Prologue - Finding the Myth Keeper
Night came hours ago as you find yourself wandering through the depths of the Deterlin Forest. At least, it feels like hours. At this point, you can’t be certain. The passage of time has felt… strange, ever since you began your trek. But the distortion in time isn’t the only thing that is unusual. The moon, only nights ago waning, is now full, while the stars are much brighter than usual. The strangeness of the sky leaves you ill at ease, even as it illuminates woodland before you in soft, gentle radiance, making it easy for you to find your way.
You press on deeper into the wilderness, your search the only thing that matters. Cresting a short hill, you look down through the trees and underbrush, and spot what looks like the glow of a campfire. This could be what you’re looking for. Still, you remain wary. The one you’re seeking isn’t the only one in these woods. Shadow-stalkers are rumored to make their camps here, and do not take kindly to curious strangers. And stories tell of changelings masquerading as travelers to lure in unsuspecting victims. It could even be something as simple as an outlaw camp.
Despite the potential danger, some instinct tells you to continue on. That your goal is just ahead. Pausing for a moment, you begin to walk anew.
Reaching the bottom of the hill, you are drawn closer to the light like a moth to a flame. As you walk, the feeling of timelessness grows stronger. Yet along with the distortion comes a strange feeling of safety, driving back the apprehension and uncertainty you’ve felt ever since entering the Deterlin. You can’t explain it, but the feeling grows stronger as you press on. Reaching the glow, you push the branch of a bush out of the way and cautiously step into a clearing.
Before you is a warm campfire blaze driving back the darkness, casting long shadows that dance throughout the clearing. The fire itself is within an immaculately constructed stone ring, surrounded by a larger ring of flat, almost bench like stones. Outside the stone ring, you can see a small, simple yet cozy camp illuminated by the light.
Approaching the camp, you see that you are not alone. Sitting on a rock at the edge of the firelight, you spot another figure. A woman, by the look of her. She is wearing a long cloak with a hood drawn over her head, obscuring her face. As though sensing your approach, she shifts as though looking in your direction, a small glint of golden metal catching your attention even as their cloak continues to cast an obstructing shadow over her features.
“Come, come, young one,” the figure says, their voice a pleasant and warm contralto. “Please do not fear, you shall find only safety here. Join me in my fire’s light. Your company is welcome on this night.”
As you reach the outer ring, the figure gestures for you to sit on one of the rocks opposite her. Obliging, you sit, allowing the warmth of the blaze to drive back the chill of the night’s air. Lifting your hands, you begin to warm them.
As the heat drives the cold back, you happen to glance in the woman’s direction. As you watch, she lifts her hands to the hem of her hood, pulling it back to reveal her face. She looks for all of Nitor like a terran of some type, though you cannot tell whether she belongs to the sun, moon or shadow. If anything, her features look nothing like any of the servants of the Trinity that you’ve ever seen. What you can tell is that her face is both handsome and well worn, as though she has lived a long, rough life on the road. Her skin is ashen white, with several long, black, striped tattoos adding to the exoticism of her appearance. The hair on the sides of her head is short-cropped, while the top stands in a proud mohawk, alternating between snowy white and deepest ebony. Gold rings adorn her ears, wrists and neck, glinting pleasingly in both the camp’s and moon’s light. And then there are her eyes. They are a piercing, strong cyan that holds you in place, and bear an unfathomable ancient wisdom.
Resting her hands on her lap, she smiles at you.
“What brings you to me, young traveler brave? It is quite far from your kind’s closest enclave. Perhaps… you wandered and became lost, like a leaf on the wind, tumbled and tossed. Well, the night is young, and the dawn far away, so perhaps with me you would like to stay? Zecora is my name, and stories my trade. From the ancient past, and those just made.”
Zecora’s smile grows wider as she pokes the burning logs with a long stick, and tosses another onto the blaze, sending sparks into the air. Then, she leans towards you, staring intently, her eyes shining as you can almost feel her examining the depths of your being. After a long moment, something in her demeanor changes, and her smile becomes knowing and mysterious. In a way, it makes you think she’s silently laughing at some private joke.
“Ah, now I see. Not lost at all, but searching for me. Do not fear, I am happy to share. Though, perhaps a trade, which should be fair. A story of mine, I am willing to tell. Though in exchange, you must share one as well.”
Reaching into a pouch tied to her belt, she takes a small pinch of some sort of dust in her fingers. With a flick of her wrist, she throws it onto the fire. As the powder hits the flames, the fire hungrily consumes it, releasing a cloud of glowing, multi-colored smoke. Before your eyes, it begins to twist and swirl. Perhaps it’s a trick of the light, but you’re certain that you see people, creatures and landscapes within the cloud.
Lifting a hand, Zecora extends her fingers, as though commanding the smoke to come to her. Heeding her, the smoke begins to swirl down towards her arm, before coiling around its length. Smiling, she swirls the limb in the air, sending the smoke outward, transforming the sky into a spectacular tableau.
“So, please, lend an ear, oh traveler bold. For a Tale of Nitor you shall now be told.”
Author's Note
And so, this is the start of my Anthology series: Tales of Nitor. Unlike my main stories, Tales is going to be a way for me to expand on the world and story of Nitor in the form of the stories and fairy tales told by the different inhabitants of the land.
So, as Zecora says, welcome to the Tales of Nitor.
