Fantasy

A harsh wind swept across a great plain of nothingness. Dry, stiff grass bent, giving way to the force of the wind. Nothing could be seen from any direction. Only grass and rolling hills. A cold, white sun blazed just over the horizon, creating a glare on the brown grass. A smell of dry dust and dead weeds lingered in the air. There was no shield, no barrier against the Cold here. The Cold ransacked everything and everyone, leaving no trace of warmth or comfort. The sun was now directly overhead, and on top of the furthest hill in sight, a dark mass was approaching. From the exact opposite side, another mass, though slightly smaller, was coming. Both were approaching the steepest hill in sight. As they got closer, one could see that it was not a single, immense object, but was made up of thousands of men, striding quickly and confidently toward their destination. Nearer and nearer they got, the wind picking up sounds of the clatter of chain mail and the dull thud of footsteps, tossing them about. Suddenly all noises ceased, and nothing could be heard but wind whipping through loose fabric. A man from each army stepped forward and started up the hill, as was the tradition in this world. From the smaller army was a tall and lean man. He had warm, dark brown eyes, and short, neatly trimmed, black hair. His face was clean-shaven, and he had no lines anywhere on his face. He wore a serious, thoughtful expression and had an air about him that drew people toward him. He was greatly respected throughout all kingdoms and was Lord of the most powerful kingdom in the world, Xaveron. People knew him as Zordex. It was said that he was the greatest, wisest wizard that ever walked the planet. His long, blue tunic fluttered in the breeze, and he carried a long, thin, golden staff, with a bright blue sphere on the top. It was said he was the greatest, wisest wizard that ever walked the planet The other man was short, and made of solid muscle. He had ice-cold gray eyes, and heavy, black eyebrows. He had greasy, black hair that just brushed the top of his shoulders and a neatly clipped goatee. The hatred that was generating out of his eyes was overpowering. He wore a scowl on his face, his eyes narrowed to slits. A blood-red cape fluttered out behind him, and the black robe underneath it rippled in the light wind. In his hands, he held a jet-black staff, with a wicked-looking skull settled on the top. He was called Yoleighwan, and was the leader of a ring of the six most evil, sinister, and dangerous wizards in the world. The two men stood face-to-face on the top of the hill. The hatred flowing out of Yoleighwan’s eyes was potent and unstemmed and would have caused anyone but Zordex to wither. Yoleighwan opened his mouth to speak, revealing chipped, yellow teeth. In a harsh, grating voice, barely above a whisper, he spoke. “So we meet again, Zordex. This time you won’t be leaving.” Zordex looked directly at Yoleighwan. “Yoleighwan,” he said it politely with a small nod of his head. Zordex’s civility and tranquility appeared to infuriate Yoleighwan. “You fool!” he screeched, “Do you not know what we are here over? Do you not know what danger you put yourself and that puny little army of yours in? Today is your last day living, Zordex. This is the last sun you will see!” Both armies heard Yoleighwan, and both armies reacted. Yoleighwan’s army sniggered and snorted, and Zordex’s army started forward. They would have attacked their enemy if not for Zordex, who raised his arm and ordered them back to their regular positions. Still calm and composed, Zordex answered Yoleighwan, “I am no fool, Yoleighwan. If I thought this little gathering would be of any harm to my army or me, I would not be standing here right now.” Soft cheers and hollers were heard from Zordex’s army. Yoleighwan’s troops retaliated by boisterous boos and curses. Yoleighwan’s eyes narrowed to slits and he hissed, “You are a fool, Zordex. And I will prove that to you and your little ninny squad behind you.” A puff of wind blew back Yoleighwan’s cape and he threw back his head and cried, “Charge!” Instantly, his army started forward, yelling at the top of their lungs. The spears they were carrying soared out of their hands, directed at the hearts of their foe, and would have struck true, if Zordex had not raised his hand and caused the hundreds of spears to bury their heads into an invisible wall and stay there, handles still quivering. The yells died in the throats of the men, and catcalls and shouts of triumph arose from Zordex’s army. Realizing that he had not prepared his men and himself for this kind of magical defense, he waved his hands and signaled “retreat” to the generals of his army. Silently, his army left. Yoleighwan spun on his heel and strode furiously from sight, his cape streaming out behind him. *          *          * As Zordex’s triumphant army approached the main capital city, Luvrann, cheers and whistles rose up from it to greet them. Although the soldiers relished this attention, Zordex had problems pressing his mind. Once he saw that his soldiers were on their way to their quarters, he magically disappeared and reappeared in his palace. In his own home, Zordex relaxed. He decided to go to the dining hall for some dinner before he retired to his room. He walked to the great hall, traveling down a long, comfortably carpeted hallway. After passing countless doors, he stopped and turned right into a set of double doors on his right. He paused in the doorway of a huge room furnished in blue and silver. A long, low, chrome table stood in the middle of the hall. Puffy cushions of blue

Ligiri ran. She ran with all her might away from the Dama on the third and last day. She dropped to the ground and wept for what seemed hours. The last of the family that cared for her had passed away. Her grandfather had died when she was just a baby, and her grandmother, ten years ago. Now her mother, a Yasigne, which was why a Dama was even held for her death. Ligiri was now left to her sister Koro, who bossed Ligiri around. Ligiri tried to love her, for she was a kind soul, but she just couldn’t love her cold-hearted sister, who was a favorite with her father and had a way of making him believe whatever she said. The stars were barely beginning to fade, when Ligiri was up. As quickly as a mouse she arose from the hard bed she was given by her sister and put on the only clothes she managed to sew before Koro forbade her to make herself clothes, a torn wrap-around skirt and a slightly damaged top. Ligiri’s back was stiff and sore from sleeping in her bed, but that didn’t matter. “Chores must be done,” she’d say to herself, as she climbed up to the roof of the house where her father and sister were sleeping during the dry season, from the stuffy and irritating inside where Ligiri had to spend her nights whether she liked it or not. A cool breeze hit her in the face the moment she stepped outside and she felt good to be outside once more. Nevertheless, she was grateful. “I have food and I have a roof over my head, that’s all that matters,” she’d say to herself, though deep down inside she knew she longed to be treated like she was when her mother was alive. And with that she took out the most beautiful beads Ligiri had ever seen Ligiri fed and milked the goats and collected the eggs and gave water and some seeds to the chickens, when she realized that Koro wasn’t working by her side like she was supposed to. She climbed back onto the rooftop. Careful not to wake her father, Ligiri whispered, “Koro, time to wake up.” She got a reply, “Huh? Oh, it’s you! Ligiri, you stupid girl! How dare you wake me so early?” “But, elder one, it’s work time.” “Ha! I laugh in your face! I’ll make you a deal. I took your place on the roof, and you can take my chores! Ha, ha, ha!” And Koro’s roaring laughter could be heard far and wide at that moment. Poor Ligiri made her way down from the rooftop where the family was sleeping during the dry season, picking up a clay pot, later filling it at the well and balancing it on her head. And so, it continued. Ligiri did Koro’s and her own work every day, hoeing and weeding in the fields, cooking, and other jobs, though she was the age to be playing and making string figures, while their father, coming back from the Hogon with a usually good fortune, praised Koro, thinking she did all the work. Ligiri’s only comfort was a fifty-foot baobab tree, which reminded Ligiri of her kind grandfather as it loomed overhead. The years passed until Koro was old enough to marry. “I don’t care for marriage. If I did, everyone would want to marry me,” she’d brag, though deep down inside she knew that nobody liked her. One morning Ligiri awoke to the cry of a young boy. “The Griot has arrived! The Griot is here!” Ligiri looked forward to this time. Not because she could listen to exciting stories through poems and songs. No. Koro forbade her to do that. It was because she had free time. Of course she still did all the work, but Koro was not there to make up something else for her to do. And so, when the day’s work was finally done, Ligiri quietly made her way down to the baobab tree. She took out a cleverly hidden piece of pretty beadwork. Call it a secret hobby of which nobody knew, but Ligiri was working on it for over a year. Quickly and happily she finished it that day, and when she did, she burst into tears. “I know I should be happy for life, and glad that I at least have a roof over my head, but I just can’t stand it! I wish Mother were here. Or maybe Grandfather!” “Oh, but wishes do come true sometimes. Now, don’t cry Ligiri!” Ligiri looked up. “Who said that?” “Why, I did. I’m your grandfather. My spirit is in this baobab. I know how Koro treats you, and I want to help you. Tomorrow is market day. Go there and expect somebody special. Now run along.” “Oh, thank you!” and with that she ran back to the village. The next day Ligiri awoke even earlier than usual. She did all she was supposed to and packed up her goods for trading and selling during market day. She had not forgotten her grandfather’s words. Ligiri had taken along a newly started piece of beadwork to work on when nobody was looking. Ligiri joined a group of women and girls going to the marketplace, and when they got there, Ligiri looked around at the familiar market-day sights: men were sitting under a big silk-cotton tree, drinking millet beer and discussing the latest news, among them her own father, the children playing together making string figures. Ligiri hoped that the “special person” would arrive soon. She expected to see someone young and pretty, so you can imagine how surprised Ligiri was when an old, feeble, yet kind-looking woman appeared in front of her, with a look which told Ligiri that she wasn’t there to trade for goods. “I see you like beading,” said the woman with a smile. “Yes. Yes, I do.” “Then I have a little something for you.” And