Prologue--A Tale of the Past

 

            Within each tiny flicker of light among the darkness—held forever in the imaginations of quiet children—lies another place quite different from our own. That place is one of magic and quiet wonder, a land of vast forests and shimmering mist. That place is Trenniel, second born of the dimensions—only three years older than our Earth—and it is Trenniel that we look upon now in the time when winter rules.

 

            The small, golden sun of Trenniel was just rising over the western horizon, but already people—or rather, children—from all over the small realm were gathering. 

            With the slight warmth of the sun a thin mist rose from the thick carpet of snow on the ground, and through the mist traveled the special offspring of Trenniel, all with one destination in mind. The children traveled quickly—much more so than any on Earth might—but then, they were granted the gifts of their blood. 

            In three groups they traveled, two by land and one by air. 

The first rode in what looked like large, stone bowls that were pulled by 7 foot tall creatures that vaguely resembled large bulls. This group, despite the weight of the bowls that skimmed across the ground, traveled rather quickly, sending up sprays of snow as they passed. 

            The second group, though on foot, kept pace remarkably well, but there was something quite special about them. Sometimes, they would seem to be an unusually fast group of children, but in the blink of an eye, a transformation would take place and instead of children a pack of large wolf pups ran swiftly across the ground. 

            Above those two groups flew the final one, every now and then flying ahead, only to come back moments later. Though faster, this group was definitely the smallest, containing only three children—two of which carried pairs of wings upon their backs, each different, but still beautiful. 

            The first, a boy with messy, dark brown hair and deep green eyes, had the smallest wings. They were in the shape of a dragonfly’s and seemed to be made of thin vines that held orbs of light between them, glowing brightly in the small bit of sunlight given off by the rising sun. 

            The second child, a girl with long golden hair and hazel eyes, bore a pair of white and brown bird’s wings that flapped much slower than those of the boy. She looped around him, laughing and plucking at his hair as he smiled.

            The third, a mousy sort of boy with dark brown eyes and neatly cropped black hair, rode behind the other two on a miniature gray cloud.

            All around and below the children stretched the terrain of Trenniel, which was really quite simple. 

A valley of nearly endless fields made up most of the territory—with a few hills rising here and there to disrupt the continuously straight line of the land. 

An immense mountain range stretched all around Trenniel, wrapping it in its impenetrable embrace. Its craggy surfaces glistened with rainbow light as the morning sunlight struck the thousands of frozen water rivulets that clung there. This gave the mountains the magical look they deserved for creating the barrier between this part of Trenniel and the unknown land of mists beyond.

            To the north a dark forest grew along the entire border, the branches of each of its pine-like trees so low to the ground and locked together that few knew how to enter this forest. This obstacle was a welcome one, though, for this forest was known as Shale’s Forest, and its owner allowed no human to trespass on his domain—the penalty for their entry was death.

            In the southwest and southeast corners of Trenniel, two more forests joined the mountains. These forests were of identical size, and both were filled with what would appear to be birch trees. 

Though it was winter and their branches were bare of leaves, the trees were still beautiful, their white bark blending perfectly with the snow that clung to their limbs. 

These two wonderfully pale woodlands were known simply as the Twin Forests.

            In addition to these forests, a few towns marked this expanse of land, proudly proclaiming their simplicity with small, thatched huts and no fencing for their cattle. 

They showed little sign of life in the early hours of morning, other than thin trails of smoke rising from a single hole that marked the center of each roof. 

People murmured in soft voices in these peaceful hours, their whispers drifting through the air with the smoke, reluctant to disrupt the quiet serenity.

 

Gradually the sun climbed through the sky, and as its energy suffused the land, the people’s voices rose to meet it. 

Meals were made and consumed, and chores were tackled as the mid-morning routine began. 

No one seemed to mind that the children were gone. This was because they ran off like this every morning, and always to the same place.

            Once clear of the mountains, the sun seemed to be moving at a rapid pace, so that a great wall of light sped over the frozen land, blanketing it in warmth. The snow touched by it shimmered in an almost magical way, and the trees appeared to quiver with joy at the contact. 

However, at the very heart of Trenniel the light brought on a different change—the appearance of an immense forest. 

The light washed over a large lake surrounded by thick brush and a sparse tree-line just west of that spot and then rushed passed it; as it touched the ground beyond the lake, a translucent forest appeared—though it quickly gained density until it looked just as real as the rest of Trenniel. 

 

This forest was known as the Great Forest. 

 

It was shaped like a horse’s hoof and was much larger than the other forests, but at the southern end—where the frog of a hoof would be—there was a path instead, about ten feet wide and miles in length. 

Where the path ended, there was a large gap in the forest, and within this gap, among several small, moss-covered hills, and beside a stream that flowed up the east side of the clearing, rested the ruins of a large white castle. 

Thin vines embraced the crumbled marble, holding it securely against the icy ground below. 

 

Apart from this out-of-place landmark and the forest’s remarkable appearance, there was one more outwardly visible feature that made the Great Forest special—the plant life. 

Unlike the other forests, this one held a mixture of different trees, but they could be given no name, for they looked like no other trees in existence. Their trunks and branches, while white with small black stripes now, did not always stay this way, but changed with each season, sometimes taking on mossy green, dark brown, or even bright orange hues. Their foliage was even more extraordinary, for it would shift from seemingly ordinary leaves and needles, to thin, glass copies of the same.

Below, the shrubbery copied the artful behavior. 

For the moment, all of their leaves had taken on these transparent glass shapes, so the sunlight that didn’t shine through them glinted off and sent bursts of rainbow light through the air. 

Even stranger birds flitted through the branches, sporting long, color-shifting feathers and thin beaks like those of hummingbirds.

            By noon, the Great Forest was fully lit with colored light and the traveling children had made their way up its southern path and into the silent clearing at its center. The glade rang with their joyful calls as they ceased their travels. 

The children who had been riding in the bowls climbed out—oblivious of the vibrant gleam that reflected off of the bowls’ inner walls. Then, they stretched quickly before removing the harnesses from their cattle and running over to the ruins of the castle. 

The second group shook the snow from their fur, took human form, and followed the others to the ruins. One of them, a sandy-haired boy, tripped on the way, but his twin brother quickly helped him up; then they continued to the others. 

The third group flew overhead for a bit longer before finally landing right in the center of the ruins. 

The small, black-haired boy’s cloud disappeared as soon as he touched the ground, but the winged boy stood for a moment before his wings disappeared in a small shimmer of green light. 

The girl alone kept her means of transportation, simply grinning and folding them against the cloth at her back. 

Outside the ruins, the cattle took advantage of their solitude to hunt out the dying grass and moss beneath the thin layer of snow around the trees.

           

The children played together around the ruins for hours, sometimes hiding behind large chunks of marble and sometimes simply chasing each other around them. 

Finally, a boy who had been riding in one of the bowls stopped in the middle of the ruins, raising his voice loud enough to gain the other children’s attention; the cattle only flicked their ears.

 

“Let’s play Vampires and Heroes,” he called excitedly. 

 

The others answered in equally eager voices as they all converged on him and began shouting out what roles they wanted in the game. 

Strangely enough, a whisper of a laugh was what silenced them; they grew mute as one and turned north to gaze in awe at the owner of the chuckle.

 

            The woman who had laughed was only a couple inches above five feet, but even so, she stood at least two feet above all the children, except for the formerly winged boy, whose eyes were level with the base of her neck. 

A pale blue dress was draped over her slender form, clinging slightly to each curve; its bottom edge brushed the snow around her feet. 

A thick mane of wild hair hung down her back, ending at her hips; the thin strips of silver that were littered throughout the ebony locks reflected brightly in the sunlight. The darkness of the tresses contrasted sharply with the pallor of her smooth skin, which was nearly as pale as the snow. 

Her face was ovular in shape, with soft curves and high cheekbones. The curves of two thin lips graced the lower part of her face, their color a light pink—not much darker than her skin. 

Above that rested a rounded nose, and on either side of the bridge lay her eyes; they were slightly hooded—long, dark lashes curving out from the lids—but their dark blue coloring still shone brightly in the light. There was a muted sort of sadness within them, but not enough that the children noticed. 

Long, thin eyebrows curved above them, relaxed so that her forehead was without wrinkles. 

She seemed an ethereal beauty, born within the magical forest itself and forever young; only the depth and intelligence in her eyes betrayed her false youth.

           

The wolf children recognized her immediately and ran to greet her, shouting as one, “Grandmother!”

 

She knelt and hugged each of them in turn, stopping every now and then to tousle the hair of a child or inquire about a parent. 

Finally, when each had been greeted, she looked up, meeting the gaze of the tall, winged boy as he grinned back at her sheepishly.

 

“Your parents were looking for you,” she said softly. 

 

He startled and looked on the verge of leaving, but she raised her hand, signaling for him to stop. 

 

“It’s all right. I told them where you were. Now,” she raised her voice as she looked over the rest of the children, “would you like to hear the story behind that game you wish to play?”

 

“Story?” several of the children inquired as one.

 

She laughed again softly. “Yes, story. You see, everything has a story. So, would you like to hear it?”

 

Some of the children looked uncertain for a moment and they whispered amongst each other, but finally, they all agreed. “Tell us the story!”

 

“All right, then,” she said, smiling as she sat down on a flattened piece of marble, a few of the wolf children still clinging to her dress. “Sit and I’ll tell you,” she stated, ruffling the nearest boy’s hair.

 

He whined in protest, and then quickly ran a hand through it to fix it.

 

The children looked around, but they found no more smoothed pieces of marble, and the ground was covered in snow. 

Finally, they looked back at the woman, and one girl asked, “Where?”

 

            The woman chuckled, and then gestured towards the ground. “There of course.”

There was a hint of mischief in her voice, and when they looked down, fresh green blades of grass stood where the snow had been only moments before. 

As one they gasped in awe before first testing the grass to see if it was real, and then settling down on it to form a half circle around her.

 

She smiled at them again and asked, “Are you ready?” 

 

They all nodded. 

 

She paused, and a strange look came into her eyes, as if she were thinking back on fond memories. “Then, if you’ll save all questions for the end, I’ll begin.

 

“Long ago, as your parents may have told you, the seven dimensions of reality were formed. No one is quite sure who made them or why, but the point is that they exist. 

Though you know of them because your parents and grandparents tell you the stories, there was a time years ago when nobody told the stories, so the other dimensions were forgotten. And because of that, no one knew that a great danger had been released in Naronis.” 

 

A few children gasped, but they continued to watch her with excitement in their eyes. 

 

“So, since no one knew about it, a shadow was allowed to spread from Naronis into the other dimensions, and it made many bad things happen. 

It is said that this darkness is what created the first vampires in Trenniel, by tainting the hearts of humans and commanding them to go forth in search of blood. Many had tried, but no one was powerful enough to destroy the vampires. 

For that reason and many others, a young girl was summoned from her home to this very place to become a hero…”

Author's Note

This prologue was a long time in coming. I've changed it three times. I've thought of changing it again, but people tell me they like it so I've left it as it is