Lone Wendy: The Girl and the Forest of the Gods
Read Lone Wendy: The Girl and the Forest of the Gods Online
Authors: D E Dunn
Tags: #adventure, #robot, #journey, #journal, #other worlds, #first person, #sorcerer, #mecha, #pov
Lone Wendy:
The Girl and the Forest of the Gods
(The Lone Wendy Series)
By D. E. Dunn (David Eric Dunn)
Copyright 2015 David Eric Dunn
Cover Art by: Arie Hong (ae-rie)
Copyright 2015 Arie Hong
http://ae-rie.deviantart.com
This book is organized into chapters, that are broken
into parts. Each chapter a different time and feeling, each part
with its own theme. Sometimes the parts include broken passages of
time.
( *** )
Denotes a passage of time, how long depends
situationally, look to the following passage for clues, if
available. Most of all, enjoy ^_^
Table of Contents
Open
-
Brief
In the world of Eniece, magic wanes, and technology
begins its indomitable march. The fate of the world decided by a
continent still young to the dominion of men. A land where the very
earth lives, and Gods foreign of this world play.
Long Ago, Eniece, like most worlds was formed by
cosmic beings who filled the world with magic, and entrusted it to
conscious Gods. But over the ages the Gods powers waned, and with
them the magic of the world. Left behind in their absence, a world
to be ruled by men. Humans quickly expanded to all known reaches,
but soon found their large world to be quite small.
Explorers set forth onto the unexplored oceans and
discovered a new continent, later known as Elm. This continent was
inhabited by druid peoples who worshiped Gods of foreign origin.
The settlers founded different kingdoms and separated from their
homelands. They fought the druids, but against the real and present
Gods of the land, could not win. Until one day, one of the last
great sorcerers from the kingdom known as Valasia, founded a cult
of machines and took over most of the kingdoms.
The sorcerer waged war on the druids and wreaked
havoc on their lands leading some of the druid peoples to renounce
their Gods and join the machinists. This angered the Gods who began
to slaughter their own people. The survivors fled for machine lands
and safety. Though sometime during the battles the sorcerer
disappeared, the machinists built contraptions from his papers to
contain the power of the Gods and pushed them back as far into the
ancient forests as they could.
The machinists made all other kingdoms their colonies
and exploited them for resources. Though the machinists were brutal
and uncaring towards their colonies, they brought centuries of
relative peace. The people foreign and druidic blended, and eager
to rid themselves of the chaos of war, all but forgot the way that
the world was.
With time though comes change, and with those
centuries of peace powers reformed, and those days long forgotten
beg to be remembered. The lies buried in the past long due to
surface.
In this time, the world is once again changing. The
machinists are mysteriously pulling back all of their resources and
armies from the outlying lands. As the forest of the Gods stirs
again, whispers call in the wind, voices of the forgotten beckon to
any that would hear them. The fate of the new world resting upon
those who would listen. But most are deaf to the forces of the
world, few would hear the call, and even fewer head it. The odds
not a concern though for an old mind. A mind who knew the secrets
of the past. The world changed by a lone man long ago, it would
take only one to hear the call, the world changed once again by one
lone soul.
.... deep in the dark a glitter catches my eye,
tossed in a stream ideas and dreams wrapped up and bound. To find
such a thing here boggles the mind. In a place long forgotten by
time.
Farewell, a final word, but the ending pages are torn
out. More, unsaid? The book is left behind. Perhaps the person was
as well....
Tides of change
I was on an errand to get supplies from a neighboring
village when I saw it. The task was a familiar one, something that
I had done many times before, but as the smoke started to appear
above the skyline, I knew this was no ordinary day. The scene was
something so rare, I had never seen it in my life. This year it has
happened twice, and my eyes couldn't believe, as I gazed upon the
third.
Long ago, we were simple fools, or so the tale goes.
And being foolish, we worshiped fickle Gods of the wood. When the
machinists conquered us, we were “informed” of our stupidity, and
forced to abandon our Gods and worship the machine. But now, the
machinists have abandoned us, and we face the wrath of men unafraid
to die, and the old Gods unafraid to kill.
I step into the village's main street, the feeling of
turmoil still filling the air. The smoke wafts and waves where ever
the wind pleases to push it, as remnant flames lick the sky.
Scattered corpses line the roads, their eyes open wide, dead, and
glassy. Laying there with a look as though someone had just
switched them off, but the spatters of blood and torn clothing
proved that it was much worse than that. They lay there, chucked
about, among the lives they used to have. The products of their
toil burned amongst the scattered ashes of their memories. Walking
through the wreckage, curious, as if in a dream of sorts. I could
only imagine where everything was the last time I was here, who I
saw. And hope to not see them this time. Not the way that I met
with the faces of everyone else. Cold amongst the flames, limp and
life weary.
I went on in shock through the village, a gentle
shuffling breaking the crackling fire.
'Could there be survivors?' I wonder.
I call out, but no one returns. I continue, in a
daze, my body pulling at me to run, to flee, but I’m captivated by
curiosity.
'What could have done this?' I think to myself as the
ruins crumble beside me. I turn to look, suddenly through a gap, a
man, covered in dirt and dried blood. I notice the blade only for
an instant before he charges me. Over come with fear I fall, and
claw desperately to escape. But to no avail. The feeling as the
blade falls into me is surreal, a cold burn, and I feel as though
I'm leaving myself...
My heart pounds out of my chest, my legs shaking, the
vision of it almost too real. A dog falls over the pile of ruins
and runs back into the smoke as quickly as he came. To be in a
place like this with such an active imagination is a terrible
thing. I can barely catch my breath. I kick myself for a moment, to
be so afraid, it's childish. But then it hits me, the real danger
I'm in. I quickly search the ruins for any real threat, and
shaking, I take my leave.
Life
Season – Late Summer
It's strange to think of being yourself. Born of
another, and learning to walk in their shadow. Knowing only as they
know, of wrong and right. Forever as we know, being one.
One day breaking from them, lost, and alone. Not even
they, as a guide. The turmoil, as they look upon you without
knowing. The fear, as you discover yourself.
A new entity rises from the experience, though the
bond will always remain...
When the day comes
The sun breaks over the ledge of my window, casting
it's warm glow across my closed eyes. Slowly I warm to life and
gently stretch. A cool breeze shuffles the leaves of the tree
outside the window, and softly caresses my face. A new morning
rises, and I rise to greet it. I shamble down the stairs as the
workers shuffle out. The humored grunting of unmarried men echoing
through the antique wooden beams of the barn like “lodge”. The
kitchen is a wreck, mom greets me as always, a loving smile on a
worn face. She manages to serve me breakfast as she hurries about
cleaning up. The day has just started and she's already exhausted.
The only attendant in a workers house filled with loggers, mom does
all the work that she can, and I do what she can't. Not much, some
would say, but she doesn't seem to like help. She wants me to have
time to find myself, though sometimes I'm not sure she likes who
that is.
After breakfast I begin my day with chores. I open
the door and push the screen, carefully, as to not let it fall from
its hinges. It's a long walk to town from the outskirts, along a
rough forested road. When I arrive, I’m greeted with a snicker. Mom
has been an outcast among the townspeople for as long as I can
remember. I was a child born outside of marriage, and in this
kingdom that brings great dishonor to a family name. Were I born to
another, I would have been left out in the woods to die. But my mom
gave up everything, and moved to the farthest reach of civilization
to keep me. Even out here we're not accepted, only tolerated. And I
guess I don't help myself, me and my dreams. The area isn't safe
anymore and I want to do something about it. Today is the day! I
tell myself that at least. In truth, another day to be mocked. In
between Gods at the moment, no one knows what to do. So they laugh
at me, and do nothing.
The town is made up of aged wooden buildings and dirt
roads. No structures more than two stories tall, except for the
town hall which is three. The roads are lined with signs directing
you to each place in an orderly manner, something no local would
ever do. You would think that this is the only place on earth if it
weren't for the machinist propaganda in the middle of town.
Intricate artwork of machines and mecha all with the Valasian
brand. But Propaganda is where the Valasian aid ends. We get
neither the heavy machinery of the industry towns, nor the heavy
arms of the border that separates God from man. We are almost
forgotten to live in another time. They exist mostly to take the
lions share of what we produce. They rely totally on machines in
their home country. Everything is made and done by their impressive
metal monsters. But here, life is more simple. Hand spun cloths,
water wells, and axes to chop trees. That's about all this town is
here for, to contain us as we barely care for ourselves, and
produce lumber to keep us busy.
I push myself through the old wooden door of the
towns only shop, a basket of things to sell, and a list of things
to buy. Maybe today will be the day that the former out weighs the
latter, I joke to myself, as the old man behind the counter tells
me what a “youngster” I am for the fiftieth time. I guess I'm glad
to be called a youngster. 'Others in town have called me worse' I
think to myself, as just one such person slams through the
door.
