Xahala - Prologue: The Water Enchantress

Note: This is another version of the first item I posted here. This one is closer to my original idea and the original text in Portuguese. English is not my first language, so I believe many paragraphs will sound odd, I'm trying to improve my fiction writting in this language. If you don't mind poor grammar and bizarre vocabulary choices, read on, I hope you'll like the story. It starts slowly, but I hope it will become more exciting in time.

Night had fallen. She waited until the children were finally asleep in their tents, walked to the center of the circle and put out the bonfire. Her eyes got used to the dim moonlight easily, and she didn’t mind the cold wind that came with the darkness. No, sensations like that were a reminder that the land was still alive, they made her feel more awake and energized, a true vessel of the power that came from the earth and the water that flowed so deep beneath it.

Serleia held the saffron-colored handkerchief for a while, and then slowly opened it, unwrapping what looked like a big copper amulet. Closing her eyes, she took the object inside both her hands and concentrated, trying to distinguish something new amongst the 900 years of history seen by that sacred piece of jewelry.

Like the land of Xahala itself, the Heptacle’s heart still pulsed. It was a weak but steady beating, recognizable only by Water Enchanters like herself. That activity meant hope, and hope was what had guided each and every choice she made, ever since she was an orphaned child taken as a pupil by the great Enchanter Verno, twenty years before.

Now she was a master herself, but of a different kind. He had trained her as his substitute, for ten years they wandered the dry fields of Xahala with no one but each other. She, on the other hand, was teaching those kids mainly how to survive: ninety nomad children, from four to eighteen years old.

The Children’s Tribe was a necessity. Boys and girls were brought to Serleia’s care at a very early age. The arid plains had almost no complete families; the harsh climate, the lack of water and food engaged the adults completely in their own survival. Few Enchanters like Serleia had been able to escape the Dictator’s genocide, so those who were able to manipulate the underground streams and intermittent creeks had become rare; most people had no alternative except to adapt themselves to the absence of water and rely on both ceaseless toil and luck to stay alive.

There was no place for children in the plains. To make sure they lived to reach adulthood, the parents left them in the tribe. There, by Serleia’s magic, they were kept hydrated and fed; they learned different survival skills, chosen according to their own constitution and disposition. She taught them how to make their bodies stronger and their minds free. Yes, because those who had chosen to leave their cities behind and face the dry wilderness were the ones who refused to live under Baltus’ regime, the ones who believed that the dream of the Great Resistance had to be passed on to the future generations, as a guiding light and a reason to keep fighting.

When they reached the age of 17 or 18, boys and girls invariably left. Born and raised as nomads, they would hear the calling of the open land and answer it. There would always be something to seek, a destiny to fulfill; the Children’s Tribe was simply their first stage, the life school to prepare them to what came next.

Serleia had presided over it alone for ten years, she had already said goodbye to a few of her oldest students, but now that Kai had celebrated his 18th birthday, she felt a different and deeper kind of sadness.

Of all the children, he had been the one who became much more than a student; he was the closest thing she had to a son, even though their age difference was of only ten years. She knew fate had placed him in her care, she knew the power Xahala was giving her a special mission when she took that formidable eight year-old and raised him hoping he would become the savior of them all, the hero who would rightfully wear the Heptacle on his chest and free the land from Dictator Baltus’ domain.

In time, her high hopes and reality proved to be quite different. Something wasn’t right, the amulet never responded as she expected it would with Kai’s proximity. Against her own wishes, she kept it a secret and never told him. He wasn’t ready; and what worried Serleia even more, was that little shadow in her heart telling her he never would be. Had he really been the chosen one, she would have known by now. But if not him, she could think of no one else; and sometimes she wondered if the constant beating of the Heptacle was really true or just a reflection of a stubborn shred of hope that still resisted inside herself.

Next: Meet a warrior king named Ian - "Xahala - Ch01: Ian of the Mountains"