the Highrock to pieces.”

“Oh no!” Veya gasped aloud, interrupting Grandpa. Even though she knew what happened, it was still scary.

“Don’t worry, child,” Grandpa said with a smile. “Kerrol escaped from the dragon. He leapt into the air and landed on the dragon’s back, Athraniasis, the Skytooth, in his hand. Nimbly he ran up the dragon’s back, moving towards the beast’s head. Ziyosuthros turned to face him and breathed his powerful flames, engulfing the boy in fire.

Veya gasped, her hands clenching her tattered skirt so tight that it tattered a bit more.

“Ah, but you forget, Ninehveya, that Kerrol had the blessing of Keeshar,” Grandpa said, wagging his bony finger at Veya, who had forgotten no such thing. “He wasn’t harmed by the flames, and with a great leap he stabbed the dragon in the left eye, just as the goddess had instructed him. The dragon roared in pain, and collapsed at the foot of the destroyed Highrock, thrashing wildly as the life left him. The Highrock was torn to pieces and badly burned by the dragon’s fire, so that nothing was left but crushed black sand. Kerrol emerged from the body of the dead dragon unharmed, much to the surprise of the people of Sherum, who had thought their savior was surely dead. When they saw him, they rushed forward, showering him with praise and affection that they had never shown before.”

Veya scowled. It was so typical to be nice to someone when they were a big hero, even though they’d treated him like dirt their whole lives.

“Kerrol the Bold smiled and thanked the people of Sherum for their praise, but he did not forget the many years that they had mistreated him,” Grandpa read.

“Good,” muttered Veya, but so softly that Grandpa could pretend he hadn’t heard it.

“‘I was never welcome among you,’ Kerrol said, ‘so from this day forth I shall call Sherum home no more.’

‘But where will you go?’ Cried the people in dismay.

‘Out into the world,’ replied Kerrol the Bold, staring at the horizon. ‘I go to forge a kingdom of my own, earn riches beyond imagining, and win the hand of the fairest maiden in the world. I leave to become a legend.’ He turned away from the dismayed villagers, and stood in the place where the Highrock had once stood. He thrust Athraniasis into the ground, and it sank through the earth all the way to the island of Keeshar, who accepted it with a wordless smile. In the place where it sank, a huge rock, golden in color, sprang forth from the ground. From that day forth, all called that place the Goldrock.  

He said nothing more to the people of Sherum, walking out into the night as the sun fell behind the mountains. Ever after, a child born with the golden eyes of the dragon was held in the highest esteem in all lands from Sherum to the sea. Kerrol the Bold eventually achieved all that he set out to achieve and more, always protected by the love and favor of Keeshar, the Painter of Worlds. But that, young Ninehveya, is a story for another time, for it is time for me to go.’

“No fair!” wailed Veya, jumping to her feet. “I wanted two stories! You can’t leave yet.”

“I have no choice,” Grandpa said very sadly, “It is my time.”

“Don’t go,” Veya said, choking back a sob, “If you go, I’ll be all alone again.”

“I am so sorry, child,” Grandpa said, but he was already fading. “I will return, when you have the strength to call me again. I will read more to you then.”

“Three stories. It has to be three stories next time!”

Grandpa did not reply, for he was already gone. Veya, with tears in her eyes, walked forward and picked up the skull that now lay beside the fireplace, brushing away the dust that remained. She was suddenly so very tired. Grandpa was right, she did not have the strength to keep him any longer.

Veya sighed, and with the skull of the old man in her hand slowly climbed up the stairs, barely able to stay awake. She put the skull back on the table where she kept it and collapsed on her bed, utterly exhausted. It would be weeks before she would be able to call Grandpa back from the other side.

Veya put her thumb in her mouth as she curled up, the whisperings of the dead lulling her to sleep the way her mother’s lullabies once had. Mama had used to yell at her for sucking her thumb, but that was before her parents had found out what she was and run off to get away from her… the monster, leaving her here all alone in their mansion. It had been half a year since then, though it seemed like so much longer. They weren’t the only ones who were afraid. None of the living ever talked to her, unless it was to hurl curses or rocks her way. She was all alone apart from the dead. They weren’t the best company, but they were all she had.

(The first of, as of time of posting, 35 chapters)