Roots of Earth ~ A Ninjago Fanfiction

Prologue

The stars glittered coldly from the clear night sky, with but a few faint wisps of clouds stifling their light. With no moon, the steep, barren mountainside standing high up with the mist was utterly pitch-black, and not a breath of wind disturbed the dry leaves on a lone tree sitting by a worn path of steep, stone stairs. All the world was still and silent, with puffs of water vapor drifting lazily around the mountaintop. In the dead of night, not a living thing stirred... save for the dark figure slipping soundlessly up the steps leading to the top.

It paused at the final step, its face hidden under a dark hood and its body beneath a cloak. There was something chilling about the way the figure balanced on its legs, as if it wasn't quite used to them yet. Something about the way it lifted its head and sniffed the air would make one think that this stranger wasn't entirely human.

It inspected the grassy clearing, then crept through the weeds and to the side of the mountain. An enormous cliff stretched high into the night sky, its peak disappearing into mist. Nestled between a couple of dark boulders, built into the cliffside itself, stood a lone door. Seeping from the cracks of the ancient oak wood came a flicker of light, the only other sign of life on the mountain.

The figure crept up to the door, taking soft, nimble steps across the grass. It hesitated, then grasped the rusted doorknob. With a small squeak from the hinges, the stranger slowly opened the door and entered.

It was a wide but cluttered room, holding the type of furniture and tools to accommodate a small living room, dining area, and kitchen. To the left of the doorway were a couple of sagging couches surrounded by ratty books stuffed on tall bookshelves, with an intricately designed rug upon the floor. On the other side of the room was a dark doorway, presumably leading to bedrooms or something of that ilk. The kitchen was to the right, with a counter crowded with groceries and the wood cabinets. A small dining table sat close by the counter, with only one chair.

The entire apartment was dimly lit by candles. In the center of the room sat a wide cauldron, where something hot and meaty-smelling churned and bubbled. Dark, unintelligible chunks drifted beneath the boiling surface, and a fire burned beneath it on a little portable stove. Steam rose like pale ghosts from the cauldron and over the head of the middle-aged woman scowling at it.

Scraggly brown hair tumbled down her shoulders over her midnight-blue cloak, which she wore over her forest-green dress. On the dress was a wide leather belt holding a couple of pouches and an odd little sheath carrying was looked like a carved, twisted stick. Wrinkles lined her mouth and almond-brown eyes, but there was a strange sort of energy in her movement. On her head sat a crooked, pointed hat.

The light of the flames reflected off her frowning face. She was mumbling crossly under her breath, casting dark looks at the contents of the bubbling cauldron. Almost ironically she began to chant:

"Double, double toil and trouble; Fire burn and cauldron bubble.

Wood beneath and meat within burning steady,

But soup, won't you hurry up and just cook already?!"

Ending with that angry cry, she jammed her hands on her hips and exclaimed in exasperation, "Corpus bones, you'd think this chicken broth would cook by now! I've seen frozen molasses move faster than that! Humph." She gazed at the wall. "Perhaps I should add more wood to the fire, but then it might start smoking—"

It was that moment she caught sight of the hooded figure at the door. Instinctively she reached for the odd stick sitting in its sheath on her belt. She hesitated as she inspected the figure. "Steven?"

The dark stranger flipped his hood back to reveal a tanned, brown-haired teenager. His eyes glanced around uneasily, but we wore a smile. "Hey, Matilda."