Shifting Stars by Gary Stringer (simple e reader .TXT) 📕

will never happen. Yet I swear to you on all I hold sacred – by the memory of my father, through the love of my mother, on the very essence of magic itself – that every word I write is true.

But I am in danger of starting my story at the end instead of the middle. I understand it is customary to start a story at the beginning, but when one lives outside Time as I do, the beginning can sometimes be…elusive. Besides, sometimes, unless the middle happens as it’s supposed to, the beginning may never happen. So, gentle reader, allow me to present the Salvation of Tempestria, in the middle.

*****

As I gaze through Time to that moment, gentle reader, I can see that Daelen has agreed that it would be best to camp for one more night and begin the final push to Kullos' fortress at first light. Since there are no more plans to make, while the others head for their tents for the night, the shadow warrior has chosen to go for a walk alone to relax. He knows it will probably be his last chance to enjoy something so simple.

Even with all his power, the great shadow warrior always took pleasure in the smallest things.

That is a side to my father that people often do not appreciate. Perhaps it is his influence, as much as my mother’s, that compels me to write this story in such an archaic manner as ink inscribed onto paper with a pen.

The shadow warrior has been walking for close to an hour, when he comes across a female figure standing in the moonlight, dressed in white body armour much like his own, with white boots and a purple mask that conceals the upper part of her face.

“Greetings, Daelen,” she offers. “Ah, but it is good to see you like this again; it's been a while.”

I can see he recognises her. Almost. Something about her causes Daelen's memory to flashback to when his current mission all started. She looks very different, but somehow, her aura is the same.

“You’re her, aren’t you?” he says, at last. “You’re the one who woke me from my rest and made me aware of the threat and the power of Kullos in the first place. Who are you?”

Considering how to answer without revealing too much too soon, her mouth twitches as a very old memory flashes through her mind. A thousand years ago from her perspective. Just a few days from his.

“You once referred to me as an Assassin Peacemaker,” she replies at last.

“Mand—?”

“—Don’t say my name!” his visitor cuts him off. “You don’t know what terrible trouble you could cause. That’s why I didn’t use it myself. You asked who I am, and now you know, but I'm not who you think I am…or maybe I am, in a way, but never mind, there will be time for explanations later. Assuming there still is a later. Right now, I need your help.”

Ever stubborn, Daelen wants some answers right then and there.

“But how can you be here?” he demands. “When I left, you were asleep back there!”

“Oh, don't worry, I still am,” is her reply, “and I'm not here…that is, rather, I am here, but you are not. Yes, well, it's a bit difficult to explain, really.”

Ah, gentle reader, that is so typical of my dear Aunt Mandalee, the White Assassin. She often said she dearly wished these things weren't so hard to explain. Even now, I know she sometimes wonders if she makes any sense at all. She's too hard on herself. She never chose to be a diplomat, a teacher or a politician. She became a demon hunter, an assassin and a Cleric of Nature. How strange it is that she is the only one of the original Three Guardians still in the position, at least she was until she agreed to this desperate act. I'm sure any rational person would have placed wagers on her being the first to resign. Of course, one wonders what exactly counts as reason in this irrational world, but that, gentle reader, is a subject better suited to my philosophy texts. For now, I have a story to tell.

“Look, if you’ll just come with me a little way further into the woods, we’ll be able to speak more freely.”

“Alright,” Daelen agrees and extends his arm for Aunt Mandalee to take as they stroll along.

She smiles at the gesture. It’s a rather old-fashioned tradition, from her perspective, but she can see no harm in indulging him.

*****

After walking for no more than five minutes, the woodland opens out into a clearing and Mandalee declares that they have arrived.

Releasing her hold on Daelen’s arm, she at last removes her mask so he can see her face. A face that appears about ten years older than when he last saw her an hour ago.

“You're from the future!” Daelen realises. “You're a future M–.” He catches himself. “A future version of the woman I know.”

Mandalee pulls a face.

“That is a very crude description, Daelen. The reality has to do with the true nature of Time and its relative spatial dimensions, but I can't tell you about that.”

“Why not?”

“You're not ready for it. Your entire home plane of existence isn’t ready for it yet.”

“Are you really so advanced in your time?” Daelen breathes in awe, trying to imagine a future where the knowledge of mere mortals might surpass that of his people. It’s hard for him to imagine how such a thing is possible.

“Yes,” Mandalee agrees, “as a matter of fact, we are. In some ways, at least.”

“If you are so advanced, how come you need help from someone as primitive and backward as me?”

“Now, now, Daelen. Be nice,” Mandalee chides him gently.

“Sorry,” Daelen apologises. “That was uncalled for, wasn't it?”

“Yes, actually, it was. To answer the essence of your question, though…well, for now, let's just say the danger we face is unique to your own experience. Will you help us?”

Daelen gazes around the clearing