Sona - Introduction

The woods were still under the moon; the half-circle shone down and cast silvery shadows through the trees. Wood-life of the night could be heard, seen and felt. The woods were a safe place; only a hunter or two came in, and only once a month. The creatures were still plentiful and roamed freely.
A stream, waters glistening under the silver light, gurgled down through a clearing, splitting it in two. On one side stood three trees: an oak, a willow and a rowan. Unusual, for them to be so close together, branches twining together, creating an almost perfect circle. Birds had made nests in their upper branches; the bark was old and peeling away, falling in dusty pieces to the ground.
Deer grazed around the clearing, nibbling at grass and herbs and sipping up the water. Owls stalked the sky, searching for prey. Wolves trotted through the trees, followed by little furry pups stumbling clumsily behind. And, somewhere, a wildcat rested in the trees, surveying the land below with emerald eyes.
It was a peaceful land, the woods. But beyond it lay a world. A beautiful world, with rolling green hills and tall, high mountains, and an ocean so blue, it looked as if the sky had fallen into it. There were cliffs and pastures and canyons. And there were people.
Towns and villages and cities of people, people of all different colors and tongues. To the wild life, they must have looked strange, wearing flowing gowns with tight corsets or leggings that made the men look utterly ridiculous. Some wore armor of silver and others of gold, and some wore jewels of the earth around their necks, heads and fingers.
People, once, had been kind and gentle creatures. Not much of a bother to the life of the woods. But then there had come a man, from a land much farther away than any had imagined, and with him, an army.
And there, in the green, rolling hills and the pastures, had been war.
There had been a time when the woods had rang with the sounds of steel and the shouting of men as they died. But now, under the moon, the woods were silent. The wood-life refused to go out, even when tempted by the giggles of children.
Human came to them, now. Before, trees would be cut down to make buildings, but only occasionally. Now, half the woods were gone, and remained a graveyard of tree stump, each engraved by the rings that showed the old and the young.
Humans had, as on many other world, starting destroying.
Not all humans were like that. Some came into the woods and cast circles with friends late at night, and gave offerings to the gods and goddesses that ruled the skies. They gave offerings to the earth, and tried to heal, to give back for what had been taken. Some had even made friends with the creatures of the woods and given them protection.
These humans were children of nature, and they were called witches, sorcerers, and wizards.
But, like has happened, they became feared. They were powerful, but did not pretend to be more than human. Others, however, made a show of displaying their superiorness and thus, created another war.
There had been burnings. Men, women, even children. Young and old alike, all over the land, were hiding. But some were caught, and taken, as was the law, to the palace and burned.
And the knights and the royal people laughed at the ashes.
Rebellion had risen and the war for survival and justice raged across the land.
But the wood-life and the creatures inside it knew nothing of human wars. They hunted and grazed and swooped, without a care for the world outside.
Unless, of course, it ran into their midst in the form of a fleeing woman.
She was running, running from the hunter. She had been told, countless times, not to let them see her.
But they had been taking children. Children, and she'd had to stop them.
She was young, well past womanhood but still young and ripe and tender. Or so you would think, looking up at that lovely face and those striking turquoise eyes. But then you'd notice the knifes strapped to her waist, and realize that she knew exactly how to use them.
She only had one knife now, however. The hunter had taken the other one when he'd tried capturing her. A shackle still dangled from one wrist, and she knew the noise would be drawing his attention, but she couldn't stop to use magic. She couldn't stop now.
Her legs, long and muscled, burned, as did her lungs, her side, but still she didn't stop. Her bags of herbs and potions bounced against her hip, the belts around her waist shimmering as her energy weakened. She'd been running ever since they caught her, in the city, after she'd saved the children. She hoped they'd gotten away.
She heard the footsteps behind her getting louder and louder and tried to increase her speed, but her legs were slowing down. She staggered forward, gasping for breath, fumbling for her other knife. She would fight, or she would die, she wasn't going to let them take her.
A metal-clad hand slammed down hard on her shoulder, making her cry out. The hunter yanked her around and gave her a harsh kick in the stomach, sending her stumbling back into a tree. Her head cracked against the bark; stars sprang in front of her vision, but she saw past them, saw him coming at her, armor glinting in the moonlight, cold grey eyes narrowed and fixed on her.
She sobbed out a breath as her knife was whipped out by a trembling hand. "Stay back," she squeaked, then coughed, tried again. "Stay back!" she commanded; her voice was shaky but she didn't stutter over her words.
She saw the smirk before it even reached his lips. "Well, well," he sneered. "Aren't you expectant, making demands already." She saw his eyes flick from her knife to the shackles on her wrist.
"You will not touch me," she hissed. There was steel now behind the shakiness.
He chuckled. "Oh, I won't," he said, laying a hand on the hilt of his sword. "But my blade's going to have so much fun."
She barely saw the move, and cursed herself for not expecting it. He whipped a hand out, grabbed the shackles dangling from her wrist, and at the same time, pulled his sword out. He had the tip pressed to her throat before she could move.
Her eyes went wide, and she felt the fear, the terror, clawing up her throat.
"Now then," he said pleasantly, yanking her towards him by the chain. "You won't be doing any more of that lightning mumbo," he added when she started to stammer out a chant, "not after I'm done cutting your tongue out."
She snapped her mouth shut, and with a muffled growl, slammed her knee between his legs.
He howled, doubling over. She rammed her knee into his nose next, and while he was efficiently distracted, yanked the chain out of his hand and bolted.
She'd earned herself a few moments, at least. She had only one option left, and it was dangerous, terrifying and would probably kill her. But it was the only choice she had.
She heard him coming, and dodged to the side; an arrow embedded itself in a tree level with where her head would have been moments before. She lost her footing and tumbled over a root. She saw the clearing as she fell, saw the stream, a brilliant glitter of moonlight. And then all she saw was moss.
She struggled with it for a moment, then flipped herself over. He stood over her, eyes narrowed, and pointing a crossbow at her.
She saw, just for a moment, the man he once had been. Dark hair framing a face rough with stubble, eyes filled with storm-cloud grey. But then it vanished, replaced by a face distorted with fury.
"Rothet," she whispered.
Something stirred in his eyes, something warm, but the cold returned. "You don't get to call me by name," he growled, stepping closer to her.
"I should. I know you."
"You knew nothing."
"No," she whispered. "No, I know you. Don't you remember when we were children? Teenagers? We were so close."
He glared, and it was filled with hate, anger.
"We were family."
He growled, "I have no family. I have no parents, and you, Sona, witch, are certainly not my sister."
He pulled the trigger of the crossbow. There was no way he couldn't hit the mark this close, he thought. No way. And he smiled.
The smile vanished when the owl swooped down and took the arrow for her.
She let out a cry filled with pain and horror, and picked up the bird, cradling it in her arms. It was young, had probably barely been out of the nest for more than a few weeks. The arrow had pierced its side, and blood matted its feathers and coated her hand.
"What did you do?" she cried, looking up at him. "What did you do?"
He didn't answer, instead started fitting another arrow. She let out a growl of rage and slammed her knife into his leg.
He shouted, falling back, clutching at the wound. She scrambled up, clutching the dying bird to her chest, and spun around, running for the clearing. She saw the circle of trees, sprinted towards them, sending deer scattering. She ducked under the intertwined branches, and grabbed a knot in the oak's bark with a hand slick with blood.
"Take me away," she sobbed out. "Please, please, take me away."
For a moment, the longest moment ever, nothing happened. And then there were the lights.
Beautiful, beautiful lights. Like an aurora borealis of color. And there was song; a drifting, floating beautiful song.  A million voices singing in sync, to a wordless song.
She gazed up in wonder at the lights, the dancing, singing lights. And then felt it pulling her up, and up, and up, up into the void of color. So beautiful. How can it be so beautiful and have drawn so many to their deaths?
A hand wrapped around her ankle, scaring a scream out of her. She looked down and saw Rothet, dragging himself up her leg, into the portal.
"No!" she screamed. She kicked at him, but he kept coming. He grabbed at her dress, ripping it, until he was face to face with her. He held up her knife, glittering with blood.
"You'll pay for that," he snarled, and raised the knife to strike.
And then they were jerked up, higher and higher, and at a faster speed. Breathing became harder, as did movement, so while he was dragging the knife through the air, she was moving slowly back.
And then the lights vanished and they were standing in noise.
Lights. Bright, blinding lights that came closer and closer. And smells, musky smells. And roaring, short bursts of noise. Monsters, she realized as one shot past her. Shiny, metal monsters on wheels. They were in a herd of them!
She was so busy taking it in, taking it all in, that she didn't notice Rothet. Now that he had the chance, he let out a roar, and struck.
She screamed, stumbled back with the knife lodged between her ribs. And because she moved, she wasn't hit by the monster that was speeding at them.
Rothet, however, was not so lucky.
With a screech, the car slammed into him and sent him rolling over the hood, denting the metal with his armor. She didn't stay long enough to see if he was hurt or dead. Instead she shot across the street, pulling out the knife, dodging cars, and then froze when a bright yellow one nearly plowed into her.
"Hey!" it shouted. "Hey, lady, get outta the road!"
A human voice, she realized. And scurried around to see little latches on the sides. And a person sitting inside!
He glared at her. "What the hell you think you're doing?" he snapped. "I coulda hit you!"
"I…I'm sorry," she stammered. "Please, sir, what is this creature?"
He blinked. "It looks like an owl ta me."
"No, the one you ride inside."
He frowned. "It's called a taxi," he said slowly.
"Please, what does it do?"
"It takes people places," he said, "for a price."
She heard shouting, more screeching. "I wish to be taken away from here."
"Well, hop in then, woman," he said impatiently. She blinked, looked at the latches. And opened one with magic.
She crawled in, clutching the owl close to her, and shut the latch behind her.
"Where you wanna go?"
"A healer, please. This bird is hurt."
"Sure thing," he said, and started driving. She cuddled the owl close to her, watching as it opened its golden eyes and hooted feebly at her.
"You'll be alright," she murmured. "We'll go see a healer and they'll take care of you."
She looked out the little glass window and saw the cars all crowded together. And in the center, gripping his sword, stood Rothet.
He saw her, looking out from a metal creature. And the look he gave her told her he would not stop until she was dead.
She huddled down and stayed there as the man drove her into a city made of metal and glass. People in strange clothes walked by and there were even more of the metal monsters.  She felt alone and cold, but the fear had yet to register.
While the man wasn't looking, she cut a section of her dress off and used it to bandage her wound. It would heal, she knew; all witches had healing powers.
"Here," the man said, slowing the car beside a small building that had a red sign with a picture of a dog and a cat on it. "That'll be twenty dollars," he added, holding back a hand for the money. She stared blankly at it. He sighed. "Don't tell me you haven't got any money."
"I have coins," she said sheepishly. "And a few trinkets." When he gaped at her, she pulled off a ring; it was made of gold and had a large emerald in the center. "Here," she said, handing it to him. "I'm sure it must be worth something." She scooted out, opening the latch without touching it, and hopped out. "Thank you, sir, for the ride," she called as she shut the latch again and he stared after her.
She turned and faced the building as the man drove away. The sky was bleak and gray here. And the air was heavy and smelled of strange things. This was not her home. This was not a good place for her.
The owl gave another feeble hoot. She looked down at it. "I know," she said. "I'm scared too."
But she straightened and with a determined look, walked towards the store and into the strange, crowded and very different world.