Author: Tracey Dyck

Fantasy is my favorite thing to read and write, but every genre comes with its own suitcase of tropes. In this blog series, we poke some fun at our beloved stories and at ourselves as fantasy lovers.


If you haven’t yet read the first instalment, check it out:


Origin Story (in which Hero grows up in Quaint Village, Mentor is mysterious, Incentive dies, Villain’s backstory is disclosed, and Hero discovers his singular purpose: to save the world.)

Mentor and I set out the very next day for Distant Land. We packed light, for everyone knows that heroes aren’t supposed to look like burdened pack ponies. Taking too much food or supplies would ruin our appearance. Astride our gallant steeds, we bid Quaint Village farewell and rode out into the mountains.

My heart pounded like my stallion’s hoof beats. I’d never left the valley before. Never seen the world before. And Distant Land was many, many leagues away, with untold wonders and dangers in between. Suddenly I felt very small.

As we rode, the prophecy ran through my mind.

What could it all mean?

Mentor and I rode in silence all day, upslope and downslope and up again, through winding passes and over steep crags. Our horses never tired. We stopped once to eat, but never to relieve ourselves or feed our mounts. Heroes are invincible to normal human needs, you see. That night, we took turns keeping watch and sleeping under the stars. The rocky ground did not disturb my slumber, and I awoke feeling rested.

Our second day of travel continued much as the first. So did the third, the fourth, and the fifth, the mountains growing shorter every day. We could have used all this monotonous riding for discussion–Mentor could have explained more about his past or about my crucial role in saving the world–but where’s the fun in that? Better to go into the big wide world with only the bare minimum of knowledge.

We did, however, spar together every night to keep up my training, and I even practiced using my powers. I learned how to start a campfire with a snap of my fingers, move a rockslide out of our path with a blast of light, and probe ahead with my mind to search for living beings.

But my abilities did not warn me of the dark soldiers following us. We had just reached a wide plain that stretched as far my eyes could see, when the enemies attacked from behind. A flurry of crossbow quarrels landed all around us. One struck my shoulder. I cried out and turned my horse to blast our attackers with a frenetic spray of energy. Several faceless soldiers died, but I missed four of them. They ran closer, crossbows taking aim again.

We didn’t gallop away to escape their shots. We stood our ground. Heroes aren’t supposed to run away from a fight, you know. So when the soldiers fired again, Mentor and I came within inches of death . . .

But Mentor raised his staff and shouted a mysterious word. “GHAOWOUSHAL!” Blinding white light shot from his staff like an exploding star, knocking the quarrels out of midair and searing the enemy soldiers where they stood.

Then we turned and ran.

My shoulder burned with pain. Every hoof beat seemed to drill the quarrel deeper. All I could compare the pain to was fire. Coals on my skin, heat in my veins, fire, pain, fire, pain. (Although I’d never been burned before, so this was all hypothetical.)

Mentor led the way over the grassy plain. We rode hard for several leagues before finally veering into a forest. By this time, I was nearly fainting with the fiery, burning, crackling, searing pain. My vision swam. My thoughts dispersed like fog burnt away by the sun. Mentor pushed his horse through the trees, and my stallion followed.

Just as black crept around the edges of my vision, I glimpsed a massive tree with faces peering out of windows carved in the trunk.

At last I fell unconscious.

I don’t know how long I slept, passing in and out of a feverish haze. Blurry faces hovered above me. Words in a flowing language passed between them. Cool hands touched my burning wound. Somewhere in the back of my muddled mind, I deduced that the quarrel had been poisoned. No ordinary crossbow bolt would make my whole body feel as weak as wet paper.

As I slept, my mind was plagued with more visions of terror and death. I saw cities burning and fields slicked with blood, and a haunting aria of strings seemed to play in the background. I tossed and turned, too weak to rouse myself to wakefulness.

In one vision, I saw Mentor with his staff raised again. He shouted that gibberish word, but this time I understood it. “Cease and desist, by the Light that Blinds Enemies and Burns their Wicked Hearts!” Apparently much could be said in a single word. But understanding its meaning did little to answer my questions or bring peace to my troubled mind. Instead it added to my confusion. Who was Mentor?

When at last the fever broke and the fire in my shoulder eased, I opened my eyes and found myself nestled in a soft bed. Sunlight streamed through a window to illuminate a cozy room carved out of wood. Moss grew on the floor and flowers dressed my bedside table. Was I inside the huge tree I had seen? Whoever chose to live so close to nature must be noble folk indeed.

But what arrested my gaze was a pair of brilliant blue eyes staring down at me. Ruby lips turned downward in a frown. Pointed ears peeked out from waves of golden hair tumbling down her shoulders.

Standing at my side was the most gorgeous girl I had ever seen. And she was an elf.

To be Continued . . .