The sky was a brilliant slur of dazzling colors, fading then reappearing again as the sun lifted into the awaiting skies. It stretched it's shining fingers forth, bringing light and life to all it touched. In the forest of Jerkin Wood eyes opened, bodies stirred, shaking the chill of the night aside, and the day's unfailing routine began. For the robin and sparrow it was off in search of food for the nestled young. For the fox it was a quiet surveillance of coveted territory. For all it was a time of reawakening and new beginnings, for all it was time to begin the daily chores. All save one strange and irregular stranger, who seemed all to content to rest while the forest bustled about.
Still asleep on the woodland floor, Mia shifted uncomfortably. He looked older than he really was, barley old enough to be taken seriously and yet young enough to be humored, his true youth nearly hidden under thick and fierce eyebrows and his stocky build. But it was there, standing out mostly in skinned tanned by days work, comprehensive eyes, and a narrow, child-like chin. He was strong and wiry, and life had favored him well. His mouth seemed to constantly hold a most mischievous grin that unwittingly crept into the rest of his broad face. He was the perfect platitude for the people of the tiny hamlet of Scarleten, in which he had been born and raised in. Being young and impulsive, brash and impudent, bright and hard working, Mia scarcely resembled Sar, with his tall, blue-eyed, lengthy light blonde hair, lithe build and intense eyes, thorough thinking, perceptive views and lack of humor. He had smiled faintly at the recollection of his older brother, who it seemed, was constantly telling him to quit acting like a child, and to take life more seriously. But Mia did not want to take life seriously, never intended to, and found no benefit in doing so.
This night spent in the forest had been cold and unpleasant. Cold because it the Summer's warmth was fading rapidly to accompany the Fall; nights now became chill, and days stunted. Unpleasant because of the poor accommodations. Though Mia enjoyed and appreciated the outdoors, he never really connected with nature the way that many in his humble village had. Although reluctant to admit it, he was inadequately equipped for this particular errand and had no one to blame but himself.
Mia had been traveling all day since noon and had continued into the night. The territory then had been familiar enough to do so, and he felt quite comfortable. Unfortunately, almost as soon as he started to feel at ease, it seemed, the forest began to grow more formidable than the subdued forest immediately surrounding the village, shifting quickly from a kind friend to a troublesome stranger. It was then in the soundless air of the night he had decided to make camp. Being that he lacked preferred supplies, he had to be satisfied with a small fire and a small meal. The fire hadn't lasted as long as he would've liked, leaving him entirety alone to fend of the darkness. In the distance crickets had lured him to sleep, with their nightly serenade. But, as luck would have it, he did not. The leery sounds of night had kept him awake. Disturbing noises came and died with curious shadows, eyes studied him from a discomforting distance, intrigued with this foreign being, but not bold enough to venture out of the surety of the gloom so familiar. Although he wouldn't admit it to himself, Mia was truthfully afraid. He'd thought of home most the night and how very much he'd rather be there than here, wrapped in a wooly blanket drinking hot ale by the fire. But, father had sent him, not his brother he'd reminded himself triumphantly, on an errand, and he was not about to give up an opportunity to prove he could actually accomplish an important task. Near midnight however, exhaustion finally won the battle over thoughts and worries and he drifted dully into sleep.
The sun flitted through the forest canopy darting across the small grove, searching to find the reluctant riser. It continued to proceed soon pinpointing its way to where Mia lay, bathing him soft light. He stirred once again and groggily opened one eye. It was a deep mist color, like rolling fog of a coast of the ocean waves who lashed out at cliff side edges, deep and soft. It also held a lighthouse, if one looked closely, a kindle. Morning already, he thought to himself drowsily and opened the other eye. He took a moment to right himself, sitting up on one elbow, and viewed his surroundings. The trees watched him silently as they continued their steady vigil and small scurries told him that the rest of the forest's business was well under way. His memory of where he was what he was about came back swiftly; his next thought was that he must hurry or father might grow worried. Or worse, he corrected, father might think that Mia had failed. He sighed wearily and forced his blocky frame, stiff and cold for lack of warm clothing, off the dew dampened ground. After a refreshing session of stretches, a short cold meal and a quick stowing of supplies, he picked up the drawstrings of his lone leather pack and sluggishly headed off into the wall of trees. His thoughts echoed in his mind. I must hurry.
* * * * *
The black cloaked figure watched attentively with unfeeling eyes, probing. It glared into the surface of an icy sheet where the image of a boy hung suspended in front of him. The ice was as thin as paper and was large enough to tower a small cabin. It hung above him twice his height and spanned the whole east side of the cavern, directly in front of his throne.
It wasn't truthfully ice if one had the wisdom and misfortune to differentiate. It was liquified essence of potent beings, their meaningless lives pumped vehemently for a menial yet handy design. It was then compressed and tinkered with and eventually frozen with harsh utters from a powerful and forgotten tongue. Forgotten, like himself. Powerful. Like himself also. The corners of his mouth upturned sharply revealing a fang. The Vision Mirror, he'd christened it. A useful sleight he'd come across in his endless years of training, training in obscurity for so long it was almost all he remembered. Almost. He remembered the beginning. He would always remember the beginning.
His attention averted back to the boy, tousled brown hair, light pack on his back, treading through silent woodlands. His smile turned into a lopsided grin and he continued to watch hungrily. His eyes flared with craving and for a moment he lost himself in anticipation. He could taste the power. The prospect of what was to come cut through him with a rippling wave of glee. He suppressed it slowly, enjoying the sensation it allowed. His eyes narrowed to slits of blood-red. Soon, he thought quietly. Soon. Unable and unwilling to suppress the feeling, the grin grew wide. But not soon enough.
* * * * *
The hours passed by uneventfully as he trod wistfully along the broad dirt path. It wound cryptically around woodland scrubs and trees, as if trying to make anyone traveling upon it lost. For all I know, he speculated, I could be.
Still traversed in the closely knitted forest Mia forced his mind to concentrate about staying on the trail. Only small patches of sunlight were able to penetrate through the dense forest ceiling to the soft floor below, lowering visibility. He did not cherish the thought of straying into the depressing forest and becoming hopelessly lost. It was impossible to forget the superstitious talk regarding Jerkin Wood, and that it had beyond doubt claimed lives before. However most of these tales were made for wide-eyed children, a forewarning to be mindful when traversing the forest and that it was safer to stay within the village limits. They were also testimony that inexperienced fools had no place where they didn't belong.
Mia had grown from child to boy to juvenile constantly exploring his home milieu, secretly claiming the forest as his own. He knew the subdued forest that hemmed his home like he would a brother, maybe more so than his real brother he mused, and the Jerkin, though a distant relative of Mia's forests, was not much different, only more severe. But underestimating opponents was the mind killer. The Jerkin was a ferocious wood, and not keeping that in mind could get him into trouble he'd rather not think about. The grating sound of his boots scuffing against the path plucked him out of thoughts and back to the Jerkin, the real Jerkin. Keeping these thoughts in distant yet clear, he stared warily into the bleak that confronted him.
Most of the terrain since he had awoken had become increasingly unfamiliar as the day wore on, and he would need to concentrate solely on his purpose if he wasn't to get himself lost. He scarcely remembered even the trail that led him, having only been outside his secure limits of Scarleten and the surrounding woods, much more tame than the demanding Jerkin, once before and years past. His mind once again drifted longingly towards home. He quickly redirected his thoughts and chided himself for letting his mind stray so easily. He felt embarrassed for acting so homesick. I can do this, Mia thought, and just as good as Sar, or anyone else, for that matter. The task his father had given him was simple enough. "I need you to go to Knotsford," he'd told Mia gruffly, "and near the large windmill at the southeastern edge of town. You'll find a cottage there, boy. The owner is an old friend of mine, Gerrald Vimnson. Give him and only him the package," father had told him sternly. Then he had sent him off, of course, not without telling him to keep a good head on his shoulders and to mind his elders.
His father himself would've gone if not for the fact that he'd been feeling a bit under the weather recently."Nothing a good rest from work won't cure," he'd answered when Mia had seemed concerned.
Once again the thought resurfaced in his mind. Why did he send me? He'd run over the question numerous times ever since the moment father had asked him to go. He hardly ever trusts me to do anything he thought grudgingly. His father could've chosen his older brother to go, the obvious and painfully regular decision. But surprising Mia and even Sar, who was not taken of guard so easily, he did not. Maybe he thought Mia was ready, that he was mature enough and old enough to handle such a task. Maybe it was just time he learned about the outside world, seeing as he was nearing manhood anyhow. Maybe, just maybe, he saw something in Mia that needed a little coaxing to emerge, a special light of sorts. He toyed playfully with the thoughts as he plodded along then brushed them away. Whatever the case, he concluded, it didn't really matter. Mia was just thrilled to escape the boring routine of every day life in the village in any case.
Chapter II
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