Ashur, son of Vaundel Bowman and Olun Fletcher, was probably a normal boy. His dreams for his future were typical of a boy - and some girls - his age.

He wished to follow in his parents' footsteps, in hopes of gaining honor and glory for himself and his family, sufficient to increase their standing in society. In fact, he hoped one day he might even become a squire, or better yet, a knight.

He had normal hobbies too. For the most part. Though he was unusual - and unfortunate - in that he was afraid of horses. Being afraid of horses would also be a problem if he wanted to pursue his dreams of soldierhood, he was a strong runner. Stronger even than girls his age, for whom being good at things like that could be expected. More typical of boys his age, Ashur was good at archery. In fact, he was among the best in his village, in spite of a small handicap he had. He enjoyed hunting, which again was perfectly normal, especially now that he was alone. Most of the times he slept, he would dream normal dreams - or nightmares - of everyday activities, mostly about archery, soldiery or hunting.

True, he was sometimes plagued by vivid nightmares of the Lost City, but surely, everyone had something like that. How could they not, when they lived within eyesight of the most cursed place in all the land?

All said and done, contrary to appearances, Ashur, who was at the cusp of manhood, was, as far as he knew, a completely normal boy.

There was the matter of appearance though. Specifically, Ashur's appearance, which was pretty sarding far from normal.

On the one hand, if somebody who had never met Ashur before saw him for the first time from his left side, Ashur would appear to be completely normal. Taller and stronger than most boys his age, but neither the tallest nor the strongest. Both of those categories fell to Motrus, a beast of a boy who was also Ashur's best friend.

Beyond that, Ashur's left side would appear like a typical example of village youth in south eastern Haval. Dark brown hair that fell in waves or curls. A somewhat crooked nose from a fight when he was younger. The left half of a downward-turning mouth that still broke into smiles on occasion. A blue left eye.

His right side, on the other hand, was where the problems lay. His entire right side, arms and even hair included, was streaked with horizontal, pale scars that tapered into what looked like huge claw or blade marks. On his upper body, the tips almost touched his spine in the back, and covered half the breastbone in the front. On his right arm and leg, the scars were more even, looking like rings. The effect was to make it look like Ashur had once been shredded to bits, then put back together.

Finally, there was his right eye. Rather than being blue like his left, his right eye was yellow like the sun. More than that, Ashur had noticed he had to concentrate to see anything out of it. If he didn't, it would de-focus so entirely that it was as if he was one-eyed. 

In spite of these abnormalities, Ashur was a normal boy. At least, he hoped he was.

In the end, worrying didn't really matter. He would find out for sure in just under two months. Ashur was almost at the end of his Testing Years, and spring next year would be his final turn at The Sifting.

Each year had been a different test. One year, he had been invited to take a nap, simple as that. Another time he had been taken for a walk in the Lost Forest, the strip of forest separating his village from the Lost City. It was normally forbidden for anyone not on patrol there, but Ashur couldn't really say why. It was maybe a bit quieter than other forests Ashur had been in, but aside from that and the closeness to the ruins for which the forest was named, he couldn't say why it would be forbidden.

This year would be Ashur's final test, reserved for the oldest boys and girls who had passed all previous tests. Until he had passed this unknown test, Ashur could not claim a surname of his own, and would be referred to by his parents' names.

Ashur missed his parents. They had been away for the past three and a half years, serving in the Sacred Army that guarded the Last Border. According to the stories,it was a series of walls and fortifications along a narrow strip of land that separated the ocean from the sheer mountain range known as Anur's Shield. By the time his parents would be released from their turn at this duty, Ashur would have a surname of his own. Or he'd fail the test. In that case, his fate would depend on what was wrong with him. Wrong with his soul. But if he was unlucky, he'd be exiled to some barren island, dead, or worst of all, taken over by the spirit of a demon.

Ashur's first hunt without his mother present had not gone off to a good start. He could still feel the spit where it had hit him as he was leaving the village grounds. Ashur didn't think Yula meant to actually hit him as he passed by her house, but the old bat refused to apologize anyway, instead scowling and turning her nose up at him. Ashur had always known that the other villagers disliked and mistrusted him, but it wasn't until his parents had left to serve on the Last Border, far to the north-east, that Ashur had been made to feel just how little the others thought of him. Apart from his few friends, that is. Ashur felt compelled to remind himself of them. They at least didn't mistrust him for the strange condition his skin was in - horizontal pale scars like claw marks that evenly covered the right half of his body, turning his right eye a pale, nearly white blue, instead of the much deeper blue of his left eye. The discoloring even extended to his hair, which was brown apart from two stripes of white hair. Those villagers who had run their mouth to him had made it clear they thought evil spirits had marked him, even if they didn't go as far as making claims he was demon-touched.

Regardless of Yula's disrespect, Ashur had continued, and had stopped by the appropriate shrines to pay respects and beg leave to enter their domain before leaving town. The court of Kala, not being part of the civilized courts, were dangerous and unpredictable. Entering any forest, therefore, was an exercise in risk-taking. Hunters had to perform rituals of promise before entering, another ritual of thanks where they paid their promised offering before leaving the forest, and finally a purification ritual at the shrines before the village gate before they would be allowed to reenter the village. Today however, things had not turned out promising at all. As Ashur was performing the last  prayer of promise, to Kala, goddess of spirits, a raven had landed on the roof of the small shrine. Though startled, Ashur had stayed very still, unwilling to upset the bird. It was said ravens were sometimes used as messengers by the goddess. Ashur did not want to take that chance that it was anything but. It would not do to disrespect a possible member of the court of chaos.

They had stood there like that for several seconds, boy and raven, before it had cawed at him. Three times it cawed, and three times he flinched. Then it flew off, leaving Ashur with a chill running down his spine. If it had been a message, he did not understand it.

He did however, understand the dwindling pantry at home all too well. His parents had taught him better than to let it take so long, but Ashur had been afraid to leave his home for all the hostile stares. Today would be different, if he had to force it so. Besides, the autumn air was crisp, and the skies clear. Those were undeniably good omens. At worst, surely the omens would cancel out? And so, after what might have been seconds, might have been minutes of weighing the omens in his head, Ashur resumed the prayer to Kala, then set off for the forest.

As Ashur was thinking about the bad omens however, things seemed to improve for him. A bush rustled just a few yards off to his left. Ashur stopped dead in his tracks and listened.

Another rustle. something small. A hare, perhaps? Ashur readied his bow slowly, careful not to disturb any bushes, and put on the parting gift from his father. The archery ring was without a doubt his most prized possession, so he was careful not to drop it. Made from soulwood, there was no finer protection for his thumb for when he fired his bow. If he ever were to sell it, he could probably afford a finer house than any in the village he called home.

Bow and arrow ready, Ashur closed slowly in. Moments later, a hare sprang out from between the rustling bushes. It got barely two feet. Ashur surpressed a yell of glee. Ashur's spirits was high as he made his first offering: blood dripped from the hare, seeping into the forest floor as payment for his permission to hunt.

But there was still plenty time left in the day. Maybe the raven had been a message about how much prey he would be allowed to hunt, or at least the number of chances? He secured the hare to his backpack and continued hunting.

It was a long time however, before anything more than birdsong sounded through the dense forest. Every now and then, Ashur thought he heard a raven call off in the distance. One even flew overhead. Noon passed with no other sounds, however. Then, another raven flew overhead, crowing as he flew ahead of Ashur. His skin prickled. Soon after, Ashur heard a mighty racket ahead. filled with nervous energy, he nocked another arrow and ran ahead to see what was going on.

Ahead, behind a fold in the terrain, Ashur saw a boar running, the top of it's back skimming the ridge. Animal screams and grunts filled the air along with the thuds of the charging boar. It was attacking something, though Ashur couldn't see what. Boar was good meat though, and if it was busy with some other animal, the hunt would be easier and safer than most other times.

Ashur sprang up onto the trunk of a fallen tree and aimed for the boar. He loosed as it was turning and hit it in the upper back. It squealed and grunted in rage and pain. Ashur leapt forward, nocking another arrow, and got to the edge of the terrain dip that was hiding the boar and whatever it was fighting. Before he had registered what appeared before him, the arrow was already embedded right behind the boar's skull. The animal slumped even as color drained from Ashur's face.

The boar had been attacking a pair of foxes. One was plainly dead, and the other dying. This was bad. Chances were, they were just normal foxes. But it was well known that spirits of nature would often inhabit fox shape, or attach themselves to foxes. They were even said to have been made by Kala herself, to aid in her hunt for demonic and evil spirits when the world was young. If these two foxes were of her court, then Ashur could be seen to have failed to aid them. If they weren't of her court, then the spirits within might choose to attack him. But to leave and pretend he hadn't been here? That didn't seem right to him, either. Though reluctance weighed on his steps, Ashur entered the small dell, trying to think of something to do.

The second fox had stopped stirring. The boar was moving feebly however. Ashur drew his knife, finished the beast off and made an offering of its blood. While the blood was draining from the boar's neck, Ashur turned his attention to the two foxes.

Both were dead, as he had feared. Ashur decided to bury them according to village custom, at the foot of a tree in the middle of the dell, in between the roots. Then he murmured a prayer to the god of death, incidentally a member of Kala's court.

Once finished, Ashur stepped away from the grave. Hopefully, the spirits within would be content with his efforts. He was about to step away when he heard a sound.

Ashur stood still, straining to listen. It was weak, and somewhat muffled. For a second, he thought it had come from the grave, but stepping to the side revealed the source to be behind the burial tree. Walking around it revealed a small bush. Under the bush was a hole, and in the hole was a small fox. It was much smaller than the first two.

"I'm sorry for your loss," Ashur murmured for a greeting to the whimpering ball of red fluff, "It seems to me I have just had to bury your parents, little one."

This did pose a new problem for Ashur, though. How to deal with a possible third spirit? Again, it was probably just a fox. Probably. But if it wasn't, then what? Ashur really wished his mother had taught him about situations like this. If she had even encountered situations like this. Ashur couldn't recall anything like today ever happening before. The visit from the raven, its frequent reappearances, and now all this? It was too much to feel like it was all just coincidence.

Most of the other villagers would probably leave as quickly as they could, praying to Muyun, goddess of the soul, as they went, wanting nothing to do with any risk of spirits entangling themselves in their lives. Fox spirits in particular were known tricksters and mischief-makers.

Then again, most villagers would turn their backs on Ashur. Many would rather he leave the village. Some, as this day had proven, would spit on him. How much did he really care to do as they would?

Ashur, feeling some strange half-kinship with the orphaned fox, decided to give an offering to the small animal. Meat from the boar. Ashur could think of nothing else. It might even be a little overkill. But it was better to be safe than sorry.

He carved off a piece of the boar's left foreleg. He presented it to the fox, then waited. It took a short while before it reacted, but eventually a small snout peeked out from under the fox's tail and sniffed the air. Then came a face, and the fox ate the meat. Ashur sighed in relief. Surely, this would-

The fox was hurt. A gash on its foreleg surrounded by fur matted with dried blood. It must have been hurt by the boar. That would explain why the parents of the little fox had died fighting the boar. They were protecting their child.

In spite of his apprehension and fear of the nature spirit, Ashur reached out to it slowly with one hand, digging in a pouch on his belt with the other, and spoke in soothing tones. He retrieved a small roll of linen his mother had taught him to prepare before each hunt. It was treated with herbs to soothe pains and aid in healing, or so she had told him.

The fox jerked back, but eventually, with patience and soft-spoken words, Ashur managed to bind the wound. The small fox stepped gingerly on the hurt leg, then dragged the last bit of meat into its den and lay back down.

The sky had begun to darken by the time Ashur returned to the village.

"Well, you're out late. Cutting it a little close, aren't we?" Auber the gatekeeper remarked. He wasn't as bad as most villagers, in Ashur's estimation. He was gruff to everyone equally, not just Ashur like the other guards.

"Boar makes for heavy lifting, master Auber," Ashur said with a smile.

"Suppose it does, at that," Auber replied without returning the smile.

"Been a good day for hunting, Master Auber?"

"'S been alright," he remarked, "Dunnem and Gowe came back with a deer."

"A whole deer, huh?" Ashur asked as he set down the boar and took off his backpack.

"Mmmhm. A grown buck."

"Well isn't that something," Ashur remarked in a half murmur, as he carved off an offering of meat for the gate shrines. One for Muyun, to cleanse his soul of any unwanted spirits. Another for Anur, for returning unharmed.

"Your catch ain't too bad either," Auber said, indicating the boar and the hare. No third animal had appeared - excluding the foxes and ravens - but Ashur was, all told, happy with his catch.

"It ought to hold me for a decent while," Ashur agreed, pleased with himself.

"Well then, on with ye. No amount of meat will help ye if the spirits take ye."

Ashur did not need to be told twice. Meat offered, Ashur began the purification ritual by rolling up his sleeves and taking a clean piece of cloth from his pouch. With it, he picked up the ladle resting in Muyun's basin and poured it over each hand in order. He was careful not to spill any dirty water into the basin, but scrubbed his hands over the hole in the ground next to it. Next, he range a small brass bell and clapped his hands. This was to get the gods' attention, or so his parents had taught him. Finally, he said a silent prayer to Muyun, asking her to cleanse and keep his soul safe from spirits with ill will. Once done, he looked to the gatekeeper, who looked Ashur and his catches up and down. Then he looked at the sizes of Ashur's offerings, sitting on the stone bowls in front of the small statue.

"Do it again," the gatekeeper said, refusing the ritual. Unsurprised, but nevertheless left with no choice, Ashur started over, beginning with offering another cut of meat. Wanting to test out a theory, he cut off a fresh piece from the hind leg of the boar this time, forgoing a cut from the hare. Then he did the ritual all over again. Ring the bell, clap his hands, pray.

"Again," Auber said. That was the problem with the gatekeepers. They got the meat once the purification was approved, to put in their own cookpots or barter off for other goods. Most of the other hunters tried to get their hunting done when Auber wasn't watching, as he always demanded more rituals than the others. That got them more meat, too, whether for eating or barter. In Ashur's case however, it didn't matter. They all demanded more purification rituals from him than any other hunter. Auber simply demanded the fewest over all. At least, it had been that way with his parents present, regardless of the villagers' respect for them. "It's on account of the marks, Ayna," the other gatekeepers would say when confronted by Ashur's mother, "He's more likely to bring back spirits, ain't he?" When 

Evidently, now was little different.

After three purification rituals, Auber finally relented and let Ashur through the gate into the village. It sprawled out in front of him on a gentle downward slope, hemmed in on three sides by a shoulder high wooden fence separating it from dense forests.

Though most in the village would not agree with Ashur, he felt a vague kinship with the village itself, if not its inhabitants. Like him, it had a peculiarity. Ashur had used to go with his parents on trips to other villages farther west. Unlike his home village, they all had names, identifying something about them. Honeybarrel, for example, produced honey and related products such as candles made from beeswax. Willowshade was blessed with a grove of ancient willow trees which was used in making medicines. Some willows even featured in its spiritwood grove, whose bark was said to be even more effective in remedying pains and wounds. Not all village names were for something pleasant, though. Barrowdun had the unfortunate distinction of being known for a set of ancient burial mounds, which were said to be haunted by old spirits from before the Great Fall. Another example was Shitterdun. The less said about that village, the better.

Ashur's home village however, stood out. It had no name. Whenever someone asked Ashur's parents where they were from, they would reply vaguely.

"Oh, from over yonder," they might say, and point in the general direction. Or they might say "Due east from here," or else "Over near the forest," if people were especially dense. Most would get the hint and not ask anything else. Once, a traveller had come from outside Haval. Listening to Vaund, Ashur's father, try to explain without getting too close to the subject had been painful. In the end, the traveller had gotten the point. The possibility of a village taking such a risk with their souls was completely foreign to him. Maybe that was part of why the gatekeepers kept demanding so many rituals.

The problem wasn't the forest. Plenty villages sat near, or were nestled inbetween, forests. Otherwise, getting lumber would be a right pain. No, the problem that faced the inhabitants of the village Ashur called home could be distantly seen past the eastern forest. There, a thin white and grey strip revealed the most prominent feature of the village, and the reason it didn't have a name. The ruins of the Lost City. Stories, told to scare off children and foolish adventure-seekers, spoke of the Great Wraithstorm that dwelt within. Ashur suspected however, that it was more accurate to say that it hovered over the city like a vast stormcloud. That was, after all, how it always appeared in his nightmares.