Prologue

The beginning of all that went wrong.

Whenever there is a child born, whether it may be poor or noble, it receives its da-ak. Mortals see it as their destiny, but in this they are badly mistaken. Tis, as told by the Elvenlore, merely a choice given by the Gods.

Lost Chronicles, Vol. 332, Chapter 7; Da-ak

 

I do not believe in things such as coincidence or destiny. I have never believed in a god, or gods if you will. I always thought that our world was the only one populated. I never had faith in either science or religion. I believed in life as it was lived, as it came and as it went by. And as for love, the deeply flowing, ever changing stream of love, the knowing that two souls can be so closely entwined that no man or god can come in between, that I cannot believe in either.

My story is the clearest if I start from it’s beginning, which is me. I am your average woman, not old enough to be called wise and not young enough to be called ignorant. I used to live in the world you live in at this moment, as your eyes read my words. I love my friends, would do anything for them and would surely walk into a fire for them. I am no angel, mind you. I have my faults and I am sorry about that in a way. It makes me human, don’t you think? I have a life that is average; I work, I live and I try my best to survive in the world I was put in.

The place I live in can be found in a nice neighbourhood of my city, where it’s quiet and nothing much happens other than everyday life. I never had much adventure in my life and frankly, I never thought that would happen either. My story starts here, in the silent street where I live, with it’s bar on the corner where I get my cigarettes and the supermarket on the corner where I get everything else I need. Every now and then I get a drink in this bar, where Ricky, a sweet but ever-present gay man, works five days a week. Since it’s normally very quiet in there, we have plenty of time to talk. On one of these evenings, I was reading my book and sipping my beer, while Ricky was entertaining some other guests with his filthy jokes and cunning remarks.

I had been there for an hour or so, sometimes looking up to see who came through the door. When it opened again, I took my eyes from the page in front of me and moved them to the man who had stepped inside. His skin was deeply tanned and his eyes and hair were a strange shade of copperish brown. He was wearing a long raincoat (which was strange on itself, because it had been dry for three weeks now, and hot on top of that). I didn’t recognize him, so I focused back on my story. I heard him ordering a glass of red wine and put a hand in front of my mouth to hide my grin. In this bar that counted as a female drink and usually Ricky mocked every man ordering it. Surprisingly enough he held his tongue this time, although I could feel his broad smile rather than see it. Without any more words Ricky poured the man his drink. Another half an hour went by without much happening, although the man seemed to have a reason to slam back his wine. He emptied a bottle on his own before I felt his eyes resting on me and my book. From the corner of my eyes I saw him get up and walk over. He stood next to me – too close to my liking, I could smell the wine oozing from him – and I knew he was trying to see what I was reading. I closed the book and looked him straight in the eyes. He backed up a little, gave me a smile and said: “What are you reading?”

“Not that it’s much of your business, but I’m reading The Historian.”

“Ah. Vampires. Yes, yes. A fantasy lover.”

He spoke with a drunk man’s tongue and tried to find his balance by moving his feet here and there constantly. Honestly, he disgusted me. He spread his arms as if speaking to a big audience instead of the small group of people sitting in the bar and raised his voice. “Yes, ladies and gentlemen, a fantasy lover. You heard that? Reading in a pub to get attention from people like me. Yes, yes.”

Everyone sniggered a little, including Ricky. I gave him a deadly look and turned my back on the man. I didn’t feel like talking to him more than I had to and wished that he’d leave me alone. Unfortunately, the guy didn’t seem to feel the same way. He put a hand on my shoulder, which I tried to shake off. He held on strongly though, stronger that I’d expected for a man in his state of being. He brought his face next to mine and whispered in my ear, so soft that nobody but me could hear it. “Remember me.”

After releasing my shoulder, he paid Ricky the bill for his wine and left the bar. I could stand the subtle teases from Ricky for about half an hour more and then left myself. It was time to sleep. While walking home I wondered if I should keep an eye open for the guy, in case he’d follow me home. Paranoid as I got from that thought, I looked around but found the street empty. I cursed myself for letting a drunkard like him getting on my nerves like that and put my key in the lock of my front door. When my head hit the pillow shortly after, I fell asleep immediately.

In my dream that night I saw the man again, unshaven and smelling like wine like he did in the bar. He moved his lips but I couldn’t hear him. He grinned at me and I forced myself to wake up. I hadn’t found any rest in my sleep and got up moaning. In the week that followed I had the same dreams over and over; sometimes he would speak to me, other times he would just look at me and grinned. I avoided going to Ricky’s bar in fear of meeting the man again. Remember me, he had said. Well, I did. The paranoia I had felt that evening came back now and again, forcing me to look at every face I saw on the streets. I didn’t understand how he could’ve gotten in my head like this.

In the weeks that followed, the dreams changed. Now not only the man was there, always present with that weird little smile of his, but also a much younger and better looking man who called himself Rhad. Both of them explained to me that they would take me away soon to another world. They needed my help, they said. They showed me bits and pieces of a country I didn’t know nor recognized and always I would force myself to wake, after which my body felt like I had run for miles. At one point I bluntly refused to go to sleep.

I didn’t go out of my home any more, in fear of meeting the man again. I didn’t go back to Ricky, which resulted in him standing in front of my door one evening, yelling through the wood that he would ‘bash it open if you don’t come off that lazy a*s of yours right now’. When I finally gave in to his endless banging and opened up, I could see how I must look from the look on his face. Without any comment he let himself in and made two cups of coffee, sat me down in a chair and looked at me more seriously than I’ve ever saw him before.

“What happened to you?” he said.

I shook my head and held my lips tightly together. He would only laugh at me, I knew. He sighed. “When you didn’t come back any more after that evening, I thought... Well, never mind what I thought. We all thought something had happened to you. What have you been up to? You look like you’ve been on the bottom of a lake, being white as a ghost as you are.”

I forced a smile. “Ricky, you would just laugh at me. I’ve been sick, alright?”

He didn’t believe me, it was plainly laid out on his face. He gave me an odd look and made a guess. A very astute guess, to be fair. “It’s that guy, no? The drunkard. Did he do something to you? Did he follow you home or something? I won’t laugh at you, I promise.”

I collapsed. I was so tired of not getting enough rest and the paranoia and the dreams, I couldn’t keep up the charade. Tears came flowing out of my eyes all of a sudden and there was nothing I could do to stop them. I told him the whole story, until the last dream. When I was finished, I waited for his sneers and mockery, but they didn’t come. All the while I had been staring at my hands, but now I dared looking up. Ricky just smiled at me. “You shouldn’t worry so much dear, he’s just some old rag that bugged you once, like drunkards do. Don’t let him get to you like this. If you go to bed thinking that he’ll show up in your dreams again, it’ll happen, that’s how dreams work. He hasn’t showed his face around anymore, so there’s really no need to worry. If you really have a hard time getting some rest, go see a doc and ask for sleeping pills. That should help.”

He put away his cup and stood up. Apparently he thought the matter was done at that. I nodded and murmured ‘thanks Rick’, let him out after he patted my head a few times and promised myself I would take up his advice.