An excerpt from Densmark, the Chosen

Tongues of red and orange licked the night sky. The clanging of harsh steel rang through the air in stark contrast to the screams of the dying. Both sounds battled to see which would rule the darkness. Soldiers in glimmering suits of armor helped one another and killed each other. This was the vocation of war.

And yet what was occurring was not genuine at all. This scene of fantastical violence was merely a vision of what could be and what once was.

            Not far from the phantasmal melee sat a large, gray fortress. Banners of gold and vermilion hung from the structure’s lofty parapets. A woman watched the harvest of combative spirits on the field below as she gazed out a tower’s window.

Her hair was golden silk knotted into one long braid. Her eyes were emeralds but on this night, they had no luster. Tears stained the girl’s cheeks and brought with them streaks of ruined make-up.

Her full rosy lips parted as a sob escaped from her depths. She clutched the windowsill, her hands digging into the stone.

She turned around slowly and peered at the figure by the chamber’s doors. A long and purple scar covered his left cheek. Tired and heavy eyes hung on a face that resembled the texture of an old shoe. He wore all black–a tunic and a pair of pants–except for his vermilion cloak. His hand rested atop the pommel of his sword which sat securely in its sheath.

The man frowned.

“Is this the end, Lord Rathbone?” asked the woman.

“Milady, ends are nothing but beginnings in reverse.”

“Yes, but the King…”

“Apologies to the Lady Harbin, but there is no one ruling Callandia. As long as there is no King, the threat indicated by the nightly clash of spirits continues to hang over our heads.”

“Then we must find the King.”

“Milady, have you not sent Indira to search for the King? Isn’t that what she’s doing? Our enemies are doing the same. Prophecies are a delicate matter, especially in this case. This one changes all we know and think we know.”

“Then I pray that Indira is successful,” said Lady Harbin.

Lord Rathbone’s grisly visage twisted into a deeper frown.

“She has no choice but to be. Her failure means our deaths. It is well that you pray for her success,” he said.

“Death has already claimed more than enough of our loved ones. Sometimes I wonder if God’s ears have been turned away from us.”

“That’s a foolish thing to wonder about, Milady. Keep your focus in the right place.”

“Yes. I’ll continue to pray for the King.”

A loud scream pierced the night. The noise differed from any that had come before it. The sound was almost like a…

            …. a rooster crowed. Rays of sunlight pierced the window and settled upon the brow of a sleeping teenage boy.

Densmark opened his eyes to the new day. As he glanced around the room, he saw that he was laying in bed. A grin came to his face.

Last night’s dream felt too real. His dreams were growing in intensity.

 The young man yawned and sat up. It was time for him to get up and meet the day. He had chores that needed dealing with. At his age, he was the man of the house. He lived with his grandmother. His mother and father vanished from his life years ago along with his grandfather. As his thoughts wandered, the smells of breakfast started to tickle his nostrils. He quickly climbed out of bed.

            Densmark ambled through the doorway and found himself in the kitchen. He saw his Nana filling dishes with food. She had whimsical, gray eyes and silvery hair. A simple gingham dress covered her slim figure. She wore a matching bonnet. She stood over a table and scooped heaps of hot, buttery oatmeal into a bowl. A plate of bacon and biscuits sat next to the dish.

Nana looked at her grandson through her gray eyes and smiled brightly.

“It’s about time you woke up,” she said with a hint of laughter in her voice.

“I’m sorry that I slept so late, Nana. I had another dream.”

Nana’s brow furrowed and her smile reversed itself into a slight frown.

“Are those strange night-visitors still botherin’ you?”

Densmark nodded.

“Well then. That’s nothin’ that a lot of food and hard work won’t fix. You’ve got a lot of work to do today.”

“Is that why you cooked all this food?” asked Densmark as he sat down at the table

“A young boy needs his energy, especially if he’s going to pull the corn out of Nana’s fields.”

Densmark groaned. Pulling corn was the least fun of all of his chores.

Nana smiled at her grandson and sat down. She took a good look at the youth. His curly, brown hair and his big, blue eyes reminded her of his mother. Nana missed the lad’s parents and her husband tremendously.

Densmark chewed a piece of bacon and eyed his grandmother.

“Nana, are you okay?”

“Of course, I am. I was just thinking, Denny.”

“Thinking about what?”

“About your parents how proud of you they’d be if they could see you now.”

Densmark nodded. His grandmother rarely spoke about the event that cost his mother and father their lives. With a heavy heart, the boy continued to eat his breakfast.

The young man did not notice that Nana was regarding him with an intent gaze. He was unaware of the shadow of something dark that she saw hovering over him. He would not have any clues about how dearly she prayed that misfortune would not claim him before he fulfilled his destiny. He was oblivious to all of this as he focused on how good the food tasted.

At last, Densmark finished his breakfast and placed his hands palms down and flat on the table. He sighed loudly.

“Denny, what did I tell you about eating so fast?”

“Sorry, Nana. I was extremely hungry.”

Nana laughed and brushed Densmark’s head with her right hand.

“It’s okay, Denny. I hope you manage to have some fun with your chores.”

“Has anyone ever had fun with their chores?”

“Anything can be fun if you want it to be. Life is just as much what you put into it as well as what you take from it.”

Having heard that, Densmark wiped his hands off with a towel. He jumped to his feet and raced out of the kitchen, out of the house, and into the yard. He stopped by a large, wooden pail. He picked the bucket up by its handle and surveyed the cornfield in the near distance.

The youngster chuckled.

Corn and livestock. This was how grandmother provided for them. Working in the fields and looking out for the horses was the least that Densmark could do. He felt grateful for having Nana take care of him. He hoped that nothing horrible ever happened to Nana.

Densmark trudged over to the cornfield.

“Denny!”

The boy stopped in his tracks and turned around. Nana stood in the doorway. She wore a sly grin on her face.

“Yes, Nana?”

“Don’t forget to feed the horses after you finish with the corn.”

Densmark nodded. He loved playing with the horses. There was one horse that he adored. A chance existed that there would be some fun for him today after all. The young lad walked to the cornfield. Once there, he pulled corn off the stalks. As he labored, his thoughts absently trailed to the dream that he had the night before.

He was fifteen years old. How was it that a boy could have dreams such as his? Did he not have better events to envision in his sleep? Like pretty maidens or being a hero to those girls? But instead, he dreamed about soldiers dying and lost kings. He still had not discerned why he dreamed about these happenings.

And before he realized it, the lad had pulled five bushels worth of corn.

Densmark stretched his worn-out arms. He had pulled enough corn. The sun was high in the sky and beads of sweat rained down from his brow. He wiped away the perspiration with his shirt and  carried the last bucket back to the house.

He still had to feed the horses. Densmark smiled. He loved animals. He had harbored a soft spot for them in his heart for as long as he could remember. The youngster had problems trying to kill insects.

Densmark made his way over to the livestock pens. The first stall belonged to his favorite horse; a black pony named Midnight. He noticed that the stall’s door was open and empty.

“Huh?”

Densmark went over the events of the day prior in his head for a second and slapped himself on the forehead. Yesterday, he made the mistake of not locking the stall. The horse would have easily escaped from his “home”. Densmark glanced down at the dirt and grinned. The animal’s hoof prints laid imprinted into the dirt. He was grateful that it was not difficult for him to find the horse. The pony was all that he had left of his parents.

“I wonder where he ran off to.”

 A pang of worry stabbed him. The animal could have wandered all across the countryside partaking in whatever horses did when they ran away from home.

Densmark took a deep breath and followed Midnight’s tracks. The imprints in the dirt led down to a pond not far from the house. Densmark looked around and saw a cluster of trees on the pond’s left bank. He saw the horse standing in the pool. The pony alternated its activity between lapping up water and splashing in it.

“Midnight?”

The pony stopped and turned its head toward Densmark. It neighed playfully. Densmark waited for the animal to approach him but that did not happen. Instead, the horse continued to stare at him.

“Boy, what are you doing out there? Get your butt over here, silly horse!”

Midnight stomped its heels in the pond and caused the water to splash up. Densmark reached out and tried to grab the pony, but Midnight darted away.

Densmark sighed. Midnight wanted to play games, but Densmark had a trick for that. He reached into his pocket and pulled out a shiny, red apple. He held it up high for the pony to see.

“Look what I got!”

The black pony stopped and stared at the fruit. It neighed softly and stepped towards Densmark.

Densmark offered up the apple. The horse took the apple, Densmark grabbed him.

“Gotcha!”

Midnight neighed but did not resist. His caretaker had pleased him by giving him the apple.

Densmark brushed the horse’s mane as it finished the apple. The lad climbed atop Midnight’s back. He nudged the pony forward and rode Midnight to the horse’s stall. Once there, the young man made sure that this time, he locked the door. After he had done that, he fed the other horses and cleaned their stalls.

By the time he had finished these tasks, he noticed that the sun hung too low in the sky.

The youth wiped the sweat from his brow. He yawned and stretched out his arms.

“Densmark!”

Densmark stepped out of the stables and looked towards the house. Nana stood outside with her hands on her hips and her gray hair done up in a bun on the top of her head. She grinned.

“Supper’s ready!”

Joy leaped within Densmark’s heart. His stomach grumbled, and yet he had enough energy to take off in a sprint towards the house. When he arrived, Nana smiled at him.

“All that hard work that you just did, surely you ought to be tired.”

“I am tired. And hungry too.”

Nana nodded. She reached into her apron’s pocket and pulled out a damp towel. She passed it to her grandson.

“Here. Wash up and then go eat. Your dinner is on the table,” she said.

Densmark entered the house and then cleaned his hands. He entered the kitchen and I smelled the hearty aroma of beef stew. On the table sat a bowl filled to the brim. Thick chunks of meat danced around inside broth alongside sliced carrots and potatoes.

The kid’s stomach growled.

“It looks like somebody really is hungry,” said Nana.

“Yes, ma’am!” said Densmark as he sat down at the table. He picked up the wooden spoon that laid beside the bowl and greedily devoured. Within mere minutes, he was full.

Nana smiled at her grandson.

“I’m not even going to bother to ask you if it was good. I can tell by the look on your face and just watching you eat.”

Densmark nodded and yawned.

“Go ahead and get ready for bed. I don’t mind cleaning up in here by myself. You’ve had such a big day doing all those chores,” said Nana.

Densmark yawned again and stood up. He made his way over to his room. He took a few minutes to prepare for bed. He climbed under the covers and he was asleep the moment his head touched the pillow.

            He looked at his outfit. He wore a pair of black trousers and a white shirt. A vermilion cloak with gold trim hung from his shoulders. Surprised, he gasped softly. Where had these clothes come from?

His eyes darted around as he took in his surroundings. He discovered that he stood atop the battlement wall of a massive castle. From there, he glanced out into the sea of night beyond the castle.

“Your Highness, are you okay?” asked the voice of a female

Densmark’s eyes traveled in the direction of the voice, and they fell upon a girl with blonde hair. Her eyes twinkled and she pursed her lips in a slight pout. She wore an emerald gown that snugly hugged her curves. Densmark felt sense of longing within him that was foreign to him. This young woman looked familiar to him, but he could not place her face.

“Your Highness, the people need you,” said the girl.

“Need me? Why do they need me?”

“That’s a silly question, don’t you think, your Highness? Your people have always needed you. Now they need you more than ever. War is in the air, the greatest war to ever be fought.”

“War?”

The slight pout on the girl’s face curved downward. Her eyes lost some of the twinkle and luster that they possessed. It hurt Densmark’s heart to see the lady’s face change.

“War,” she said, “Our enemies harry us at every turn. Only you can save us. It is not just a question of leading us to victory. It’s a question of–”

“It’s a question of what?” asked Densmark.

“It’s a question of–”

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