Keeper of the Realms: Crow's Revenge (Book 1) by Marcus Alexander Page A

healed tree, the Treman stepped back and smiled cheekily at Charlie. ‘Well, blossom, wotcha think of that?’
    Charlie stared in disbelief at the tree stump. Where before it had been broken and blackened from the lightning strike, it now sprouted fresh growth. The cracks had healed and growing from the stump was a young sapling. It was nothing like as tall as the original, yet it still stood higher than a three-storey house.
    ‘Wow!’ said Charlie.
    ‘Yup, ya could say that!’ said Kelko. He enthusiastically patted the new tree. ‘Give it another couple of years and it’ll be big enough ta throw a party on.’
    ‘How’d you do that?’ asked Charlie.
    ‘Invite all the neighbours round for a nice brew and get some funky music going! Oh yeah and party clothes. A party ain’t a party without slick outfits, fine food, good drink and an outrageous helping of naughtiness!’
    ‘No, no!’ Charlie rolled her eyes. She pointed at the flourishing sapling. ‘How did you do that ?’
    ‘Oh! We just encourage it ta grow a wee bit. Ya know, give it a little push, a little helping hand. It’s one of the Treman rules: ya gotta look out for the trees. We provide for them and they provide for us.’
    ‘Was it the singing?’
    ‘Well, yeah, the singing is how we tell the trees what tado.’ Kelko could see Charlie didn’t quite understand. ‘Blossom, it’s wot’s done in Bellania. The Tremen treesing and harvest the forest, and the Stomen sing to the stones and manage the rock fields. I can’t explain it any more. It’s like eating and breathing; it’s wot comes naturally ta us.’
    ‘Right …’ said Charlie.
    Jensen had been admiring the new tree growth. Now, noticing that the clouds were clearing and the sun had started to shine again, he rallied the Tremen together.
    ‘Good job, boys! Now then, let’s get moving or we won’t be reaching Sylvaris any time soon!’
    The young Stoman had been tending his family’s rock fields, harvesting crystals and storing them in the large leather sack slung over his shoulder. As the sun began to dip beneath the horizon, he prepared to finish his day’s work.
    A shrill keening howl that echoed across the distance made him pause in his tracks. In all his thirteen years of tending the rock fields he’d never heard anything like it. The cry sounded again, sending shivers down his spine. Climbing a nearby finger of rock, he stood and shielded his eyes from the setting sun’s glare. Gazing around, he tried to locate the source of the sound.
    His thick, gnarled skin rippled nervously as he heard the howling yet again, and this time it was joined by other similar voices that hissed, chittered and chattered. The shrieking drew nearer and the sounds echoed back and forth, bouncing from the towering rocks and causing small stones to tumble and shatter on the rocky floor below.
    Close to panic, the young Stoman peered out from the ledge, desperate to locate whatever was making the noise. The screeching increased in volume, the sound tearing at his eardrums.
    Suddenly a thick sinuous shape spat overhead, the wind from its passage almost knocking the boy from where he stood. Others soon followed, their scaled bodies glinting horribly in the setting sun. Huge talons and wicked teeth shone and twinkled in the light. Calling and hissing to each other, the creatures sped through the air, lashing at the rock spires with their barbed tails as they swept past. The whir of their dragonfly wings reverberated around the stone surroundings. The young Stoman clung to the outcrop with white knuckles, shivering and sweating.
    With a final rush of wind and a flashing glimpse of scales, they were gone, their cries dwindling into the distance.
    ‘Legends, they’re only supposed to be legends,’ the boy whispered to himself. ‘They can’t be real, they can’t.’
    Sliding from his perch, he fled home to tell his rock-siblings that Wyrms once more flew in Bellanian skies.



8
    An Introduction to