Wednesday 15 August 2007

Chapter Two - The Awakening, Part Three

"I'm sorry child, I simply cannot find any record of you."

The old man was sitting forlornly in the middle of pile of books and papers. Pere's eyes wandered from the smashed hole in the wall to the mass of burned mulch at their feet. Beyond, the city of Ffin glowed in the afternoon light.

Pere nodded and Xete shrugged.

"I really don't know what to suggest. All the Mages who might be able to recover your memory are either engaged with tasks for Captain Kytan or they fled when Lord Ilstan left." A dark look passed over the man's face as he returned to his sorry job of resorting all of the scattered papers. Every moment more and more pieces of parchment floated away with the wind. "In the former case they'll be highly unwilling to help you based on their shifty slip in allegiance, or as in the case of the latter, incapable of doing so due to their untimely absence. My respect for the faculty of this institution flutters away with every lost scroll out of that gods forsaken hole."

Pere rubbed his arms and sat down on the floor. Listlessly he sifted through the papers and began gathering them up into piles. Xete followed the contour of the wall until it ended, below him the floor broke away into a chasm that dropped a hundred feet. They were on the second floor of the Academy, but the Academy itself sat on top of a small cliff overlooking the servant's wing of the castle.

"Watch yourself boy," The Record keeper said, without much energy. Xete retreated, he looked distant.

"So, they call you Pere, do they?" the old man looked up, his wiry hair jutting at all angles, a pair of pince-nez perched on his nose. Pere shrugged.

"That's what Xete calls me." Pere said.

"Oh. Well then, may name is Ustan." He smiled as warmly as he could manage. "I assume you've asked around to see if anyone recognises you?"

"Yes – but we'd only just arrived." Xete said.

"Somebody must have known you…"

Pere shook his head, thinking about all the stolen trinkets now stored beneath his cot. Whoever he'd been, Pere was sure he'd not wanted to draw attention to himself.

"Ah well, welcome to an institution founded by loners, for loners. We all come here for the same reason child – we're drawn by power and the need to be around misfits like ourselves. Of course it was all different back in the Iryan days." He smiled warmly, looking up from his pile of paper. "All of the Greater Races gathered together in search of the ancient secrets left to us by the Elders."

He looked around him, "This Academy is but a pale imitation of it."

"What's going to happen to us?" Xete asked, for the first time his voice seemed to lack confidence.

"You'll be trained up, probably according to a new, Venger approved curriculum and then, most likely, you'll end up serving as Mages in his army." The Record Keeper didn't try and hide the scorn in his voice. "Keep your heads down boys and pray you are feeble and unruly at Magic like me." The Record Keeper seemed to drift away into his own little world, his voice trailing off into a mumble. Xete leaned down and tapped Pere on the shoulder indicating they should probably leave.

Outside in the dark, drafty corridor they stopped, "What do you want to do now?" Xete asked.

Pere assessed his options. One, he could go on searching and dig up a past he may not want; or two, he could forget about the entire thing and start from scratch.

"Forget about it." Pere said finally. Xete smiled and they began walking.

"In that case we should probably go down into the city and buy supplies. I heard some of the girls were going down this afternoon – we could meet up with them. I can tell them all about my Giant lineage." Xete left the suggestion hanging, presumably to see if Pere was interested. He was. Every fibre of his being wanted to distance himself from that room of stolen things. He hadn't thought about his memory loss as a good thing until now, maybe that roof caving in had been a blessing.




"Welcome to a new day! Lord Venger salutes you." The amplified voice of the Cryer boomed through the streets. "Your cooperation and service will be rewarded. There will be work for every citizen, a home for every family. Disorder will be punished. Citizens are encouraged to join the City Guard and serve in Lord Venger's army. Service will be rewarded with tax cuts and bonuses for married couples."

Eonid dropped the box onto the low, hard cot and leaned back. Along her spine she felt the ripple of tiny clicks and wondered when she'd ever got this out of shape. Fortunately, that box was the last.

Sitting down on the cot she tucked Feold into his basket and winced every time a loud noise or a bang drifted by. The walls of the barracks were thick, but the only window allotted for them was four feet from the floor and very narrow. The space felt cold and dark and totally unlike the home they'd been promised.

Between the curtains and hanging sheets that served as dividers, the rest of the company were moving into their own little corners. At least they were all together.

Leaning against the wall was her quarter staff, painted in tribal colours and decorated with feathers and fur, the staff served as a reminder of the past she could only partially remember. True, her skin was darker than everyone else's – but she didn't remember the dusty, hot homeland that everyone seemed to think was hers. Her name was Eonid – it was a Brythic name. She looked down at her son and his light bronze skin and wondered.

"Hey."

Eonid turned her head and held a finger to her lips. Quietly she stood and went to examine her husband in his new Guard's uniform. The dusty old leather was replaced by a dark navy overcoat and an obsidian leather breastplate. Irik smiled wanly. "What do you think? Do I look like enough of a traitor to fool them?"

Eonid shushed him, "No. You're doing the right thing." She watched him take strength from her support and felt herself content.

"This isn't quite the townhouse we were hoping for, is it?"

"Well, at least we aren't living with your mother anymore." Eonid replied. She only had a dim memory of Irik's mother – but it was enough. "I think I really hurt my head the other day, I can't seem to remember anything much from before it happened."

Irik leaned back and held her head in his hands, "That looks like a nasty bump. You should get a salve from the 'cary – there's one around the corner on the banks of the Ffryc." She shook her head free, wearily.

"I'm serious. It could turn nasty." He went to one of the boxes and pulled out a hand-glass and brandished it towards her. She retreated instinctively and held out her hands. "What's wrong?"

"Put it away," she said. Hearing the tension in her voice he put the glass down and hugged her.

"You're still beautiful," he murmured softly, misunderstanding her anxiety. Let him think I'm being silly, she thought, better to think I'm silly than mad. The memory of her image in the puddle on the street returned to her. Her own face, but not her. She shuddered. Around them the small, cramped space leaned in on them; the cold stone floor, the draft from the high window, the noise. Outside the Cryer continued to chant his message…

"Food for the needy, homes for the poorest. Venger's reign will usher in a new age of prosperity for the region. Commerce with his Empire in the Westerlands, opportunities to travel across the sea! All will benefit in the glorious new day!"




They would have made Ean by nightfall. The slope of the forest led them further into the foothills where the density of the trees began to falter. When they found the Ean tributary they followed it northeast until it led them to a secluded valley. In the distance Frank could see lights glowing. His heart brightened for a moment until the wind brought with it an ominous smell. Smoke. A ripple of anxiety spread through the Marauders. Smoke in itself wasn't unusual, but to be able to smell it this far down the valley was a sign. It implied that more than just cooking fires were burning.

Arytar, the silver-haried leader of the Marauders gestured to one of the others, who nodded and disappeared into the forest. The order was simple and obvious enough to understand – scout out the village, bring back answers.

Quietly and steadily they led the survivors into the next valley and found a secluded glen in which the Marauders deemed it safe to start a fire and build a camp for the night. Frank kept his eyes on the survivors and off his wandering thoughts. His hands gripped the bow haft tightly and the rhythm of his leather gloves squeaking over the polished wood kept him atuned.

The survivors talked amongst themselves and eased their bones. Soon, fresh game was brought and the cooking began. Many of the survivors were cooks and they threw themselves into the preparation. Soon, all of the survivors were doing something to contribute while their green cloaked watchers stood around the circle, their eyes and ears waiting for word from Ean. From above the circle of silhouettes the stars shone and the cold of night descended quickly. Wood was gathered and after all had eaten the fire was stoked and smaller ones were started so that the company could sleep.

Frank traced the constellations in his mind and noted the rise of the moon. Soon it would be midnight – the scout should have returned by now. He caught an anxious look from Elai from the other edge of the clearing, with a nod of the head she called him over. Softly, Frank made his way around the sleeping company and tried to swallow the dread in his throat.

"Loosen your arrows," Elai whispered as he approached, gesturing to the group of Marauders gathered in the darkness beyond the firelight. He shrugged the hood of his cloak over his head and joined the group with Elai.

Silently they began to hike over the valley and into the next. When they reached the crest of the valley they got an elevated view of the village. Not a word was said as they watched a column of smoke tower into the sky. At the trees' edge they were forced to move slower, between the shadows of the larger rocky outcroppings which dotted the valley floor. When they were close enough to see the details of buildings it became clear that the village was burned or burning to the ground. Not many houses were left now.

A series of inhuman cries and yells echoed across the valley. Frank felt the hilt of his sword beneath his cloak and waited for the signal to continue. Cautiously they went on until they reached the river. From here they could see the darkened water. Elai leaned down and tasted it from a finger.

"Blood." She confirmed. Bows were notched and swords loosened as they approached now in formation. A confrontation was now guaranteed if the aggressors were still in the village. Possibilities flashed through Frank's mind – but the foremost was the most obvious – a trap.

The closer they got the more details the stench of the smoke revealed. Burning flesh, wood and crops. There were a few signs of trouble, but not much to imply an active defense. They'd been taken unawares.

"The Mana?" Elai whispered to Arytar – who pointed to a low stone cairn carved into the mountainside. The door was broken in and as they approached the hair on the back of Frank's arms squirmed underneath his tunic and guards. The air seemed to throb at the entrance of the cairn and no one dared enter.

"Empty," Arytar muttered, "They've probably taken the Mine. Probably using it as a base." With a gesture he directed them to cautiously examine the buildings and search for survivors in pairs.

Elai and Frank crossed the stone bridge, ignoring the pools of smeared, black blood on the path. It led them to the highest point where the outer houses were surrounded by small barren fields. Beyond a small copse of fir trees lingered like watchers. Frank barely felt the strain in his arm as he kept his arm arm taught against the tension of the bow. Elai moved before him, dagger in hand. The farthest house was a smoking husk built on a flat foundation of stones. The charred, skeletal remains of the house needed little examination. All within were dead.

Another cry sounded out across the valley. This time it sounded more like laughter, and, more importantly it sounded closer. Frank's eyes worked overtime to scour the shadows for movement, but the village was infuriatingly still.

"Frank," Elai whispered, kicking a stick with her boot. He glanced at it quickly and recognised an expended wand. It was a crude single use affair, the echoes of the writing revealed it was used to create fire.

"Matches," he muttered, frowning.

"What?" Elai whsipered.

Frank shook his head.

Suddenly they heard the recall whistle, shrill and piercing. They made their way swiftly back to where the others were gathered. They were standing around the body of one of the Marauders, a long black arrow shaft had pierced his neck. The Marauders on the outer circle were guarding, bows raised to the ridges and tree lines.

"Crude." Arytan commented on the origin of the arrow, "Krytahs to be sure. Made bold by recent events."

His words were cut short by a flurry of activity from the shadows. Ten, then twenty – forty arrows landed at their feet and skittered across the stones. The valley erupted with laughter as dark little shapes moved out of the darkness. The Marauders opened fire. Frank loosed two arrows, finding his mark both times before realising that they were surrounded and outnumbered by insurmountable odds.

He lowered his bow and pulled his sword, its glittering edge dancing in the moonlight. His other hand found its way into Elai's as their backs closed together. Arytar whispered furious orders to them but Frank didn't hear. He was looking for a way to get out alive but the chances were grim.

"Make for the river," Arytar commanded, "Now!"

They moved as one, leaping over the stones and heads of the small leathery creatures in their way. Frank's blade found flesh just as easily as others nicked his own. The valley rang out with the noise of frantic battle as the Marauders fought off the advance of the Krytahs. Watery amber eyes and nasty little daggers winked in the dark, their scattered, broken language crunching the air. They were close to the water's edge when a flash of light shot into the night.

"Wagicka! Wagicka!" The Krytahs screamed while the Marauders looked around for the source of the light.

"Gods," Arytar muttered, "They've stolen the wands – they've got the Mana!"

Frank's eyes widened, his heart stopped just as a scream of energy tore through the air and landed amongst them, scattering the Marauders across the village. Frank heaved himself to his feet and shook the stars from his eyes to see a score of animal-like beings descending on him. Wildly his arms flailed to protect him but their sharp little daggers found their mark and he screamed as he felt burning metal scratch the length of his face and into his left eye.

Pain unlike anything he'd ever felt pounded in his face and a madness gripped his limbs. His legs pounded over the loose stone and through the hoards of Krytahs, his aimless, blind escape took him away from the shouting, and the sounds of battle. More explosions rung out in the night but Frank couldn't see. Desperately he scrambled over the ground, fear and pain fuelling his body. He fell and passed out several times, after each he was awake and running again until he finally fell into the punishing cold water of the Ean and everything faded.

Time seemed to slow around him as the poison in his eye spread into his blood and his mind ignited with visions of people and places.

In that one moment of brief feverish delirium he saw her face again, the girl from his dream. Her name was Sarah and she was here, he knew it. But the moment passed and he drifted into unconsciousness and the wilderness of unknowing darkness that precedes death.

2 comments:

Quoth the Raven said...

Well, that was tense. Probably the best installment to date, too, but that's potentially unfair to the others, since this seems to be the start of the story proper. Interesting that there's no record of Pere at the Academy, but it does seem to be an academy for magic and such, so perhaps he's a thief there undercover as part of a thieving exam. Or some such.

I think I like Frank's story best of them all at the moment, because his is the most active and interesting whilst being the least bleak, apart from, you know, the eye thing. It's something you may have to be careful of - with this sort of premise the feeling that these people are unwillingly trapped somewhere can make the whole thing unreadably depressing. So far so good, though.

Jom said...

The overall intention is to make it less about getting home and more about solving the problems the world presents and then, as a result, get home.

Part four and then Chapter Three will be about setting up stable lives for these people before drawing them wholly into the Plot. Largely speaking I want them to be happy!