World of Io

This was my first attempt at writing a novel 3 years ago. I've decided to share it to show how I've developed as a writer in order to encourage everyone who wants to try but are unsure of their skills.

The novel was supposed to be the first in a series, but I've not continued it beyond this first book. Maybe I will one day :)

Prologue

Io stood in silence, staring out over the world with hollow eyes. The storm wailed in his ears, shrieking with the sound of those who had lost their lives. Thick, black pillars of smoke rose from dying fires, reaching into the darkening sky.

He was too late; too late to save those who needed him the most.

Again. 

She had said: One more try Io, only one. Now there was nothing left. Nothing for him to save, nothing to salvage. 

The precipice was a mere step away, one step and he would be free. He closed his eyes and let go...

 -----

Chapter 1

They called him Io: he who returns. Centuries had passed since he abandoned the world he was destined to save. Centuries of time to restore and rebuild what was lost. Centuries to heal and forget.

Memories faded to faint whispers until the day the patched up wounds began to bleed. Once more, the world was falling apart at the seams. The very fabric of existence was withering, threads were running loose. Souls were wasting while shadows whispered. Hope was dwindling or non-existent.

Qumo sat in meditation, listening to the world around him. He did it out of habit, knowing that he wouldn't hear what he was searching for. All he heard was the soft rustle of leaves in the wind, cracking branches, and the soothing sound of water racing down the small creek. The Forces of Elements had been forgotten and neglected for long centuries, and now they were but a whisper of what they once were. Fire, Earth, Water, Air, all of them were silent.

He remembered a time when the force of the Earth had called out to him, urging him to let it live through him, within him. The emptiness created inside of him when Io silenced the forces was still there. The resentment was gone, but not the feeling of loss. He knew that Io had done what he thought was right. Everyone made mistakes. 

"Qumo?”

“Boy, you know I don’t like to be disturbed while I meditate,” he huffed in disapproval. He could picture his young ward rolling his eyes at the tone, and he couldn't help the small smile that played briefly on his lips. This particular young man always eased his mind, and always brought him his tea with just the right amount of honey. However, he would never tell this insolent Human any of those things. At least not to his face.

He opened his eyes. “Now, what is it?” he asked, arching his brow. The stern look he shot seemed to have very little effect, as usual.  

"They've returned," the young man whispered, his voice faint and sad.

Qumo looked into his ward's cloud-colored eyes, searching for answers to questions he didn't want to voice. Those eyes were most likely the reason he was here, far away from the superstitious parents that abandoned him as an infant. Here, among the N'aians, he was the boy or the Human, but never the freak, never feared out of superstition. Now those eyes glistened with repressed tears.

"How many?" Qumo asked, rising from the soft grass. He stretched his legs and tried to forget that his body had lived too long already. Next year he would begin his tenth century, but he wasn't ready to leave this world behind just yet.