Surprises and Secrets Add to the Story – Part V of Rohan of the Ruin

We’ve officially reached the midway point for this edition of Writing Prompt Wednesday! Huzzah! This means the short story is officially at the halfway point, and things are going to start getting good as I move the characters toward the climax and resolution of the storyline. What’s happened so far?

Well, we know that we have a main male character (MMC) Rohan, and a female main character (FMC) Faelynn. Rohan is indebted to the king of a nation for the duration of the king’s legacy, while Faelynn is just a town villager, determined to protect her people and the secret portal they guard.

Rohan is sent as a member of the king’s army to secure the village and eliminate anyone who stands in their way, a task he has no intention of following through with. After meeting Faelynn and discovering the existence of the portal, Rohan hatches a plan that will hopefully not only protect Faelynn’s people but release him from his extended servitude to a hateful kingdom.

That’s the short explanation anyway. If you’re interested in checking out parts I – IV, check out the links below:

For now, though, let’s hop into:

The portal’s essence was a swirling pool of liquid starlight and lightning. The stars caressed their skin as they plummeted into the darkness. The lightning struck, crackling and searing their flesh. The smooth burning sensation sent Rohan reeling, unsure how to combat the strange and painful experience. Maybe he would not come out of the portal alive; perhaps the doorway between spaces would simply claim him as its own, and he would remain there forever.

Regardless of his fate, Rohan knew one thing: he couldn’t let go of Faelynn. The girl fell with him, her body bending against the wind that swept them away, arching from the lightning as it struck again and again. He watched her, barely able to focus on her form as the portal consumed them. Despite the pain of the arcing lightning, she seemed at peace.

Rohan endured the vortex, waiting impatiently as it spun them around, counting the consecutive cycles to the best of his ability. He’d reached an ungodly number of rotations when the portal spit them out at last. They fell to the earth, a tangle of limbs and curses as Rohan landed on his back, the wind knocked from his lungs. Faelynn followed a moment later, screeching as she fell atop him in an awkward heap.

He grunted at the impact of her body falling on him, particularly at the sharp angle of her elbow, which landed squarely in his stomach. Long moments passed before either of them dared to move, each taking some time to assess potential injuries and gain a feel for their surroundings.

At last, Rohan carefully moved Faelynn off of him, lifting her petite form with ease as he set her away from him. She stood, swiping her palms over the leather of her leggings before taking in the space they’d landed. Rohan joined her on his feet and assessed the land around them with a warrior’s eye. They’d landed in a grove of trees, all towering with thick trunks, their age immeasurable. The interwoven branches blotted out the sun far above them, sending infrequent drops of watery sunlight dappling across the moss-covered forest floor.

Strong vines hung from branches and draped toward the ground, connecting the trees like a living thread. The birdsong he expected to hear, high in the upper branches of the trees, was missing, like the entire woods held their collective breath. It was peaceful in an eerie sort of way, one that may have caused lesser men to fear. But he was Rohan of the Ruin. He was fear. A quick glance at Faelynn showed her interest, but not the fear he had anticipated.

“Is this,” she whispered, the silence of the forest pressing in on them, “Herrowood Forest?”

Rohan studied the undoubtedly ancient trees, the telltale wisps of archaic magic that drifted through the many layers of branches and leaves, magic that called to him, his very blood. Singing to him, they were the same.

“Herrowood Forest hasn’t been marked on a map in centuries.” How she knew about the place he was curious to know.

She gasped, “I thought it was a legend, a story they tell babes to help them sleep.”

He glanced at her, quirking a brow, “You are a portal-keeper, and yet the thought of an ancient forest filled with magic you deemed to be a simple children’s tale?”

Faelynn shrugged off his skepticism, “As you said, Herrowood hasn’t been marked on a map for centuries.”

He consented that maybe she had a point. The land had always been sacred to earthen spirits, and humans had a tendency to destroy anything natural they discovered.

“How do you know about Herrowood?” she asked, daring to take a few steps away from him,

Rohan’s gaze unfocused, and he no longer saw the giant tree trunks and enormous crawling roots before them. Instead, he was transported to a long-forgotten memory, one he’d tucked away for safe keeping—those same trees, the same ancient magic dancing through the air, birdsong thick in the air. Accompanied by laughter and voices he’d buried deep in his brain.

“This was my home,” he choked, the words felt like sweet poison on his tongue. He could picture his friends, relatives, all running barefooted through the maze of roots alongside him. That had been a very long time ago.

“No.” Faelynn snorted, laying her dainty palm against one ancient tree trunk, “That would make you hundreds of years old.”

Rohan met her eyes, his gaze unwavering in the face of her doubt, “Again, you are a portal-keeper, and you cannot fathom the existence of the long-lived?”

In truth, he had existed in this plane for well over three centuries and had served the kingdom of Agradell for the majority of them, trapped in his bargain with the king of old. Akar was the name given to every monarch of Agradell, since his bargain had been struck with the first nearly two centuries prior. Few people knew of the deal that draped chains around his wrists and neck, shackling him to the kingdom of Agradell for as long as Akar’s descendants reigned. He’d bargained for his sister’s sake, unwittingly sacrificing her own freedom in the process.

He tried not to think about those days when he’d run wild through the Herrowood, his best friends and cousins around him, leaping and bounding across moss-covered roots and rocks. Rohan tried harder still to forget what had become of his people, a small tribe of elven-type creatures who thrived among the twisting vines of the magic forest. He and Jonelle were the last of their kind, she having never experienced a life among the towering and protective woods

“We have a problem gatekeeper,” he said, voice gruff with unspoken sadness and frustration.

Faelynn tilted her head questioningly.

“Herrowood Forest is leagues away from Agradell Castle.” Many, long, exhausting leagues.

She cursed and turned in a circle. “There is no one in Herrowood to help us?”

He shook his head, heart sinking, “Herrowood was emptied.”

“Not entirely.”

The words were close, too close. Rohan and Faelynn whirled toward the voice, Faelynn dropping into a defensive stance while Rohan prepared to call upon his powers that would make the intruder weep and whimper with fear.

There, standing just feet before them, was a man who looked very much like Rohan, down to the slightly pointed ears, the sharp eyes, and the presence of self-assured power.

“Aesop?” Rohan’s voice was raspy, and he felt his knees begin to shake as his legs threatened to send him to his knees in reverence.

The man smiled, revealing sharp canines, “Hello, cousin.”

If that caught you by surprise, yeah, me too! Who is this mysterious man who claims to be Rohan’s cousin, especially when Rohan has been led to believe for centuries that only he and his sister remained of his once proud people? Join me next week, and I’ll figure out what the heck his cousin is doing alive! (Fun times of being a Pantser-Writer :)).

Happy Reading!