The Slayarians - Book One, JM Barnes [best books for 7th graders txt] 📗

Kirstana would often sneak away from her parents’ cabin and explore the surrounding forest. It was on one of those secret excursions that she stumbled upon a wolf that had something trapped in a small burrow. She had been about to skirt around the area, not wanting to frighten the animal, when a tiny voice called out from the burrow. The voice seemed to be akin to the music Kirstana had heard on occasion being played by strangers passing through. Drawn by curiosity she found some undergrowth to hide behind and waited to see what happened next.
What occurred then was to that little girl both amazing and delightful. The tiny voice grew louder and the wolf licked its chops in anticipation. Another moment and a shape moved slowly from the hole. Instead of attacking immediately, as Kirstana expected it to, the nearly four foot high lone wolf sat on its haunches and perked its up ears. It sat like some obedient pet awaiting a treat from its master.
A furry coney, looking very dead, seemed to float on its own from the hole and land unceremoniously at the big paws of the excited wolf. Revealed from under the coney and standing before the great handsome wolf, with a smile as wide as it was tall, was some sort of fearie.
“Alright, my friend, there’s your dinner!” It said happily to the wolf.
Immediately the wolf snatched up its meal and trotted several feet away before tearing into it.
The fearie stood nearly a foot tall and wore not a stitch of clothing. It had no hair nor did it have any wings, as many stories seemed to say a fearie would. Its skin was light green and it shimmered like a reflection from a pond. Though it did not appear capable of hauling a fat rabbit from its hole it had done so with ease. Surely this was a truly magical creature.
As she thought that the fearie clapped his hands together and produced a rose, red as the coney’s blood, from thin air. The fey being must have heard her gasp for it turned directly her way and held the flower, which was longer than it was, toward her.
“A flower for a pretty human girl?” It asked.
Kirstana held her breath, not daring to respond. She did not yet believe the fearie actually knew where she was.
“Do not fear me. I am friend to all who are friendly, come out, my name is Siirilri!”
Kirstana called out from the underbrush below a black oak. “What about that wolf? Are you fey or is this a goblin trick?”
Siirilri laughed heartily and Kirstana could sense the genuine honesty of the fearie as it said, “I am fearie, young one, and that wolf is harmless as long as you are not my enemy. He is the one that told me you were there while I was convincing the rabbit to feed him. Fear not! He told me he likes you very much!”
His voice seemed so beautiful to her ears that she knew he must speak the truth and the wolf never moved from its meal. She stepped from hiding then and walked to the fearie who began to dance a merry jig. Kirstana giggled and laughed and even cried the entire night after that as Siirilri told her wonderful tale after tale, many of which coincidentally gave mention to Aeleostrimine. Siirilri explained the sometimes cruel character of nature herself and the unending bounty she provided. He explained how change itself was a shared course for all things born of nature. Thus, nature and change were one and the same. He also told of Aeleostrimine’s siblings, all of which were gods as well but were revered by other goodly races and sometimes by different names. Siirilri hinted at a forgotten race of men who also worshiped every one of those gods and who championed the cause of all the good peoples of earth. He would not elaborate, explaining that it was not allowed to casually discuss those people for they had a secret society out of necessity.
Kirstana did not know of whom the fearie spoke then but she vividly remembered the chill that coursed through her body for a long moment after he mentioned that unnamed of race. She now knew he spoke of her very own people who she then did not recall because of Krosten’s spell. Ever since that fateful meeting she had been praying and sacrificing the proper herbs and flowers to Aeleostrimine. She was drawn to embrace nature itself as a beaver was drawn to build.
Krosten assured her that she had trained nearly as long as a Slayarian priestess would have and by his judgment she excelled considering what training she’d received. The truth was she never received any training at all and mostly because she did not need it. Instinct and faith were her only guides through her eventual enlightenment. By the time she reached fourteen she could utilize her blessed prayers.
The first spell came to her in a time of need when she fell from a tree limb while on another of her solo trips into the forest. Her ankle broke when she landed and she was a long way from home. At first she had bound it tightly with strips of cloth and used some fallen branches as splints on either side of her foot. When the pain grew unbearable and she could hobble no further, she proceeded to build a makeshift altar of twigs and holly. She laid over the altar many of the rarer herbs she had with her and began praying to her goddess.
Two hours passed and Kirstana faithfully prayed on. Walking on but existing only for the goddess. Ignoring the increasing swelling and discoloration on her foot, she focused on her pleas for guidance. To the young girl this mishap seemed to be most likely a test sent from her goddess to see if she could survive the course of natural events. She prayed on until suddenly a series of instructions just appeared in her mind that described the making of a blessed salve that would mend her bones nearly instantly. Using the untouched plants in her pouches she crushed and mixed the herbs and added a strand of her own hair and a toenail clipping. Spitting once into the bowl she used, she then held it up toward the sky and chanted praises to nature. After a mere moment, rain downpoured all around her position but never touched anywhere within five feet of her. Reaching out and catching one of the rivulets of water into the mixing bowl her spell was completed. At that instant the rain ceased and she dabbed a bandage into the pudding thick mixture. After perhaps five minutes the ankle was fully healed. Free of pain or uncomfortable sensations, barely did she notice when the bones snapped back in place. The swelling receded in moments and only a slight discoloration and some bearable pain remained.
That occasion had been fueled by faith. Today she no longer needed any mixture or rainfall to complete that spell. Now, Kirstana knew how to heal by faith alone and it seemed only natural for her to do so. Resigned to the fact that she would get no more advice from the surly dwarf, she fell in line behind the others as they moved across grassy fields dotted with forest copses. Quietly but confidently she began to chant her prayers to Aeleostrimine.
Hours later, Kirstana had not given up, just like when she’d broken her ankle. No visions appeared to her but she had faith. Suddenly it happened! Her sight grew more focused. She now saw the world in front of her become shrouded in darkness and far off in the distance the sunlight could be seen, like a tunnel had appeared before her and no matter how she tried she could not reach its end. She hurried through the spell shaded landscape to reach that light sensing she had changed directions and that her legs seemed to be telling her where to go. The priestess stopped and turned around to see if her companions were still there and they were. Although she could see them and hear them she still felt like she was alone in the dark, the spell concentrating her senses toward her quarry. A hand touched her shoulder and she turned to see Treacor smiling at her.
“I’ll keep the way ahead of you safe but if you don’t slow down a bit Slaytor won’t be behind you to cover your back.” He said with amusement.
“I’ve been given the Seeker spell from Aeleostrimine, she has blessed our journey!” Kirstana blurted with joy.
As Slaytor reached them, breathless, he said, “Next time you’re going to run off, girl, give a person warning will you?”
She looked to Sirsi’ who smiled in a calm, reassuring way. “You bolted suddenly and we thought you spotted trouble. You’ve run like a deer for a mile!”
Kirstana did feel winded but she hadn’t noticed in her excitement. “I’m sorry! I know how to control the spell now and I promise to walk from here on.” Bending low she then kissed the huffing dwarf on his red nose which reddened even more with embarrassment. “Thank you, uncle, you are so wise.” She said.
“Alright, alright, you’re welcome! Now can we get going’?” Slaytor complained but even his great beard could not hide the smile he wore. He straightened his war helmet, tested his great axe’s weight and headed off in completely the wrong direction, which brought about much laughter from his young charges.
Later, Treacor was scouting the path ahead of them when he spotted large ribs jutting from the ground near some huge boulders. The rocks appeared as if they simply sprang from the plain’s floor as if pushed up from deep beneath the earth. Behind them the horizon flattened out so the ranger went face first to the soil and looked against the setting sun. The clumps of soil and ruts, along with hoof and ogre prints on the softer areas revealed this to be the sight of a battle. It seemed it was a battle between two big ogres and three men on horseback and what a quick and decisive battle it must have been! Though the carcasses had been picked clean the scarred bone’s revealed the nature of their demise. Few blows seemed taken by the riders but not one of them was even taken down. Which party was the aggressor?
Slaytor stared intently at Treacor’s face as the young man recited what he’d learned from the signs on the site. The dwarf had spent enough time beside elves to know whom the boy had been trained by and it was clear Treacor took that training seriously. Also, the dwarf knew what ogre signs looked like and he recognized the scarring of their bones by blades. So, he could not disagree with any of the ranger’s findings. Slaytor suspected the missing Demonslayer might have something to do with this, but he waited for Sirsi’ to confirm those suspicion’s with her spells. She did.
“They passed through here and never even stopped.” Sirsi’ said.
“They?” Slaytor asked.
“He is not alone obviously, but something will not allow me to see his companions.” Sirsi' utilized the same spell that Kirstana had used when they were at the burned out home.
The dwarf smiled then and said, “Looks like Krosten chose well in you three, now let’s make him proud!”
Those words were inspiration enough to send them walking well past midnight for they all knew then that they would succeed. They gathered that promise then in their hearts and saw their purpose ever more clearly. They were Demonslayers. They would not be stopped.