Desert Realm Scorch

The forest quieted to a dull silence.

Snow drifted like falling ash, melting on his warm skin.

He shivered uncontrollably in a deep-seated fear.

An empty well.

A pitch black hole.

A prison for him.

With no key.

Wiccer wrapped his arms tightly around himself.

He tried to hold back his tears.

He was a child again, lost and far from home.

The forest taunted him.

It always had.

It teased him when he thought he had confidence.

It scolded him when he lost it.

Trees for miles.

Only around him.

A calm voice broke his thoughts.

Wiccer. I am here for you, little brother.

The trees laughed at his plight.

The voice came louder.

Wiccer, I won't let you be here alone.

He lifted his head and searched for the voice

It spoke once more.

I have found you, little brother.

A silhouette tore down the trees.

The forest burned.

The forest was quiet save for his subtle whimper.

A new voice soothed him.

My child, do not cry.

She was of remarkable strength and beauty.

But her touch was soft and cooling.

You are safe now, my son.

A third presence stood over him.

Like a shawl of protection.

A soul born with courage.

We will always be together, Wiccer.

The boy reached out for the three.

Now as one in a bond the forest could not break.

Sanctifying his mind.

Solace for his heart.

***

Wiccer woke to find himself in a leather tent. He lay next to soft greying embers wafting with heavy smoke. He gingerly propped himself up off the colorful beaded bed to look around the room.

Strands of teal and red beads decorated the ends of the tent beams. Painted spiraling snakes decorated the walls. Clay saucers filled with a minty smelling liquid rested next to him. Avalon slept motionless across the smoldering fire. Elucard leaned against the tent wall near her.

“You’ve been asleep for two days,” he said.

Wiccer felt his rough chin.

“You look like shit,” Elucard chuckled.

Wiccer reached for his chest wound. His skin was smooth, not bearing any cuts or scars. He looked down at his chest in confusion. “I should have died in the desert. What happened?”

Elucard squeezed his scabbard laying across his lap. “We should all have died out there.” He clenched his teeth, shaking his head. “We didn’t have a chance against them.”

“Where are we, Elucard? Who saved us?”

Elucard paused, and then tilted his head to the tent flap. “The Newsuns.”

“The who?” Wiccer asked again. The Newsuns? How can this be? Wiccer’s legs tightened and ached as he struggled to his feet.

“Wiccer, you need to res-”

“I need to see them!” Wiccer burst outside into the glaring sunlight and sizzling heat and out to a large camp. Dozens of tents and lean-tos like his own covered the wide area. Dune elves caught up in daily routines moved about the small village as they tended fires, crafted pottery, or tanned leather. Some patrolled the edge of the camp on the backs of huge gold-scaled serpents.

Newsuns? These are just dune elves.

“You have the jaw-line of your father, but your mother’s face. The will of our people and the courage of yours,” came a stoic voice besides him.

Wiccer quickly spun around to face an elder elf with a slender build and clothed in vibrant red and yellow toned feathers, “H-How do you know my parents?” Wiccer searched the elf's face but found no familiar features. Surely his brother's stories... No, impossible.

“Of course I do,” returned the elf with a soft smile, still gazing across the camp. “Marcus and Vivian saved my people from enslavement in the War of Chains and in turn we saved them from death. They took the Newsun name as their own. We are all one kin now.”

“Wait…”

The elf smiled and nodded.

“You were the tribe of nomads that took in my parents?”

“We are,” he said. The stories were all true. No longer tall tales to satisfy Wiccer’s fantasies of his parents’ mysterious past, “Your forest elf friend told me your name was ‘Wiccer’.”

Wiccer gave a polite nod.

“I see you were given an elven name.”

Wiccer’s eyes widened in wonder. “What of Avren? That was my brother’s name!”

The elf chuckled. “Yes, Avren is a strong dune elf name as well.”

Wiccer lowered his head in sadness.

“What is wrong, my child?”

“Avren has passed on to the Roaming Plane. So has my mother.” Wiccer choked out the words. His dream was still fresh in his mind. So real he could feel their touch. To awaken and not see them greatly hurt him.

The elder elf gave a sympathetic nod and placed his hand on Wiccer’s shoulder. “When a Newsun dies their soul is reaped by Alanna’s angels, but a part of their spirit stays with their loved ones to watch over them.”

“I appreciate your kind folklore, sir, but my family were not dune elves,” said Wiccer, brushing off the elf’s hand.

“We are all Newsun, Wiccer.”

“Thank you. That means a lot to me,” said Wiccer, “What is your name? so I may write to my father who saved my friends and I.”

“I am chief Drokaz, leader of the Newsun.” Drokaz waved his hand to span the entire camp.

Wiccer bowed before him. “You do me a great honor, Chief Drokaz, but now I must discuss

amongst my friends the next actions we must take against our enemies.”

***

Wiccer sat crossed legged in his tent, while Elucard still rested against its wall. They both silently whispered to each other, agreeing not to wake up Avalon. Despite the miraculous healing properties of Newsun medicine, Avalon was still in great agony. Covered in bandages and oddly colored mud, Avalon moaned in her sleep.

Elucard padded Avalon’s forehead with a damp cloth. “She might not pull through.”

“She is strong,” said Wiccer. He sipped from a cup of raptor bone broth. It smelled pungent, but had a pleasantly salty taste. “Stronger than most anyone I know.”

“Stronger than Inle and the yikahti?”

Wiccer placed down his cup and glowered at Elucard. “Perhaps not.”

“They are not a threat we cannot ignore, Wiccer.” Elucard tightened his grip on the cloth until drips of water trickled down his wrist. “And the seals breaking... This isn’t good.”

“How many seals are there?”

Elucard rubbed his chin. “I don’t know. And I don’t know how many have been broken.”

“At... least one... now,” Avalon groaned, still half asleep, “You know I can hear silent

whispers. They are like normal whispers, but louder with this headache.”

Wiccer ducked his head sheepishly. “We’re glad you can join the conversation.”

Avalon arched her back until a grotesque set of cracks rippled down her spine. “Jedeoheim must be notified of this news at once.”

“Aye, Long Whisper as well,” agreed Elucard.

“But who is Inle working for? The giant was not there as a coincidence,” Wiccer pondered out loud.

“Uther,” corrected Avalon, “No, I believe he was working alongside the cat and Inle.”

“Who leads them?” asked Elucard, “Someone is pulling their strings.”

Wiccer nodded. “One thing I am sure of, their work is not done yet.”

Elucard and Avalon muttered in agreement.

“When Avalon is well enough to travel, I will ask the Newsuns for passage to the closest port,” said Wiccer.

“I will need to see how Guster is before we leave,” said Avalon.

Elucard lowered his head in silence.

“What? What is it, Elucard?” asked Avalon, but she already knew the answer. “We were the only ones that made it from the desert. I’m sorry for your friend.”

Avalon closed her eyes, but showed no tears and swallowed hard. “He-he wasn’t any friend of mine... just some pain in the ass I owed a favor to…” she lied.

Elucard and Wiccer looked at each other.

“L-Let’s get some rest, I should be fine in the next few days,” Avalon’s words quivered out, crying for loss on the inside.