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  “We are running from them,” the Cron said with his eyes wide as if he could see them now. “Those that come at night with flame and a dark sword, with eyes of red and black cloaks melting into the blackness...”

  “No,” his friend said, “do not talk about it here, not now, not out here in this place.” He looked around as if expecting something evil to materialize.

  Suddenly I felt the night air was chill, and I drew closer to the warm embers.

  “They are gone,” the Tider breathed, “they will not follow us any farther. We have reached the east, but until we reach the fortress, I will not truly be at rest.”

  He put his hand on his waist, and for the first time, I saw a sword strapped to his belt, and I realized the Cron had one as well. I felt the old fear creeping up on me at the sight of their metal weapons; it squeezed at my throat, and it took all I had for me to swallow the panic. The world was evil, the sooner we escaped it, the better. Would no one repress it? Was there no one brave enough to face the increasing evil? We sat around, shared stories, and quaked with fear while the darkness rubbed its blood-desiring fingers together, stretching out greedy hands to extend its power farther across all of the South World.

  Then, silently as it had come, the fear passed. The Cron sat up and looked at me. His eyes were bright and curious. “Where do you come from? Why are you wandering here? I could swear you are one of the mystical ‘wild things.’ Who are you?”

  I was not ready to tell them all. “I am Myran the Cron,” I repeated what I had said earlier. “I am going to the fortress for protection, although I do not know the way.”

  Again, the Tider and Cron exchanged glances, and then the Cron offered, “You may come with us if you would like, although I think you are more likely to slip off into the woods. Surely you are from them?”

  I nodded, “I come from the woods, and yes, I will journey forth with you.”

  “Aha,” said the Cron, and I could tell he was pleased with his discovery.

  The Tider did not say much. He merely nodded in recognition, his dark eyes watching me, and I wondered if he sank as easily into trust as the Cron did. He was one of few words, yet I could tell his eyes read more, and his thoughts were beyond what he would say. Now he met my eyes. “One day, maybe, you will tell us your story?”

  One day. My tale had been told to none; it was never spoken aloud. Would I have the courage to uncover the bandaged wound? “One day,” I replied, barely audible.

  The Cron looked up toward the still dark sky. “We should sleep. Morning will be upon us. We should rise at dawn. The fortress is yet before us, and we shall not rest easy until we reach its sheltering walls.”

  “Aye, you are right.” The Tider nodded. He glanced at the fire, now a heap of dying embers, and cradled his head in his arms.

  I followed suit, and, after a while, I could hear their deep breathing in the night. My eyes stayed open long after theirs had closed. I wondered of the unspeakable fear and the desire to proceed to the fortress at all cost. I watched the glow of the embers fade, and the stars seemed to lose their light to the brightening in the east. I looked at the Cron. His face was set even as he slept, through many trials he had come and through many more he would go. He would only come out the stronger for them. He breathed deeply, and I remembered the look in his bright blue eyes. Even as he slept, his hand rested on his sword hilt.

  My eyes began to grow heavy, and they turned towards the Tider. He had long black hair trailing down his back. His black eyelashes were long and brushed his face as he slept. Tider's rarely have black hair. I was not aware of that fact, yet, in my heart, that color frightened me. I associated it with thunder, which had ripped my parents from me, comforted me in my childhood haven, and delivered me to these travelers going my way. I watched him sleep; the dark strands of his hair were fine, even I could tell that in the dark. He reminded me of the Jesnidrain that had come, bringing news. One hand pillowed his head; the other held onto his sword.

  My last thoughts before I drifted off into a dreamless sleep were of two travelers. In happenstance, my guardians need not have worried about me. I was so blessed and lucky to fall in with two White Steeds. Now, if we learned to trust each other, maybe we would be alright.

  CHAPTER ELEVEN

  A Wild Thing Called Hope

  Dawn brought the beginnings of my travels with the Cron and the Tider. Being only acquaintances, I kept them at a distance, and in my mind, I referred to them as the Cron and Tider, even though their names were Leon and Halender (who was more often called “Hal” by his friend). For me, they rarely said my name, and they sensed my aloofness. One hurt by random effects in a merciless world does not readily adapt to change and new circumstances, no matter how positive they appear.

  We traveled through flat lands and rolling hills in the warmth of sunlight and cool evening breezes. We took turns walking and riding, and if they found fault with the slowness of their progress because of me joining their party, they kept it to themselves. At all times, the Cron and Tider acted with decency, protection, and detachment, despite how interested they were in my background and why I behaved and walked as if I were an Iaen myself. What did they expect me to do? Tell them all about my wild life?

  As time passed, I found myself growing accustomed to their strange ways and their harsher accents as they spoke of life and what they had heard of the beautiful east. They were always speaking, and every once in a while, they sang quietly under their breaths. The songs they sang were sometimes sad and full of longing. They spoke of the past, told tales, lamented of the present, and even hinted to a future full of hope. For when all else fails, there is one thread we all hang tight to, and that is the hope of change, the hope that in the future, life will be better.

  My companions always made sure I rode one of the horses unless I stubbornly refused and walked ahead. During some days, the Tider would go hunting as we walked along, shooting small dumb animals. I discovered he had a small bow he kept hidden in his tunic, and a couple of arrows that he was very careful to retrieve and sharpen nightly.

  We ate mostly meat, which, after my first night of wolfing it down, I found I dreadfully disliked no matter which way the two cooked it. After a while, they took to making a fire at night and burying the meat in its ashes while it burned. Then, in the morning, we continued on without our progress being further hindered. We never stopped during daylight again.

  After a week or so, I learned to relax with my companions and listen to their light-hearted speech. I wondered if indeed their troubles left them with bitter scars, or if they moved on in life, determined not to let the past guide their future as I did. I learned a thing or two from their gentle behavior and saw in them what White Steeds are truly like. Green People may be great teachers, but they let me have my way too often and only once in a while dropped in a wise word. Even so, I began to realize what my guardians had done for me, and, as much as I dared not trust them anymore, something like gratefulness sprang up for what they had risked for my sake. As one grows older, one realizes what they could not see when young.

  One day, a day on which the fortress neared, almost close enough for our hopes to reach out and embrace it, I found myself comfortable enough to blurt out my story. I was riding one of the stallions, and Halender was gently leading it while Leon rode beside me. It was spring; all was bright and blooming. Before us was a thick wood, more tangled than any I had ever seen with the purpose of keeping all else out. “I know why you mistook me for a ‘wild thing.’” I started. “But you must tell no one.”

  I could almost see Leon's ears quivering with curiosity while Halender continued to walk ahead, a half-smile touching his face as if he knew.

  “Long ago, when I was quite young, almost too young to remember,” I went on, “I lived in Truemonix with my two lovely parents, and we were the happiest family in all the world.” The horses changed the gait, adapting to the sound of my voice and moving in rhythm with it. “Then one dreadful day, the Black Stee
ds found our hidden cottage, swooped down upon us, and senselessly took the lives of both my mother and my father.” Vivid memories awoke within me: the child who was lost, and yet, still a piece of my life taken with those very ones who had killed my parents. For a moment, I struggled to keep my composure until I felt Halender gently touch my hand with his, and I was able to go on. I told them how the Green Lady had found and taken me in, skipping over the heated duel that was only a concern for the creatures of the wood. I told them of how I grew up in a hidden world among the talking animals and Iaen, and how one day they came to take back what was rightfully theirs. My voice grew hard at that point, for it was still difficult to restrain the bitterness I still felt at their casting me out. I did not tell them I ran away. Simply put, I told them I had lost trust in the Green People and took the journey of my life into my own hands.

  Leon and Halender were delightfully silent when I finished, letting the strange but wild dream of my life sink in. In part, I was with them; for it all seemed a tale another had lived in; now I was in the real world, living. All those happenings, good and evil, were past; who I was then was in the past. Leon and Halender could do nothing but look at me. Maybe they saw courage I did not feel and felt a link, yet afterward, I felt closer to them.

  “Aye, that you were blessed enough not to just see but grow up with the ‘wild things.’ If I had one dream, that would be the very heart of it. I have only heard of such glories, and yet, even in the east, I did not expect to meet one so involved in the heart of it.” Leon sighed.

  Sometimes I wondered if everything was as tragic or as beautiful as Leon made it out to be, but compared to living in the west, I'd had a wonderful life so far. My eyes misted over as I remembered the coolness of the forest, the gentle chatter of the creatures of the wood, and the distant thunder of my waterfall.

  “You were one of the lucky ones,” Halender murmured. “Would that all should escape and have your fate.”

  I shook my head, clearing thoughts from my mind. “Tell me of the west.”

  Leon sighed. “The west. Nothing compares to its broad lands and deep, ridged mountains and all the dark mysteries it holds. The east is beautiful; the west is haunted with darkness. Even now I fear…” He paused. “I am afraid if something is not done, the west will forever melt into the clutches of the Black Steeds; their power is strong there.”

  “Such dark tales,” Halender continued, “should not be spoken of. Yet there we were born, and there we grew up, even as one by one our friends and all our family were ripped apart. First by choosing between the White Steeds and Black Steeds and finally by the mindless slaughter by the Black Steeds.”

  I was surprised by his words, for I had never heard him talk so much, nor with such passion, and my heart was struck by sadness. They took turns, alternating between their tales: they were chased by Black Steeds, escaped from them, and wandered from one tolerable existence to the other. Their voices spoke not of bitterness and anger, like mine, but of sorrow, profound heart-rending sorrow. I suddenly saw that there was more to life than my selfish purposes and myself, but as White Steeds, we were one in the horror inflicted upon us. I saw that each of us have a part to play in the story of our lives, and we come together and drift away, all a part of the unending story.

  Suddenly, our stories shared, our minds drifting into the same thoughts, I realized we were close; we were family because we shared the same beliefs. We were White Steeds, the ones who believed in a wild thing called hope, and maybe this would be the salvation of us all. I felt a new attitude enter my mind as we approached the constricting woods. I thought, as we dismounted and let the horses run free and wild, that maybe if I forgot about myself, I could do some good and actually help the White Steeds.

  Thus, with bright hearts anticipating an even brighter future, Leon, Halender, and I fought our way through the thick trees. The briars ripped and scratched, the branches lashed back, and the twigs snapped and at last poked at us. Our hair caught and tangled, but all this was small in comparison to our pasts. We were all holding on to hope and continued to fight our way forward until we found ourselves coming to an end at last. The long fight was over, and we came to a beautiful path of green grass and bright flowers. The fortress of the White Steeds stood firm and immobile before us. We had arrived home.

  CHAPTER TWELVE

  Years

  Years dropped away like endless cycles of water rushing through a waterfall. Even as clouds leave their lofty homes in the sky to become raindrops and join the rushing bodies of water, I slipped into life at the fortress. It was an enormous place. It was blue, white, and green on the outside, camouflaging itself with colors of the sky and unrelenting forest. It was quiet as death on the outside of its strong, stone walls. Yet once the doors were unbarred, we saw the fortress bursting with White Steeds of all kinds and all ages, animals, Crons, Tiders, warriors, mice, squirrels, and all other kinds. I was lost in the immenseness of the fortress. One must remember, I lived in a small one-room hut before the cave, and then home was merely the forest. This fortress was nothing like the dreams of old castles, falling to pieces. This was far beyond my fantasies. There was nothing mysterious about it. In truth, I felt daunted by its size.

  Those years I spent living with my people and finding my place among them made me realize the truth of Luthín's words. The fortress was not a place for someone like me to grow up in. People were loud and boisterous; I often lost my way in the hidden halls and unknown passages. There were always people around, eating, drinking, laughing, talking, singing, wandering, practicing weapons, making clothing, polishing boots, writing maps, talking in low voices, and arguing heatedly. There was nowhere to go to be completely alone. Even the woods offered no escape because, upon entering, no one was allowed out again unless they were going on a grand mission to warn others, to fight against a small group of Black Steeds, or merely find another adventure outside of the fortress.

  They were good years though. I was able to stand for myself without too much dependency on others. All were White Steeds. They had come from all over the South World, even as far as the other side of the vast Jaded Sea, which divided the east and west. They all had their own stories of the terror of the Black Steeds and how they were driven from their homes. I found that, indeed, I was a lucky one. I was saved by the Green People while some had lost all: homes, families, husbands, wives, sons, daughters, mothers, and fathers. Some had lost a few loved ones, and others had seen what happened to their friends and escaped altogether. Everywhere it was for the same reason: the Black Steeds. This drew us together and made us one. We were White Steeds with one mind and one purpose: to escape.

  Mystery, thoughts, and confusion marked those years. One would wonder what we did for food, locked up in the fortress. I was told we were at the very edge of the world. In truth, I thought they referred to the ocean, for looking out of high balconies, one could see the blue waters of Oceanic stretching. Yet I was told if one sailed beyond, eventually one would pass Lily Pad Island. Then you would be set on your course to the Pillars of Creation, a place not of this world, a place where the White Steeds go when death steals their lives. If it was willed, one could sail there and escape the cold brutalities of this world. This was told me by Crons with dreamy eyes. They sang of “wild things” and wonder and had dreams larger than life. They said it was because of the Daelidrains we had food because barrels floated across the endless waters and eventually reached the cove. From there, an underground sea floated the barrels to the fortress. Curious, one day I went down to see, and indeed the fortress did have a deep underground. Down there were numerous barrels full of every kind of food one could imagine. The barrel rooms were all kept intact by a horde of mice that carried barrels up to the kitchen. Afterward, I often saw them, marching along, hoisting barrels upstairs and along the halls and singing at the top of their shrill lungs. It took some getting used to.

  Most of the animals lived closer to the underground because it was darker and damper, remi
nding them of their homes in the ground. I met white horses there and squirrels and rabbits that overpopulated the underground as badly as the mice did. They also lived close to the food, and although I rarely found people down there, it was as noisy as if hundreds were living down there. But I often visited, reminded of the days when I was young and free and my friends were the creatures of the forest. We stayed out all day and through the evenings, delightfully wasting our days with happy thoughts.

  The animals, though, could not cure my homesickness, my desire for peace and quiet and to feel the wind rushing past my face and every breath the forest took when it breathed. I longed to be far away, back in free, wild lands, and in the fortress, there was nowhere, not one place, where I could go to be alone. We were all crammed in there, and no one saw my desire, save for one who actually knew my tale, and that was Halender.

  Although we had come together, arriving at the fortress that fair evening, Leon, Halender, and I had gone our separate ways. Those two went to tell their story to the elders and seek help while I went to find my place in the unscheduled, hectic events of living amongst others. They found their places as well, Leon with the east-stricken Crons, who told mystical tales and sang old songs while drinking their sacred ale, and Halender with those who talked and discussed the plight of our world at length. I rarely saw them, but our journey held us together, and then, they did not even stay long.

  One day I sat huddled in a window seat, people all around me, talking, laughing and eating. I stared out the window, wishing for elsewhere. That's when I felt him beside me and looked up at the tall Tider. His dark eyes were grave as he beckoned to me with his hand. Turning, I followed him, watching the strands of his long black hair. He was dressed for travel; he now wore the colors all those at the fortress wore: a white shirt with a green tunic and long black boots. A quiver of white tipped arrows was on his back, and his bow was still hidden somewhere under the long, green cloak he wore (I assumed). I also thought his long sword could be hidden there as well, and I couldn't help thinking what a magnificent warrior he appeared to be. The thought that he was leaving had not crossed my mind just yet.