FirstLineFiction beta

from Contest #6

Almost everyone thought the man and the boy were father and son.  And to almost everyone’s credit, the similarities of their countenance made such an assumption credible.  Vraen, the elder, stood just over six feet.  His hair was so dark, it rivaled the finest of ebony and what lay behind the green of his eyes was everything intelligent and noble.  Vlad, younger than Vraen by a score of years, had less than an inch deficit when it came to his standing.  His hair held a chalky hue, closer to coal, compared to the sleek shine of Vraen’s locks—it was a variation of texture, rather than color.  And as for Vlad’s eyes…while the color was identical, beneath the intelligence was an underlying defiance and deceit.  When they walked, their strides were in sync and the patterns of their speech followed an innate rhythm.  Indeed, it was a sound supposition to believe one to be the progeny of the other.  But that was not the nature of their relationship.  Only someone who knew them well, to the highest degree, would catch the not so minor nuances of their characters.  Someone like me.  For it was I who knew: one was a master, the other an apprentice.

                The small village in which I reside has been in existence since time began and I have watched many enter and many exit.  I have witnessed births and deaths.  I have observed parents as they observed their children and felt their love and pride, their anger and disappointment.  I have listened to stories and told my own, tended to wounds, defended my neighbors and lived many years.  But I have always remained detached and alone…for such is the life of a seer.  And yet I am closer to all of them than they will ever know.  I know each wife better than her husband and each child is more familiar to me than to their own mother or father.  I know their hopes and dreams, their achievements and discretions.  I am acquainted with each beginning and I have seen each end and as to all the twists and turns in between—I know those as well.

                There have been times in my two hundred and twelve years that I thought I would go mad.  But I have glimpsed my own conclusion and it does not involve insanity.  However, I digress.  While this is my story to tell, it is not however, my story.  That, I must regret, would take time that I no longer have. 

                It was the year of our Lord 1342 and I was at the ripe young age of one hundred and nineteen when I first saw Vraen.  His mother brought him to our village for sanctuary, for he had been born with the mark of magic and was therefore marked for death.  The Ones, a puritanical group who cursed anything they considered to be super or preternatural and therefore demonic, had taken over the cities and destroyed anything that stood in the way of their quest for purity and perfection.  Anyone who was blessed with any type of skill or talent that the Ones did not possess, myself included, had fled to the  outer woods or the distant mountains seeking safety from the fiery pyres which burned those innocent who had been condemned. 

                So Vraen came to my village, a young child of three.  I knew the extent of his greatness because the moment I’d laid eyes on him I’d seen his destiny.  But the other villagers, who had no knowledge of Vraen or what his life would become, also seemed to sense that he was no ordinary outcast.  His power at so young an age was already a force with which to be reckoned. 

                During that time, Abrir still lived.  She was a sorceress, quite accomplished in the art of magic.  She could conjure and evoke the elements, creating water in droughts and fire in winter and then use their energy for other purposes.  Illusions were used to keep our village hidden from unwanted eyes and although divination was more my area of expertise (unbeknownst to her and the other villagers) she occasionally was granted the gift of prophecy.  She accepted Vraen into her home and his instruction began.  Under her tutelage, his powers grew quickly.  By the time he was thirteen, his powers far surpassed Abrir’s and she told him that if he would continue in his learnings he would have to seek out guidance elsewhere.  She had nothing left to teach him.  Only this would she tell him:  he must control his powers and use them for good.  For the moment his powers controlled him, evil would reign and he would lose himself to the depths of his own dissatisfaction and despair. 

                And so Vraen left the village as I had seen so many people do in my lifetime.  While I am privy to the intricate details of his travels, I will not bore you with them here.  Suffice it to say that he traveled far, seeking those who shared his gifts and had knowledge to bestow.  For over three decades our village was devoid of his presence.  But the world was not.  Vraen was a force of his own and wherever he went, he left his mark.  Stories of his abilities, his great feats, the use of his skills to defend those persecuted by the Ones trickled back to our village and a sense of pride rippled through the villagers.  Especially Abrir.  Years later on her deathbed she would say that Vraen was her greatest pride, her mark on the world.  If she had known the true extent of the mark Vraen would leave, her pride would have been tenfold. 

                Years later, on a cold morning in 1375 I awoke with a sense of foreboding.  Something was not right.  I could not place the unease I felt but it would not be long before I understood everything.  And everything would change.

                It had been thirty-three years since Vraen had set foot in our village.  He was no longer a boy, but a man, grown and matured into a strong magician.  Despite the changes, the people of the village recognized him and a great cheer went up as word spread of his return.  Vraen had come home!  But he was not alone.  Speculation swelled about the young man who stood next to Vraen and looked so like him.  Was Vraen a father?  He must be, the similarities were so precise.  And if this young man was Vraen’s son, was he also a magician and would he follow in his father’s footsteps, performing good works and fighting the order of the Ones?

                I stepped out of my tent to bestow my own welcome on the adulated magician.  But I did not make it two steps, for I looked up and my eyes met those of Vraen’s companion.

                Vlad.  Time stopped and in that suspended moment I saw this young man’s life flash by.  He was the son of a witch, a haggard woman who had succumbed to the evil desires of pleasure and used her power to gain them.  She cared for riches, for luxury, for her own personal comfort and she stopped at nothing to further her own gain.  Thievery, mendacity, even murder were her friends and she used the tools of her trade with no remorse for the desolation she caused.  She raised her son with such a mindset, taught him everything she knew, used him as another tool in her workman’s set. 

                Vlad had been a quick study and had eagerly participated in his education.  Also to his advantage was his visage, a handsome set of features and a quick smile that entreated trust and effectively veiled the treacherous soul within.  He was the perfect tempter, enticing his victims and leaving them with nothing, at times not even their lives. 

                By the time Vlad was twenty, the rumors and stories of Vraen had spread to his mother’s ears.  Threatened by the possibility that someone with powers stronger than her own might interfere with her plans, she schemed.   She bequeathed her son with the mission of hunting down the famous Vraen.  Vlad would present himself to Vraen as a fledgling magician and humbly request that Vraen take Vlad on as a young apprentice, so that Vlad could assist Vraen in his determined quest to suppress the Ones—and when Vlad had learned all he could, he would kill Vraen and rid them of any competition. 

                Vlad had set out and after a year of searching located the magician and presented his request.  Vraen had accepted the young man and they had spent the past two years together.  And now they had returned to my village.         

                Vlad returned my stare steadily and I saw both fear and determination flash in his eyes before he looked away.  He was suspicious of me but didn’t know why.  He knew no more than anyone else the extent of my gifts.  My advantage was that I knew everything.  I knew his plans, I knew his goal…I knew the outcome.  But I also knew that any fear Vlad felt would be crushed under his need for power and his resolve to see his mother’s plan carried out. The knowledge of Vraen’s success in this battle that would soon commence was no consolation in knowing the hurt and disappointment he would suffer afterward.  For although no blood linked them, Vraen had come to know Vlad as a father would know his son. 

                The specific details of the events that followed are unimportant, but I will give you an overview.  Vlad resided in the village with Vraen for weeks masquerading as Vraen’s submissive but eager apprentice, all the while plotting how he would attempt to steal away Vraen’s life.  And Vraen, blinded with the love of a father, continued with Vlad’s instruction, never suspecting that his life was in danger.  I watched it all from a distance, powerless to prevent what I knew would occur.

                The day came when Vlad made his attempt on Vraen’s life.  The master, shocked and horrified pleaded with his apprentice, trying desperately to understand where the young man had gone astray.  And the apprentice, overconfident in his ability, sneered at the master, laughed at him, called him a fool.  Boasting of his cunning and that of his mother, he enlightened his master and the gathered village of the whole devious scheme.  He was now the master.  No one could stop him, he said.

                He was wrong.

                Remembering the words of his own teacher Vraen knew he could not allow someone so corrupt to continue in the path of magic.  His apprentice was no longer in control but was being controlled by his power and that was not something Vraen could not allow.  Using all the strength he could summon, he cut down his apprentice, drawing out Vlad’s power and destroying it.  I felt Vrean’s agony as keenly as I would my own as he reduced the one he loved to nothing.  I would have given my own life if it could have put an end to Vrean’s suffering.  But I had known from the very beginning how it all must end.  And so I continued to do all I could.  To watch and to know.

                Vraen had spared Vlad’s life that day, on one condition.  Without his power, Vlad was no threat and Vraen could not bring himself to take the life of his apprentice.  Vlad could go free and live as long as he never made another attempt to engage in the practice of magic and use it for his own gain.  Vraen swore that if he ever heard of Vlad seeking to regain his magical power he would hunt him down and kill him.  Vlad had fled the village and never returned.

                In his disappointment, Vraen left the village soon after.  He regarded Vlad’s betrayal as a personal failure.  Somehow, he had fallen short in his attempt to teach the true underlying power of magic.  He believed that he had failed Vlad and because of that, Vlad had succumbed to the lustrous possibilities that evil presented.  He was not worthy of the world’s adoration and especially that of his own village.  And so he departed.  The village lamented his absence and as no word reached it of his safety they feared what he might do.  I alone knew that Vraen was safe.  He retreated to the mountains, living as a hermit and meditating on man and how easily he is corrupted. 

                Years passed.  I witnessed more births, more deaths.  Life continued as it has a way of doing and the name of Vraen became myth, the stories of his great deeds legend.  A new generation of children in the village began to act out the story of Vraen and Vlad, always fighting over which child would play which role.  As seasons changed, I continued on in the village, a seer, always detached yet always involved.  And Vraen drifted from existence.

                It is now the year 1435 and I have grown old.  Two hundred and twelve years is a long time to live.  Seemingly a much longer time to see.  Very soon my end will come as I have foreseen.  In truth, I have only a few short hours left.  And I must admit, my mind rejoices at the thought of dark emptiness.  But one last thing I must convey before I go.  The last thing I have seen:

                A master and apprentice side by side, one a reality, the other an illusion.  Both fade into nothing.  The hands of a clock begin to whirl, more swiftly on each journey around.  A great light appears and from its glow emerges the master.  The apprentice appears out of the dark.  A river falls from the eyes of the apprentice.  It becomes deeper, flows more rapidly, threatening to drown the apprentice in despair.  There is an embrace of light.  Amends are made.  Strength, energy, intensity all combine and two separate entities are united.  What is united grows and spreads throughout the land.  Corruption is broken, domination is brought down and above all, all fires are ceased. 

back to Contest #6