The Children of the White Tree

Thin, angry streaks of red and purple bruised the far eastern horizon. The early dawn, moody and unpredictable this day, crept above the ragged edges of the great span of mountains, squinting between it and the clouds, as if unable to endure the awakening day. Soon the sun would rise and display the carnage wreaked by an ancient, unholy evil in the shadowed valley below. His name was Destroyer. Destroyer’s arch-enemy had won this battle, but at a terrible price. Although Destroyer had lost, the minds of many now belonged to him. He wasn’t particularly worried about his losses; but, the boy; yes, the boy as scrawny as his little finger presented a problem that he hadn’t foreseen. He would need the full might of his army and his powers to destroy that one. Why, he wondered, should one insignificant little human present such a big problem? A dark, soulless fire burned in his evil heart and he raged at such a small nuisance with so much power. On the horizon, the first light began its lazy upward ascent, and finally reached above the clouds. Slowly, the details in the valley became clearer. The boy stood on the edge of a cliff overlooking the blackened plain. In the aftermath of the fighting and violence of the night, small fires burned here and there, and the acrid stench of smoke and sulfur drifted upward into the still air. In the distance, people stumbled along uncertainly, scratching wearily through the bloodstained rubble. They seemed to be searching for something. ‘They’re looking for their families,’ the boy thought. Tears trembled in his eyes. What would they do? Everything they’d ever possessed was gone, torn away and devastated as only the Destroyer and his deadly minions could do. Suddenly, a mass of darkness, darker than midnight, arose before the boy, spilling over the cliff and crawling toward him. The nauseous odor that rolled off it seemed to permeate the very pores in the boy’s skin. The ghastly vision horrified him, even as it drew him. “Brady Barrett!” Destroyer said. The voice summoned visions of shadows and death from the darkest regions of the universe. “You’ve won this battle and were protected, but rest assured, next time, when I come for you, you will not have your precious king nearby to save you...” Next time? When was the first time? Out of the dawning sky an ear-splitting squeal pierced the still air. An enormous dragon, its silver and purple scales shimmering in the first strobes of early sunrise, swooped to-ward them. Astride the thick neck, a Rider wearing white military fatigues and a dark billowing cloak rode with certain ease. He held a gnarled staff in one hand and a double-edged sword in the other. For one surreal moment, the boy thought he should know who the Rider was, but if he’d had any hidden knowledge, any idea, it was quickly swept away in the face of this new danger. “YOU WILL NEVER WIN!” Destroyer roared as the Rider banked in front of him. The massive black body billowed into the shape of a gigantic dragon. “You KNOW what awaits you! I will have my revenge!” Destroyer snaked his huge head toward the Rider and nearly hooked the dragon’s membranous wing with his huge saw-toothed maw. The Rider and his dragon twisted around, and the Rider, with a sudden mighty thrust, plunged his sword deep into the massive head of the beast. Hideous shrieks rent the air. The boy’s eyes widened with disbelief as he watched the monster dissolve, heaving and screaming, burning and writhing in an agonizing ritual of death. It collapsed into a twisted heap on the rocks below the cliff. The boy called Brady Barrett stared down the cliff-side at the smoldering remains. He seemed powerless to move. What had just happened here? Was it dead? What did it mean? Then, in the blink of an eye, a powerful gust of air slammed him to the ground as the dragon and its Rider banked in front of him. Brady’s heart leaped into his throat and he fell onto the partially-singed grasses. Dazed with shock, he scrambled to a sitting position. The Rider’s eyes flashed like blue fire, and seemed to look into his very soul, dissecting him and then knitting him together again. A strange light, pale and soft, shimmered around the Rider. Silence fell, heavy and complete. “The time has come, Brady Barrett,” the Rider said. His voice was deep and clear and without malice. Was it a ruse, or could he be trusted? “What do you mean?” Brady asked, confusion wrinkling his brow. “What time?” “You must be ready,” said the Rider. He seemed as calm as the windless morning itself, as if he were reciting the time of day. Brady lost his patience and his voice rose in frustration (and fear, if you were to have asked him). Angrily, he shoved himself to his feet. “What time? What are you talking about? Who are you?” he yelled, even as his voice trembled. The Rider calmly held out a gloved hand. “Come, I will explain.” As if he had no will of his own, he took the Rider’s hand, which propelled Brady up behind him into the saddle. The dragon’s great wings beat downward and they rose into the air, beginning a slow circular ascent into the deceptively benign sky above. A light breeze whispered innocently in Brady’s ears. He was not fooled by the serenity of the skies. Fear draped around him like a shroud. The air was too quiet, and the sky, too clear, too calm. Who was this dragon Rider from which light emanated? What did he want with a boy who lived out his dreams and fantasies in the pages of a book? Without warning the dragon reeled about and they plum-meted toward the desolated valley below. Brady barely had time to wrap his arms around the Rider’s waist before they landed near the burned skeletal remains of what had once been a small bungalow, someone’s home. The dragon crouched on its forelegs while the Rider slipped out of the saddle and dropped lightly to the charred earth. He held up a helping hand to the boy, but when Brady levered his leg over the saddle, he felt himself sliding, losing control. The Rider caught him by the waist before he hit the ground, and Brady once again received the full impact of the Rider’s brilliant eyes. His chest burned within him. I should know him. The Rider set Brady on his feet. Brady gazed about, shaking his head in dazed disbelief. From the cliff top, details had not been clear, but down here... Slaughtered bodies, human and animal, lay scattered about and more burned-out buildings creaked in ruined defeat, bowing to the earth. Bile rose in his throat. Why am I here? What have I to do with all of this? Tears gathered in his eyes. Nearby, a group of women stared at the dirt and rubble around them. A small girl clutched the skirts of a younger woman with one hand, and in the other, clutched to her chest, were the charred fragments of a doll. She sobbed softly. Another woman knelt on the scorched ground, her face buried in her hands and her voice rising in an unearthly wail. Barely recognizable as a human, a body lay by her side. Farther away, a huddle of men picked and shoveled halfheartedly at a mound of debris, side-stepping the narrow trickles of half-congealed blood that gaped like open wounds in the scarred earth. ‘You can‘t give up! Please! Don’t give up!’ The shout echoed in Brady’s head. Compassion shattered his heart. Yet, why did it seem so important? He yearned for an answer, but he couldn’t utter the question, so stunned was he. “This, Brady, is the result of evil that knows no boundaries,” said the Rider. Once again, his eyes drilled into Brady’s soul — eyes that seemed to hold all the knowledge of the universe and every secret thought and intent of Brady’s heart. “You have been chosen to help destroy this enemy who commits these terrible atrocities against my people. It is time, Brady.” “B-but, wasn’t that the enemy you just killed? That ─ that thing? I just saw you do it, didn’t I?”