The Awakening

Prologue

The hooded man, wrapped bundle in one hand and gnarled staff in the other, trod down the stony road, staff first and ladened breath second.

Sharp wind bit against his skin through the holes in his threadbare cloak. But he had not the luxury of drawing the cloak tightly around his body, for he could not – would not stop until he reached his destination and completed his mission.

To the ears of the Terrene, the mission was simple but to the Old, the fate of the world hung on its successful completion.

Not that a Terrene would ever get wind of such an important mission in the first place, but mundane thoughts like this helped distract the hooded man from the weight of the burden he must deliver.

He peeked at the babe sleeping in the wrapped bundle. They would sleep until they reached their destination - for the cry of a babe ever so pure and delicate, was so powerful that it would shatter the illusion of daylight that had taken the combined efforts of all the elements (fire, water, air and earth) and the blood of an Old to create.

The daylight glamour would hold for as long as the babe slept. And as long as the glamour held, the hunters would remain asleep.

The farce sun shone just as brightly as a true sun. But just like a toothless and clawless mẹ̀ta (the three headed dog that guarded the realm of daemons), the sun had no power, no heat. The air was sharp and harsh against his nostrils and throat like it did during harmattan.

But he would not stop… he could not stop.

For an Old as powerful as the hooded man, it would cost him not more than it would cost a hawk to pick up a chick in one powerful swoop to complete the mission that had been thrust upon him.

But to do so would require him to use magic and that would immediately set the hunters on his trail.

For the safe delivery of the burden in his hand, all the realms had come together to ensure the prophecy revealed by the Celestials came to pass.

And woe betide the hooded man, if he let that effort come to nothing by failing this mission.

It was why he could not stop, he could not tire.

The balance was in danger. Good exists and so does evil, none must overpower the other. It was why two prophecies were sent by the celestials, one a problem and the other the solution.

A daemonic uprising is at bay, it has been seen.

A saviour will come, it has been seen.

Both shall happen, they have been written.

But the realm of daemons would not have it. They wanted to reign supreme, the prophecies be damned, the scale of balance be destroyed.

Sweat moistened his back and slipped down his face, the weight of the burden he carried was wearing him out.

He had walked without stopping or pausing to take a break for at least three days. Physically he was built for the task, it was his soul that was weary, his magic that was waning.

But he could not give up, not when the turning stone was just ahead of him.

The giant stone, shaped like the long hand of a clock would deliver the hooded man and his bundle to the Forest of Isorropía, a place where the babe in his hands would be raised and taught the ways of their people.

A place where the hunters and their masters could never follow.
He was almost there, a few more steps, a little more push…

Then he heard it.

A crack like the sound of too much heat on a thin glass pane.
Fear creeped up his spine.

How was this happening? The babe still slept peacefully.

The elements… the Old whose blood was used…

Something terrible had happened.
The hooded man doubled his steps, but he did not get far before he heard the second crack.

He could not reach the turning stone before the third and final crack sounded, shattering the glamour completely. The hunters would come at him in legions, with his waning magic, he did not stand a chance.

A tough decision. But it must be made.

The hooded man stopped walking for the first time in three days, plunged his staff deep into the stone earth and whispered into the sleeping babe’s ear.

‘I must now leave you like your mother left you.’

He felt the unavoidable tightness in his chest as he said those words, it was after all his own child he was sending into the unknown.

‘Go forth into your destiny and be the balance between good and evil.’ The babe stirred as if acknowledging his words, accepting them, but did not wake.

And then the hooded man, did one last thing.

He placed his forefinger and middle finger on the child’s core and turned them anti-clockwise, sealing the babe’s magic.

It was the only way to protect the child because as long as his magic remained locked, the hunters would never be able to find him.

He placed his hand on his staff standing in the stone earth and released all that was left of his magic into it.

A crack in the ground opened and blue light burst forth and formed a circle. He then sent the bundle into the portal.

‘Go forth to wherever destiny leads and hide. Come back only when good and evil lives inside you.’

As if waiting for him to say these last words, the final crack sounded, and the glamour of daylight came crashing down in shards of glass around him.

The hooded man would have been thrust into complete darkness had it not been for the light from the portal.

The Hunters came in legions.
They had one mission – to get to the babe, before it disappeared completely. And it was the hooded man’s job to make sure that they failed.

Their stench reached him before they did. Putrid like a mixture of raw eggs and rotten food.

He threw ugly creature after snarling creature miles away, only for them to get up and come for him again, they scratched, they tore, they bit but he held them off.

A quick glance behind him and he could no longer see the floating bundle.

He pushed away a hoard of monsters who tried to overpower him and ran in crazy blindness towards his staff, blocking and dodging monsters as they attacked.

Finally making it to his staff, he pulled it out of the earth and sealed the portal shut.

The hunters shrieked as they came at him. The putrid scent of their agony and anger filled the air.

The hooded man smiled.

Though, his cloak was in tatters, and he was covered in blood, with daemon poison fast racing to his heart, he rejoiced, knowing that they would never be able to reach his child whom he hadn’t the chance to name.

That thought alone pumped adrenaline into his system, and he took his final stand against the hunters, a stand from which he could only fall.