《From Whence Heroes Come》


 Prologue

    Rough, tangled vines split into orderly rows at the demand of a tall horned shape. It most resembled a man, from the moon-given shadows cast down upon the newly exposed dirt of the forest floor, if men came with fourteen points of antlers large enough to belong the oldest of stags. The clearing shook with his coming, and the council shook with it. This is not to say they were afraid, as they showed no signs of being unsettled, not a wince, nor a side glance to any of the others. These figures along the clearing¡¯s edge could only be described as diverse. The only feature shared by all nine was their quasi-human frames, not that any would be mistaken for human. Regardless, they stood their ground unflinching before the newcomer.


    This same newcomer¡¯s horned head turned and surveyed the circle carved into the earth, and strode into the clearing, gracefully and with uncanny balance for such a large creature. He, and it most assuredly was a he, seemed to belong there. He nodded to his neighbor, a women whose hair shone like silver in the moons¡¯ light and whose skin was dark and like bark in its appearance. The earth settled and seemed to sigh as he took his place. The council was complete.


    The Horned Man bobbed his head, and his forest green eyes moved from face to face before he spoke, ¡°It is time to return to our once favored hunting grounds.¡±.


    ¡°Mundus has changed much since the last Awakening¡±, said the figure opposite the Horned Man. He was a tree-like creature, whose skin was mossy and who towered over the rest of the circle. ¡°Our seed have learned much and forgotten even more.¡±


    ¡°They will be hunted.¡±, the horned figure said. His voice sounded brassy and echoed in his chest, like the call of a horn through a mountain valley. He shifted from foot to foot, but his head remained still, and his eyes shifted not at all.


    ¡°I worry, I really do, that the fickle kith will fall fast. Their heroes are gone, their warriors waning, wimps all. They¡¯ve turned inward, away from their once greatness.¡± These words chittered out from the jaws of a fox, whose tails twist and flicker in the wind.


    ¡°They will fall, certainly.¡± This voice was different from all the rest. The horned man¡¯s was eager, the tree-man¡¯s was somber, and the fox¡¯s was nervous. This voice was full of ease and comfort. It was higher than the rest, the warbling of birdsong and mewling of kittens could be heard in its tone. The lady with the moon-bright hair spoke again, ¡°They should fall, for they have forgotten how to live. But, just as some fall, others will rise.¡±.


    ¡°They too, will be hunted.¡±


    The tallest of them, an uncommonly mobile tree, hooms and harrumphs ¡°We understand that they will be hunted, everyone understands that. I am concerned with the lives of these kith. It would do my roots no good to be planted in a world with no life.¡±This story has been taken without authorization. Report any sightings.


    ¡°Ahem.¡± The clearing stills and tenses.


    ¡°Perhaps it is not a problem of what must be, but rather one of when it must be brought into being.¡± An aged figure, clad only in a dust gray robe, creaks his arms up like an orator would. ¡°The world shall be tested by your mighty hunt, Horned One, but it need not be tested all at once or even all within the world.¡±.


    ¡°Hrmph. The Hunt must be a true test.¡±, snorts out the horned figure.


    ¡°And so, it will be.¡± The aged one smiles, revealing a sparkling set of teeth. ¡°A test for those worthy of it, those who can provide you with fitting sport.¡±


    ¡°I do not play games, Wormwood.¡±, snarls the Horned One


    ¡°But your prey are called game? I must have gotten confused in my old age and mistook you for a hunter. Regardless, I have a proposal. Let us take some kith from their world and hunt them here. If they survive, let them glean what they may from our children before they rush back to ¡®save¡¯ their world¡±


    The circle paused and each one looked taken aback in their own manner. The fox¡¯s tail swooshed, and the moon lady stroked her chin.


    She said, ¡°How should we choose which to hunt?¡±


    The dusty old man smirked and just as he was about to answer, a deep voice like that of a giant bell sounding, cut him off.


    ¡°We need not choose.¡±


    The speaker rose from a crouch and stretched out his long limbs. He wore a crown of holly and juniper leaves high on his blonde head. He nodded towards the Horned One and strode into the center of the clearing. Where his bare feet touched the grass, geometric weaves of the plant sprang into being. He stopped in the middle and turned to face the aged man.


    ¡°My power is waning, and here in this world there is precious little upon which to anchor myself. There are few who share my attitudes or embrace isorro.¡±


    He paused and looked over to the Horned One and said ¡°Let those who could be mine be tested by your Hunt. Let us see what balance can be wrought from this world.¡±


    ¡°You would toss your own out to the mercy of the Hunt?¡±, said a woman who most closely resembled a bear, with a grey pelt and cunning green eyes. ¡°And I thought Wormwood to be cruel.¡±.


    ¡°Is it cruelty to throw a baby bird out of the nest?¡± growled out the Horned One. He nodded and stroked his bare chin. ¡°I agree. Let us see how your whelps serve as prey.¡±.


    Wormwood said nothing in return, his face was sour and twisted like rotten oak. No objections were said, though, and the rest of the circle seemed relieved and the moon-lady¡¯s sigh was felt in the air. The Horned One stepped forward, chest to the face of the crowned, blonde man.


    ¡°Agreed, then.¡± The crowned man stretched his hands around the boughs on his brow. ¡°From one Erlking,¡±, he lifted the bough off of his head and reached up to place it between the horns, upon the Horned One¡¯s head.


    ¡°To the next.¡±, finished the newly crowned Erlking. ¡°Let the Hunt begin. Now.¡±


    A shift was felt throughout the land. Howls filled the gaps of the forest, and in the distant mountains, echoes rumbled through the peaks and valleys. They were heard by the dragons in their caves, djinn in their markets, and beings more mysterious still in places yet to be described by any mortal. With a howl and a wager, Tol Domas embraced a little-known world, best known by its residents as ¡®Earth¡¯.

 Chapter 1.1: Homegrown

    Howls burst through the night, like a rowdy mob into a Sunday service. Unlike said rowdy mob, however, they did not apologize and leave immediately. Instead, they lingered.


    These howls sounded throughout the darkened streets and dimly lit pubs. They shook the paving in some areas, where it was loose from the last winter, and woke up many a pensioner that had been tucked into bed. They sounded from the railroad tracks in the old industrial district, occupied of late by hipsters and the homeless, to the freshly built dorms of Dorman University, where they came closer and closer as time passed. It was in one of those very dorms that Thomas called home, much like those howlers outside.


    ¡°Of all the mascots to have, why is ours the wolf?¡±, Thomas Stone grumbles, head buried beneath his pillow. Nobody is there to hear him; the dorm is near empty. He stayed home from the big game this evening, hoping to get an uninterrupted writing session in before the crowds came back.


    ¡°Awoooo, hoo, hoo.¡±, went the fans outside. The forerunners had just about reached the border fence around campus, and their howls grew from annoying to intolerable. Thomas let out a sigh and slipped out from between his green and white covers and put on a pair of boxers and pants.


    ¡°Grrmm. Might as well get some kind of work done tonight¡± Thomas said. He stooped down and lifted his laptop out of his backpack, where he had placed it scant minutes before in preparation for the coming day and sat down at his desk. Among old bottles of energy drink and loose papers full of notes, he set to write, howls itching at the back of his mind.


    ¡°Therefore, entropy is equally possible to work backwards, there is not a logical contradiction in its doing so, but merely an attraction towards greatest entropic- ¡°, the door slams open and cuts off Thomas¡¯ musing.


    ¡°Thomas! How it do, my bro! Did you see the game!¡±


    The other resident of this room burst in with all the energy of a crack addict and the elegance of a mule. His name was Obadiah but insisted that he be referred to as ¡®Obi¡¯, as was natural for any man unlucky enough to have been named Obadiah. Thomas scooted back in his chair and accepted his stinging high five before responding.


    ¡°Nah, man. I¡¯ve been doing some of my physics work. Besides, I need to get up early for my intro to medieval class.¡±


    ¡°So you didn¡¯t see the best thing to happen to this school since-¡°, Obi paused for a moment, visibly thinking, ¡°- This might be actually the best thing to happen to this school ever.¡±


    ¡°That¡¯s a bold claim, didn¡¯t one of our alumni win the Nobel prize last year?¡±


    ¡°Yeah, fuck that. Jack Turner scored 50 points on Clemson. 50 points! We smoked them, and they won the tournament last year! That¡¯s way cooler than any kind of Nobel prize.¡±


    ¡°If you say so, man.¡±, Thomas shrugged in surrender. Obi didn¡¯t care about discovery nor saving lives, it was all too abstract and distant for him to appreciate. Basketball is real. Appreciable. Thomas, however, felt differently. Just because something isn¡¯t right in front of your face doesn¡¯t mean that it isn¡¯t important nor worthy of attention. Of course, immediacy has a way of demanding one¡¯s attention.


    A scream rang out from the hallway, high pitched and shrill. Thomas rushed out the door and down the hallway. Obi not far behind, they made it all of a dozen yards before finding an unusual sight. There, posed like two boxers on a promotional poster, stood a large man and a small. The larger man was polished and smooth, much like a sculpture of a gym bro. He was staring at the smaller, eyes tight and lips pursed, with his arms out ludicrously wide like a gorilla balancing on a high wire. The small one Thomas knew, they had shared classes in the previous semester, but he had always struck Thomas as timid. Evidence to the contrary lay in front of him, as Zach held his ground in front of a girl with reddened eyes and a bruise over her eye. She looked fierce and worried, somehow simultaneously, as Zach¡¯s reedy frame interposed itself between her and the larger man.Support the creativity of authors by visiting Royal Road for this novel and more.


    ¡°Step off, man. You don¡¯t want none of this?¡±, the larger man said at Zach. ¡°Mia¡¯s just a ho, and a cheater too.¡± He looks angry, yet wary of Zach¡¯s own ferocity.


    ¡°Like fuck I don¡¯t. I¡¯m not gonna let you hit her.¡±, Zach slurs out defiantly. A trickle of blood makes its way down from his mouth and onto the floor.


    ¡°Please, Nathan. Don¡¯t hurt him, walk away. We were just studying!¡±, the girl pleaded with the larger man. She was trembling and her eyes were wide.


    Nathan looked at her and spat. He put his hands up in a classic boxing stance and swung. At the same moment his hand flew, he hit the ground. Unbeknownst to him, Thomas had circled around behind him while the drama was unfolding. Once the impending violence was obvious, Thomas hugged the larger man around the middle and fell backwards, throwing Nathan past his hips onto the beige carpeting of the dormitory.


    ¡°Ooof.¡±, Nathan grunted. He tried to posture up and get to his feet, but Thomas grabbed his hips and pulled him flat onto the ground. Thomas then straddled him around his midsection, putting all of his 180 pounds on Nathan¡¯s stomach.


    ¡°You fuckin¡¯ shit! What kind of man¡­¡±, screamed Nathan. Thomas dropped his weight onto his diaphragm, cutting off Nathan¡¯s verbal assault, which, he noted to himself, was exactly as effective as his attempts at a physical one. A small crowd had formed around the struggling pair. Obi and Zach were among them, the former eager, the latter drained of his earlier bloodlust.


    ¡°I¡¯m going to let you go, as soon as you promise to leave this alone for a night.¡±, bargained Thomas.


    Nathan looked around and struggled some more, but his hips were controlled, and his hands couldn¡¯t reach anything delicate. He relaxed and assented, ¡°Fine. Tomorrow though, I¡¯ll be getting some revenge.¡±.


    ¡°That¡¯s fine. I¡¯ll be here, waiting.¡±, Thomas replied. He was unscathed, apart from a few bruises taken in the fall. His heartrate, however, had mimicked the Rocky Mountains in incline and general shape. It had been years since he had last fought, and the adrenaline rush was new to him once more.


    Nathan crawled to his feet, before scowling at the original object of his anger, Mia. He left without much event, but his spine was a straight as it had been before the ¡®fight¡¯. Thomas turned around to see his friends¡¯ reactions, turning back from his fighting self into a civilized man once more.


    Zach walked up to Thomas and tilted his head to meet his eyes.


    ¡°I¡¯ll give it a 6/10, not enough blood.¡±, Zach said sarcastically. The other dorm members expressed their amazement and boasted of how they could have done better, in the manner of people who had never thrown a punch in anger. Thomas smiled and told jokes with the rest of them.


    Mia slipped between Obi and Duane, another dorm member, to stand at point blank range in front of Thomas. She had calmed down some since Zach¡¯s standoff, and her brow furrows as she approached.


    ¡°Why did you do that?¡±


    ¡°Someone had to. Either Zach was getting beat or you were. Nothing good would have come of standing still.¡±, Thomas replies. He watches her carefully. She is small and petite, with a dancer¡¯s frame and light brown hair. The crowd starts to disperse, leaving the two of them alone in the hall.


    ¡°You¡¯re not like the rest of these men, are you?¡±, Mia looks up at him, quizzically. ¡°They would have walked away or watched. You took a stand.¡±


    ¡°Nah. Zach took a stand. I just helped him out.¡±, Thomas stands taller and gestures with his chin down the hall, towards Zach¡¯s room. ¡°He did something special, that skinny little bastard.¡±


    ¡°I, I guess that¡¯s true.¡±, Mia looked taken aback and flicked her eyes down to where Zach and Obi were talking and laughing. She looked speculatively up at Thomas and pursed her lips. ¡°Still, thanks. I¡¯ll go congratulate my hero then.¡±


    The night had come to a close and the earlier cheers and howls had died with it. Thomas felt the energy drain from him with the dregs of his adrenaline. It was long past his bedtime, and he dragged his body to bed, passing his friends with a hollow, tired smile on his face. Thomas knew that fights like that one never end as simply as that. He falls to sleep dwelling on old lessons. Grudges are held and petty offenses are traded. It¡¯s nothing to regret, really. Nothing to regret.

 Chapter 1.2

    Ahhh, the best time of day, reflected Thomas. His lungs were thoroughly laboring, and his legs had a pleasant warm glow that he just knew foretold soreness later. He had just crested the largest hill on his run, just outside of town, and turned around to admire the view that he had just passed through. Brick townhouses and commercial warehouses alike stood around the core of the town, they seemed all the browner in contrast to the university¡¯s bright red and light gray theme. He could just about make out the gray dormitory that he called home, near a cluster of its brethren. The university stood out from the rest of the town, in more ways than just the difference in color scheme. It seemed baroque, vaguely medieval in design. IT looked vaguely menacing in the way of an old retired soldier, obsolete, yet dangerous. Thomas liked it that way; it felt safe and reassuring.


    He pumped his legs clinically, finding no weaknesses of injuries, and leapt down the hill step by step, gaining speed and momentum. He rode that wave of energy a quarter mile into town, near his favorite deli, ¡°The Roasted Crow¡±, and pushed onwards. One mustn¡¯t be late, Thomas thought to himself, especially when the professor knows my name. He smiled wolfishly and pumped his legs into his next highest gear.


    By the time the sun strolled its way over the horizon, Thomas had just finished his morning run. He returned to his dorm to find men barely awake, some few crawling out of bed to brave the dangers of empty hallways and showers. Early as he was; however, he was unable to beat mischief¡¯s wily hand. He had rushed up the stairs two at a time, excited at the though of a hot shower, and hadn¡¯t been paying attention to his surroundings. It was home, after all, and hadn¡¯t met anybody truly dangerous in town. Thud! Thomas hit the floor just inside of his room, hard enough to shake the room.


    ¡°Yo, man, you okay?¡±, Zach peered his head into the room, taking in the scenery, as Thomas moans in pain. ¡°Oh shit, look at this! I haven¡¯t seen knots like this since scouts!¡±


    The knots Zach was referring to were those anchoring a wiry rope across the doorway, just outside of the door. Thomas recovered enough to stand, and he limped his way over to the doorframe.


    ¡°Wait, this was a trap. Cool knots or no, we have to report this!¡±, Zach¡¯s brows furrowed, and his dark face twisted in disgust. ¡°Who the fuck would put a trap in your room?¡±


    ¡°I think we both know the answer. That cunt from last night seemed the grudge holding sort.¡±, Thomas¡¯ face was calm, but for a slight growl in his voice. He cut the cords from the doorway with his pocketknife and put them away in a drawer. ¡°We won¡¯t be reporting this.¡±


    ¡°Oohhh. I see, you want to handle this guy yourself, like last night. I don¡¯t know, that could get dangerous. I know a couple cholos from back home that could teach him something.¡± At that moment, you¡¯d be easily forgiven for assuming that Zach was some kind of godfather, and not the innocent kind.


    ¡°Hmpphh. Not like last night. I don¡¯t know it was him, but it seems likely. And Zach, don¡¯t worry. I¡¯ve chewed up and spat out tougher guys than Nathan.¡±


    ¡°Oh, hey guys!¡± Obi stuck his head out from the tangle of blankets he called a bed and looked around. ¡°What¡¯s up?¡±


    Zach explained the situation while Thomas changed beneath a towel and left to shower. Obi¡¯s face twisted in disgust by the time Thomas had returned.


    ¡°What a scum-sucker!¡± Obi exclaimed, ¡°What¡¯s the plan? Break his kneecaps? Burn his car? Steal his girl?¡±


    ¡°I feel like Zach already did the last one.¡± Zach stuck his tongue out at Thomas, ¡°But no, these kinds of problems are best solved through direct and honest dialogue.¡±


    ¡°I see. That¡¯s why you¡¯ve been cracking your knuckles and neck since you were tripped?¡±


    ¡°Not all dialogues use words?¡± Thomas grinned and waved away their questions. He had work to do.


    The walk over to the history building, Glenfallow Hall, passed as a blur. Thomas was walking quickly, eyes roaming the halls, picking out passerby. The look on his face and the set to his shoulders was enough to clear him a path through the crowds.Support the creativity of authors by visiting the original site for this novel and more.


    ¡°Do I ask for him to step outside for a chat? No, too obvious. Do I confront him publicly? No. He¡¯d play the victim. Wait until he is alone? Maybe.¡± Thomas thought to himself as he hurried to class. He didn¡¯t know where he¡¯d see Nathan next, but he wanted to be ready for when he did. These things were so much easier in his old neighborhood. There you could just say a few words and head outside to solve differences. Thomas felt uncomfortable being challenged by such treacherous methods.


    He made it to his class, on the top floor, and scanned the room, small, and cramped, with lecture style seating that was straight out of the eighties. He recognized a couple people from prior classes, a tall volleyball player and a waifish blonde, both near the front. He took a seat near the door and set to waiting for the professor to walk in. He was still brooding, but soon became distracted by the thought of the next Star Wars movie.


    ¡°Hey! Mind if I sit here?¡±


    Thomas jerked his mind back from his daydreams to find a woman standing next to his desk, leaning down to get his attention. She had light brown hair and was pretty, in a ¡®still haven¡¯t lost my baby fat¡¯ kind of way. Focus. Do not look at her boobs.


    ¡°Yeah, I mean, no, not at all. Feel free.¡± Thomas stuttered slightly as he responded. Then he lost focus. Shit. They were nice boobs, though. Small, but pert. He refocused his eyes onto her face and stuck out his hand.


    ¡°Hey, I¡¯m Thomas.¡±


    She took a seat before responding, ¡°I¡¯m Rose.¡± She grabbed his hand and shook, her petite hand barely able to grasp his. Thomas was, if not in love, definitely crushing on her. Thirty seconds, a new record.


    Rose and Thomas talked for the few minutes left before class began. She was a medieval studies major, with a concentration in medieval economics. She was here for the intro class as a late requirement, Thomas soon discovered. She was impressive, to say the least, and Thomas was almost capable of forgetting about her incredible beauty.


    ¡°You¡¯re the guy who beat up Nathan Rodschild, right?¡± she asked, with deliberate nonchalance.


    ¡°Um, yeah. We had what you could call a disagreement last night.¡± Thomas¡¯ face winced, and he broke eye contact.


    ¡°Really. That ¡®disagreement¡¯ was the all-over social media last night. Some blogger named Obi-won put it on his story.¡±


    ¡°Son of a bitch¡±, Thomas muttered. He was going to have to talk with his roommate about that once he finished up with class. ¡°I try to keep that kind of thing down low.¡± Rose smirked at his discomfort and put a hand on his arm. She opened her mouth to speak, but as the professor walked in, she sat back and swallowed her words. What is her deal? Thomas wasn¡¯t used to getting much attention from the fairer sex. He was puzzled but set his confusion aside for the first lecture of the semester.


    The professor, Orson Gladwell, was a British man in his early thirties. He was preoccupied with his glasses, so much so that he adjusted them almost once a sentence. Thomas felt for the man, public speaking wasn¡¯t his forte either, and Professor Gladwell obviously was nervous. Through his occasional stutter and fidget, he spoke about the course in general and how he would be grading, fortunately he seemed fairly lenient in that regard.


    ¡°We will be discussing heroes and myths. I know that you all took this course expecting dry history, with dates and locations. Those will be p-present, but the focus will be on the people who made history. Who was Joan of Arc really? What made Octavian the legend he was? Charlemagne, what parts of the myth were true, and how did he come to be? We¡¯ll cover all these men and women in this semester. And now, for the exam schedule.¡± He droned on about expected examinations, and Thomas


    ¡®Bam! Bam!¡¯ The door rang with thunderous impact, and the frame shook around it. The professor continued on for a few moments more before trailing off. He walked around to the door and opened it just enough to see its assailant.


    ¡°Y-yes? What do you think you¡¯re doing, beating on the door like that?¡±


    A large hand appears, golden furred and bulky, like a lifelong boxer¡¯s, and clutches at Professor Gladwell¡¯s face. Long dark scratches were left there, and the professor fell silently, clutching at his wound.


    ¡°You have nothing I need.¡±, rolls out a deep, velvety voice. Its owner pushed the door inwards, delicately, and ducked his mane beneath the seven-foot-tall door frame. It had the head of a lion and the fur of one, but its manlike body stood tall and lean, though lean at nine feet tall was still imposing. The classroom, Thomas notwithstanding, froze and stared in awe. They were prepared to study myths, but this creature put the term to shame.


    The lion-man stepped over the professor and addressed the class. ¡°What is this place, hmm? A place of learning, perhaps?¡± He picked up the textbook from the professor¡¯s podium and flipped through it. ¡°Hmmm. No magic, no schemata, no kind of channeling nor cultivation. How sad for your academy. Learning useless things. No matter. I am here for one of you whelps.¡±


    His amber gaze wandered from student to student, before landing on Rose. He walked up to her row, with padded feet making nary a sound on the linoleum and stooped down to near her level. He exhaled, and let out a satisfied chuff, and spoke.


    ¡°You are coming with me, young one. There is much for you to learn.¡±