A Realmshift Trilogy Prequel
by
Fourteen-year-old Aleryck is good with a slingshot and at herding goats, but not much else. When the mysterious voice of ‘The Ancient’ tasks him with inscribing words of freedom on a magical tablet, he is forced to seek the help of his jealous brothers.
But his brother Taran steals the tablet. Left for dead in the treacherous Wastelands, it soon becomes a race against time to recover the tablet or it will be lost forever.
If Aleryck and Taran can't learn to work together to fulfil the task, the people of Medar will be enslaved for all eternity.
Aleryck twists his tongue, just so, and squints at the stones stacked on the boulder. He settles a pebble into his sling and spins it until it whirs. At the top of the arc, with practised timing, he releases the flap. The pebble flies through the air and smashes into his little pile of rocks, scattering them.
With a satisfied nod, he shoves the sling into his pocket. Now he needs to retrieve his pebbles. He flicks his thick black hair out of his eyes and, crouching slightly, hitches his homespun britches up around his skinny waist. He presses his bare toes into the rock for extra grip and prepares to jump …
“Aleryck!”
READ MOREHe jerks his head up, loses his balance and slips off the boulder, arms flailing. He yelps as he slides feet-first into a tight space between two of the large rocks. He peers around. He can only just see over the tops. The tumble of boulders piled at the base of the cliff could be the scales of a giant lizard from this angle. “Who’s there?”
Silence.
Aleryck puffs out his cheeks. It was just his imagination. Manoeuvring his legs under him in the crevice, he searches for finger holds in the boulders and heaves. Aargh! That hurts.
He leans back against one boulder, props his weak leg up and massages the withered muscles. It’s not fair. His brothers—all seven of them—are perfectly fine. But him? No. He had to be born with this stupid twisted leg. Why him? Sure, he’s still able to get around and stuff. But not without difficulty. It’s why he’s out here alone, leaping boulders while the goats graze, instead of back at the farm doing heavy chores like his brothers. He gives a quick grin. Hmm. Perhaps having a bad leg has its perks after all.
Taking a deep breath, he braces himself, pushes up on his good leg and slides onto the top of the boulder. Made it. He tugs his satchel around to his front, rolls onto his back and flops an arm over his eyes, shielding them from the midday sun.
“Aleryck.” It’s the same voice—if you can call it a voice. More like a whisper.
He bolts upright, scanning his surroundings. “Taran? Is that you?”
A cliff towers above him to his right. He’s on a wide, rocky ledge that runs along the base of the cliff. To his left, the land drops steeply into a gorge where the Helix River chatters and dances its way southwards. The waterfall feeding the river cascades down the head of the valley behind him, and his goats graze the meadow that opens up beyond the rocks. He scans the opposite side of the valley. More rocks and another cliff, with snowy peaks visible in the distance—but no people.
The boulders surrounding him are devoid of movement. That leaves only the cliff face to his right. His gaze drifts over the surface. Huh. What’s that? A wedge-shaped shadow directly opposite him is moving. Not a lot. But definitely moving—pulsing even. Weird.
COLLAPSE
