Hey Guys!
Here is a little
WIP of my Fantasy novel I am writing. I know this is not specifically Warhammer, but I hope that people will still take a read through and let me know what you think.
I will be updating this with various additions daily (hopefully). When there is an update, the entire story is refreshed, so if you do have the time look back over earlier parts as they will have changed as well.
UPDATE 1/22/12 @8:42 AM EST Revisions, new formatting
Promised
Introduction
Months before.
The morning dawned bright but cold. The sparrows were only just beginning to sing, and the first few animals were making their way out of their holes as the feeble rays of the sunlight broke through the mist. In the tiny village of Moorshead, a few tiny wisps of smoke could be seen coming out of the chimneys of the small thatched cottages that lay in orderly patterns along the streets. In the nearby pastures, a few animals stirred, awaking from a long winter’s sleep. A light dusting of snow covered all in the village, and by looking at the clouds one could see that there was more on the way. A few ducks splattered around in the pond, trying to get one last meal before the water froze completely. A solitary raven flew over the town, calling to no one yet to everyone. The last signs of harvest season were quickly fading into the ever-present winter weather, with the cold and frost claiming most of the remnants. It seemed like nothing could ever go wrong in this little town.
In a small cottage not far from that town, Jaon stirred in his bed, and pulled the threadbare blanket over his head to block out the crisp, bright sunlight. Morning already? His grandfather had already been up for an hour, tending to the livestock and stoking the fire, as he did every morning. Now he was readying the cart to take to the local market, which was the small family’s only source of income. After hearing his name called a few times, Jaon stretched and slowly lowered himself to the cold dirt floor, before calling out, “Coming, Grandfather!" Jaon was nigh on sixteen years old, and was very quickly becoming a man. He was a very fit young man; accordingly, one had to be fit in order to work the long hours in the fields. After folding his sheet into a small bundle and placing it in the corner, he slowly made his way over to the washing tub. Once he had splashed some of the lukewarm water onto his face and dried off with an old rag, Jaon walked out into the only other room in the cottage to eat before heading to the weekly market. His actions mimicked those of many other village boys that day, working long days alongside family members to sustain a meager living. On the eastern border of the Imperial Territories, few could afford to live any more lavish than that. However, Jaon was different from all those children, who could still come home to their parents once the day was done. After the death of his brother, Jaon was the only supporter of his mother besides his grandfather. His mother often fell ill, and it was a rare day when she could go outside and enjoy the sunlight.
As he nibbled on the leftover food from previous meals, Jaon watched the sun rise as he always did. His routine was always the same, but he did not think about this much. So little happened that was out of the ordinary in that small village that it was hard to believe that there was ever a time where something happened which was not in perfect accord with everything else. There had been a time when this small town was important, but that time had long been forgotten. However, Jaon knew none of this, nor did he care to learn about it. His life was filled with such peaceful monotony that he had no concern for what was outside of his small world. The rest of the continent could burn up, for all he cared. The old man called his name once again, and Jaon jumped up from the table. He grabbed for a small crust of bread, and went through the door to the path outside, where the old man was waiting with the donkey and cart. Today was market day, which was their only source of monetary income. If we don't sell everything today...I don't know how we'll eat.
As he watched Jaon slowly move towards him, the old man felt his long-harbored disappointment flare up inside him once again. So many years I’ve waited. And this had to happen. He shoved his emotions back down, though, determined to keep an even temper. If his temper broke, then the old man would have no chance of fixing his mistakes. MY mistakes. Bloody devil, MY mistakes.
As soon as the boy was settled in the cart, the old man slapped the donkey on the side and they began the journey to the market. The dusty, well-traveled road twisted and turned before them, worn with the wheels of countless trips by cart. As he walked, the old man drifted off into his own world of thought. Memories were flooding back on this day, a day he had wished would never come. He had never expected it to come, either. At least not like this. This is almost too much to bear. The old man knew that soon he was going to break from the years of pent up emotion, but he suppressed it as long as he could. Maybe someone will take this from me. He knew, somehow, that the only way he could be released was through death. He was ready for death to come, but the boy was his responsibility, as was his mother. The boy. Why did he have to come to me? Why was my son...no...never mind. The shuddering of the wheels over cobblestones brought the old man back to the present. Out of habit, he checked for the dagger he kept concealed in his belt. Satisfied that it was easily accessible, the old man redirected his focus towards the road ahead. However, it was not long at all until he began to drift off again. How I miss you, Haelon. How I miss you.
The road wound on, and so did the old man’s thoughts.
Meanwhile.
In a place very far from that small village, a tall, hooded figure gazed outward from his balcony. He surveyed the territory around him, noting the houses and people. He saw the beggars outside the gates, and smirked at their futile attempts to solicit pity from the varied passersby. He saw the traders making their way through the maze of streets with the carts. The man was old; the people in the city said that he should have died many years ago. They viewed it as luck, but he knew it not to be true. Fools. If they only could guess. The people loved him; he was viewed as the protector of the grand nation, the savior of the masses. He was practically worshipped by the masses. Bah. They are all so shallow. The truth was, the people never dared to speak against him or else their lives were forfeit. The king knew that there was a fair amount of dissent brewing among the peasants, but he cared not. His grandest plan was nearing its end, and then there would be nothing in his way. His mind wandered back to that one night, so many years ago, when everything he had planned had finally faced its' toughest trial.
Horses flashed by the small houses, merely shadows in the torch light. Townspeople shuttered their windows and barred their doors, hiding from the soldiers. The soldiers gave no attention to these movements, however, as the pressed forward to fulfill their mission. A mission of utmost importance.
A child had been born.
The castle loomed as a dark structure in the night, ominous and instilling fear in all who caught sight of it. Horses bearing soldiers and messengers converged on the castle, bearing news. There was to be no sleep for those in the castle that night.
A child had been born.
The king himself was asleep in his private quarters, unaware of the men at his doorstep. A page burst into the room, and whispered into the sleeping king’s ear.
A child had been born.
The king’s sleeping eyes burst open in realization. He sat straight up, fully awake.
THE child had been born!
A smaller figure appeared behind the man, and hesitantly approached him. "Sir?" The man did not acknowledge the boy at first, as he was still engrossed in thought. "Sir? Your guests have arrived."
"Excellent. Tell them I'll be down right away." The man did not look at the boy, but remained fixed on his observations.
"Yes, Sir." The boy dashed off into the building again. The man slowly turned around and made his way inside. Tonight. Tonight it all begins. He smiled a crooked smile at the thought. No. Tonight it all ends. He checked the contents of a pouch that hung from his neck one last time before heading down the long, twisting staircase.
Chapter 1: Confrontation
Jaon lay on his pallet in the corner of the small kitchen, thinking. He was exhausted, but resisted the urge to fall asleep. If I can spend hours in a field with no rest, I should be able to stay awake for a little longer, he thought to himself. Jaon was tall for his age, and many in the village thought him to be older than the sixteen-odd years he really was. He didn’t mind all this, as it granted him access to some things that he would never have been able to do. His skin was blemished from countless hours in the sun and he had many scars from boyhood accidents. His brown hair was ragged and unkempt, as he rarely took the time to clean it properly. Now, he was waiting for his grandfather to come home from the village, hopefully with some news of the war, or a package from the village. Jaon had been supposed to go with his grandfather, but his mother had taken ill earlier and he had to take care of her.
It had been many seasons since his father had supposedly been ambushed on his way to the monthly market in the next town. Jaon had tired long ago of the condolences and pity directed towards him and his family. Many times he had slammed the door in a ‘friend’ of the family’s face because he was so fed up with people thinking he believed the lie. I'm not dumb. He had seen through it the moment the message came to their house. Even the messenger seemed to only be reading monotonous words from the crisp parchment paper; his demeanor had conveyed a completely different message. Fools. He and his grandfather had managed to make a livable income, maintaining their one room cottage and its three occupants. Jaon had always wished for some sort of adventure; yet he knew that his own life was more peaceful and safe than a life of gallivanting around looking for danger. Dad had it all, I guess. Stirred by his thoughts, Jaon pulled himself to his feet and went to the small window that looked out over the clearing. Nothing. He trudged back over to his pallet, feeling the exhaustion seeping deeper into his bones. Hope he won't mind if I fall asleep. It's not like anything will happen anyway. Jaon slowly nodded off into a light sleep that was pervaded with strange images. At some point in his light dreams he heard the beat of horse’s hooves nearby, then a sharp whinny and the sound of heavy feet tramping on the dirt path. As the sounds of a scuffle and muffled shouts became louder and louder, Jaon realized that this was not part of his dream. He leapt up from his bed, tiredness quickly forgotten, and rushed to the door. He whipped the heavy door open just as the old man stumbled clumsily in. His grandfather was well built from years of labor in the fields and work in the blacksmith’s shop. He rarely struggled to keep his feet going under him. However, now he collapsed on the floor weak, his back holding the creaking door closed, and he gasped for breath. In his strong arms he carried a cloth-wrapped bundle. Jaon asked, “What happened out there? Grandfather?” The old man did not respond immediately, so Jaon moved closer and repeated himself. He fanned air in front of the old man's face, trying to get a hint of reaction.
Finally, the old man answered, coughing out the words between wheezing breaths. "A creature just burst out of the trees and... tried to take...take the package. I fought him off but…” his voice trailed off and he slumped to the floor, his face twisted with obvious suffering. His jaw sagged and he coughed again, little flecks of blood appeared on his cracked lips.
Jaon saw something glittering behind the old man in the dim light, and he bent closer to examine it. Suddenly, he realized that there was a dagger stuck in the old man’s side. The pommel was a solid, glittering ruby, and the handle seemed to have been made of pure gold. Hand-cut flowing designs scrolled across the handle in some language that Jaon had never seen before. The wound in his grandfather's back was bubbling and every few seconds a new stream of blood would spurt forth from the deep incision. Poison? Some sort of…something. Jaon did not know the cause of the bubbling, but he was still determined to try and save the old man. Quickly, he ripped off a piece of his own blanket and tried to stop the bleeding by applying pressure but it seemed to have no effect on the gushing wound. The blood pooled warm and thick on the floor, spreading across the hard packed dirt like grease in a pan. The old man just kept getting colder and colder in Jaon’s arms. Struggling for breath, the old man opened his eyes one last time and managed to gasp out, “Open the package, Jaon. Open it….” Then he slumped farther to the floor, and his eyes dropped shut. There was one last heave of his chest, and a deathly silence filled the room.
Jaon felt the tears come rushing to his eyes, and he wept silently for a few moments. Despite his grief, Jaon sensed the urgency in the old man's parting words and tore away the frayed string and the loosely-wrapped cloth that were covering the package. He gasped as he removed the covering to reveal a length of smooth wood. Was this it? However, upon closer inspection, Jaon discovered that there were strange words etched into it. What could they mean? He was about to begin trying to decipher them when the door flew open again, the force of the blow dislodging the entire door from the wall. This time, a large, hulking shape strode into the room. Its face was angled like that of a cat, yet it retained some vague human features. It had mesmerizing gold eyes with black streaks criss-crossing the gold. He was dressed in black clothes and a billowing black cape, both rimmed with golden runes. His belt buckle had an engraved symbol like nothing Jaon had ever seen. His muddy boots were all black except for the golden toes, which were inscribed with more runes of some kind.
In a deep voice the creature said, “Give me that, boy.” Jaon could feel the scorn and contempt in the creature's voice. It took a step forward and repeated his previous statement, adding more weight to the boy. Jaon took a step back, naturally, then turned and ran. Heedless of the danger, he dashed into the cellar, desperately trying to avoid the monster. He heard a scream from above him, then the sound of heavy boots crashing down the rickety stairs. He turned away from them and began to search desperately for the only thing of value in the cellar, a note from his father. Something thudded into the creaky wood next to him, spurring Jaon to move faster. He had only a little time before he was discovered. Jaon began to search through the alcoves he had dug into the wall for the item, being careful to keep a balance of stealth and speed in his search. His hand bumped against the note for a second. He grabbed it and dashed for the stairs with the crinkled paper in one hand and the plank in the other. The creature spun to chase him, but Jaon was already halfway up the stairs. As he ran, he saw a crumpled figure in the kitchen. He looked the other way, stifling his emotions, and kept running. When he was almost to the door, another figure loomed over the threshold. The new threat appeared to be identical to the creature that was chasing Jaon, except it was wearing red and silver. The figure beckoned Jaon to come to him, and then drew a silver bow-like object from behind his back. Jaon threw himself to the ground, and the arrow whizzed above him and penetrated Jaon’s pursuer through the chest. Jaon then dodged past the figure in the doorway and sprinted into the night. He ignored calls to him by the red-clothed stranger and continued to run. Jaon wanted to get as far away from those two strangers as he possibly could. In the back of his mind he knew he should have gone back to the red-cloak but he did not second guess himself. That can only lead to problems. Despite the whiplash from the sharp branches and the thorns in his aching feet Jaon kept running, adrenaline pulsing through his veins. Soon after dawn he arrived in Moorshead, his clothes ragged and soaked with sweat. He was exhausted, but he still did not stop his burning legs from moving. Adrenaline had long stopped working in his veins, but where that failed, fear and shock filled the gap. He ran all the way to the Dancing Friar Inn in the middle of town without a single break. He took the front steps two at a time and burst through the heavy door. He hurried through the common room, drawing strange looks and murmurs from the early morning patrons he was disturbing. Jaon hurried into the kitchen and went right up to the innkeeper, Jules.
“My mother been murdered, Jules! This thing… just came up to my door and tried to take my life, then killed my mother and grandfather too! You gotta help me!” Jaon noticed the looks he was getting from the inn patrons, and quickly lowered his voice. "Listen, I'm telling the truth!"
The innkeeper looked at him straight in the eye, then said quietly, “Why don’t you go get some sleep, and then we’ll talk. And clean yourself up!” Jaon reluctantly agreed, and plodded off to find an empty place to sleep. He found some sacks of flour in the storeroom, and he dropped off to sleep after carefully stowing both the plank and letter underneath himself. He slept for many hours, and the sun was nearly straight overhead when he finally awoke and made his way back upstairs to the empty kitchen. After washing off, he made his way into the main part of the kitchen. It was quiet there, as the cooks had not yet begun to make meals for the people staying at the inn. The innkeeper noticed Jaon almost immediately, and after motioning him to follow made his way into the main room.
Once they were seated in a quiet corner of the common room, Jaon unwound his tale, starting with his father’s supposed death. He left out the part about the letter his father had given him, since that was rather personal. He also did not know whether to trust Jules or not. Despite their old friendship, Jules could still accidentally reveal the information. I don't even know how important it is myself! After Jaon had finished, he took a large swallow from his cup and looked at Jules, expecting a reaction. Jules, cleared his throat, and spoke in a lowered voice.
“Son, I suggest you leave this town as soon as possible. There’s no telling when those things might come back for you.” Jules looked around the room, as if to make sure they were still alone.
“But what are those things?” Jaon asked. His face was beginning to flush, and his eyes pleaded with Jules. Sweat beaded on his forehead as he imagined the evils that awaited him.
“Those are Ba’ha’ral, the ancient guardians of the sea. There are a few different types of them, some which you may never see in your lifetime. There are some who are weaker, and many of those are in the service of the king. They want nothing more than cheap power and prestige to show up their elders. The most powerful have never walked this earth, but rumors say that they are coming.” he looked around to see if anyone was watching them then continued. “These that you saw here are in the service of the king, but the one who tried to help you might be a rogue or a deceiver. No matter their allegiance they despise humans.”
“What would they want with a poor farmer like me? What have I got to offer?”
“I don’t think they want you, boy. It’s what you have that they want, and let me warn you that they never stop until they do get it. I don’t know what it is exactly, but there is something about you…” The innkeeper trailed off, then waved his hand as if to bat away the words. “No, never mind. The most important thing for you is to go to another town where you can stay safely." He put a hand on Jaon's shoulder. "I just want you to be safe. There's no telling what could happen if you stay." Jules stood up. "You'd better get going."
"Of...of course. Thanks." Jaon nodded awkwardly, and Jules smiled back at him before heading into the kitchen.
Jaon was tempted to go back to the storeroom and sleep, but he knew that he must be going. If what he said was true I can’t stay anywhere for long. So without hesitation, he got up from the table and departed. As he stepped onto the street, he was shocked to see that no one was outside. This time of day was normally very popular. There were no merchants selling their wares, children playing in the streets or even beggars begging . All he saw were a few scrawny rats nibbling on something unrecognizable in a pile of waste and a mangy dog scratching itself on the other side of the dusty road. The few buildings on either side of the street all seemed deserted, with not even the softest sound coming from their open windows. The dog whined, and Jaon turned to look at it again. When he looked closer at the dog, he noticed that the dog had no shadow despite being fully in the sun. That’s strange. Then the dog turned toward him and fixed him with its staring green eyes. Its tongue hanging out, the dog walked straight towards him. Jaon tried to turn around to flee into the inn, but he found that some sort of invisible bonds were holding him in place. He struggled briefly, but his legs were firmly stuck in their place. It was just him and the advancing dog. In desperation he pulled the letter from inside his tunic. He tore at the seal and pulled out the contents of the envelope. He had opened it before, but had never been able to read what it said; even when he was able to read, he decided that there was really no reason for him to do so as his life was perfectly fine. The letter was in a neat script and it read, Son, if you read this, you must have received word of my death. If you think as I think you will, you will see through that lie. I am still alive, know this full well. Keep your mother well while I am gone. Jaon looked up and saw that the dog had stopped and was looking at him quizzically. He quickly looked back at the letter, searching for any great secret. When you are in the greatest need, look to the stones for your help. I will come back home for you, son. I will. That was all he wrote. Jaon came back to the real world with a start, and immediately he saw the dog was advancing on him again. Jaon looked down at the ground, and saw nothing but dirt. No stones. Of course. As he cast his eyes along the narrow street, he felt something hard in the bottom of the envelope in his hand. Ripping apart the rest of the parchment, Jaon pulled out a smooth stone with a strange insignia etched onto its surface. The stone was about a quarter of the size of his palm, and it had no visible dents or scratches. As he held the stone, it grew hot in his hand. He instinctively began to drop it, but the heat disappeared almost as quickly as it had come. Then the stone slowly began to levitate, until it hovered a few inches above Jaon’s hand. The dog was still coming, and Jaon could see it was running now. In desperation he moved his hand like he was going to throw the stone at the dog. To his shock and surprise, a beam of light shot forth from the stone and struck the dog squarely in the forehead. The dog-illusion flickered and disappeared, leaving the hooded shape of a Ba’ha’ral in plain sight. The Ba’ha’ral stumbled as if he had been struck by a boulder, and then toppled to the ground. Jaon glanced from the collapsed figure to the stone in his hand and back again a few more times. He started to go back up the stairs into the inn when two more Black-cloaked Ba’ha’ral appeared out of the alleyways. Jaon wished then that he was like those magicians in the stories who could just lift up their magic wands and their enemies would be destroyed. Even as he thought that, two beams of violet colored light shot out from the stone in his hand directly toward the advancing monsters. The two staggered under an invisible weight, then fell back into the alley. Jaon felt a sudden drop in his strength, but it was forgotten in his amazement at what he had just seen. Again he turned to go into the inn, but before he could open the door it was slammed open in his face, causing him to drop the stone in surprise. On the other side of the door was the white-faced innkeeper who was staring at him with a wide open mouth, the plank in one hand and a kitchen knife in the other.
“How did you do that?” he asked incredulously. “How?”
“I have no idea! I just thought it and it happened! Are you going to kill me or something? I’m innocent! I never asked for this!” Jaon babbled. "I swear, it just happened!"
“Calm down, Jaon! Control yourself! Now let’s go inside. We need to have a long talk about this…,” said the innkeeper, putting one of his hands on Jaon’s shoulder and using the other to pick up the stone. “…this power of yours. Oh, and this time give me the full story. Don’t leave anything out. Anything.” He stressed the final word, imparting the significance of it through his tone.
The innkeeper turned abruptly and walked through the door. Jaon took a final look around at the street, noticing how the bodies had conveniently vanished. With a shudder, Jaon crossed the threshold into the shade of the inn.
Once inside, Jaon and the Jules sat down at the same table in the corner they had used that morning. Jules had the servants bring a divider to place between their table and the rest of the common room so they couldn’t be seen or heard. He also told the servers to make people sit a good distance away from them. There were some servants of the King that had been trained to read people’s lips so even the most secretive conversation could be deciphered, and others had been gifted magically enhanced hearing so they could better ‘serve’ their ruler. With recent events in the surrounding lands, no one could be completely above the suspicion of being loyal to Fredar the King. Only when everything was sufficiently noisy in the common room with the lunch crowd did Jules begin.
“Jaon, do you know why the creatures of Him have such an interest in you? Because you are one special child." Jaon's eyes widened. "Now this isn’t like the stories, no. Not at all! You aren’t going to become the king or anything, no sir. The gift given to you is more difficult than that. But you still are one special child." Jules paused again, and took a drink. "Very few humans are successfully able to wield this power. Those who are able to wield the power seldom live long enough to meet someone else who is like them. You see, the magic gradually wears away at your energy, strength and mind. Eventually you are left as a shell of yourself, deteriorating into oblivion."
At this, Jaon gasped. "So I'm going to...die? I didn't even decide to have this power!" Tears became apparent in the corners of his eyes, the result of his pent up emotion.
The emblem of the human magic wielders is on this stone. This emblem identifies a true wielder of the power, as it is etched onto the finger nail of your left pointer finger.”
Jaon glanced down at his hand. Sure enough, the symbol was there as described. Suddenly panicking, he stared at Jules. “Please don’t tell anyone. Please! I’ll be murdered in the streets!”
“It’s not that bad, really! You could choose to keep this power secret, throw away the stone, and live out the rest of your life normally. Many have done that, and there are no adverse affects to that decision. Of course, you could also go to the capital, to the king’s magicians, and see what they have to say about your ‘power’. The worst they could do to you is have you sentenced to living the rest of your life swinging in a hammock over a gorge while you ‘think about all the wrong you’ve done’ when you have done more good than anything. You could also pledge yourself to Him, and do his bidding, be hated by civilization, hunted down and then killed by an angry mob. So those are your normal options.”
“Normal? I’m not normal, so why should I do anything normal? There’s something you’re not telling me, so spit it out!” Jaon stared into Jules’ eyes. “I need to know, Jules. This is my life we are talking about.” Looking down, he reaffixed his gaze on Jules. “And my father’s."
“Okay, you got me there. You could go to the place where the Ba’ha’ral make their homes. Now I’m not saying that would be easy. No sir, it would be very difficult, very difficult indeed. You would need to travel over barren desert lands and through forests in which unthinkable dangers lurk. Then you would have to scale the cliffs to the walls of their fortress, and plead your case to them and hope they decide to take you in. There you would receive proper training in the use of your power. If you are lucky, they might even swear you in as one of their own.” Here Jules paused to take a long drink from his mug. “This has never happened in recorded history, though. The Ba’ha’ral are a very secretive, selective group.”
Jaon used this occasion to slip another question in. “Now where did you learn all this from, o knower of all?” he added sarcastically.
Jules suddenly became serious. "I would tell you if I could. Let's just say that I have experience."
With that he stood up, and retreated to the kitchen. Jaon attempted to follow him, but he decided against it. Instead, he went back to the storeroom to think about all that Jules has said. He lay there many hours, tossing ideas around in his head.
By the time he finished, he knew there was only one way out. And that was to find the Ba’ha’ral.
Chapter 2: Final Farewells
The next morning, Jaon set off for his old home shortly after dawn. The morning was quite cold, but it did not concern him as it was still a few weeks until the first hard frost was coming. I'll be long gone by then. He had brought a small leather bag with him, which held the plank and his father’s note. He carried the stone in his pocket, where he could easily grab for it. In his left hand he carried a small hunting knife, though he knew it would be of little use against the enemies he was facing. He was wary as he went through the forest, always on the watch for strange creatures or anything that might harm him. The walk was calming for Jaon, as he knew the forest trail like the back of his hand. The animals, the scenery; all were familiar sights that eased him in his worries.
Jaon was nearly a mile from his house when he noticed a shadow behind a mossy rock. He did not acknowledge the shadow, as he thought that may have put him in more danger than that which he already was in. Before he could formulate a plan, however, he was hailed by the same deep voice that the cat-faced man had spoken with. He turned around to face his opponent.
“What do you want with me, dark one?” he said boldly to the Ba’ha’ral. He was answered by the Ba’ha’ral, who rather smoothly said, “My master wants you…dead.” With that the monster drew a foreign weapon from somewhere inside its voluminous cloak. The weapon seemed to be crafted out of a dark wood, which formed a long crook shape. In the center of the crook was a metal tube, from which a metal cone projected. A long vine-like shape extended from the 'handle' of the gun into the hidden folds of the creature's cloak. Jaon knew there was nowhere for him to run, and if he reached for the stone in his pocket the Ba’ha’ral would surely shoot him dead where he stood. He decided to risk it, but his hand had barely begun to move when the creature took aim. Jaon tried to leap out of the path of the projectile but he was too slow. But just before the fatal impact, something flew through the air and deflected the weapon. Jaon and the Ba'Ha'Ral both turned to face the new threat. Out of the woods stepped the red and silver cloaked Ba'Ha'Ral who had saved Jaon's life the night before. He took two quick steps and drew his sword. The sword was long and curved, and the silver blade shone like a bright light. Before the black-clothed monster could mount any defense, he was cut down by his new adversary. The red and silver figure did not stop, though, and continued into the forest where he seemed to disappear.
Jaon stared after him for a long time, wondering who he was and where he had come from. Why help me, and then run away? Nevertheless, Jaon was grateful for the assistance. He walked over to the dead creature on the ground, examining more closely in the light. He saw strange runes on its' hood, which looked strangely familiar. Then he remembered: they were from an old drawing his father had made with charcoal and parchment. The drawing had sat next to Jaon's bed for many years, and he remembered staring at it as a child. He set off at a run for his old house, hoping it would still be there. The forest flashed by as Jaon dashed down the well trodden path. As he neared the clearing, though, he began to smell something burning. He quickened his pace, hoping that the smell was not what he feared it to be. He saw large billows of smoke coming up from the clearing, and as he crashed through the last bush he saw what he had been dreading. His house had been torched, and there was little left but blackened wood and scorched stones. The small wooden fence for the horse was reduced to a few chunks of wood, and their garden had been churned by what seemed like countless boots. Even the trees surrounding the clearing seemed to have been burnt, leaving a miniature forest of blackened trunks and stumps. Jaon was horrified at the sight, but he pressed onward. He made his way into the embers, being careful not to step on anything that was still glowing. He was desperate to find something, anything that could be useful to him. After going over much of the house, he found nothing of value to him that could be salvaged. Whoever did this did it well. Even the cellar had been put to the torch, or at least that much that was not filled with rubble and debris. During one last final scan, though, he saw something sticking up from the edge of the pile of ashes that was once his room. He dashed over and discovered the remains of the picture, with the part of the rough wooden frame still intact. He also noticed some more writing in the corner. He recognized a few words, but could not read them all since he had never really bothered learning to read outside of the basic necessities. He tore the scraps of picture out of the frame and placed it in his pack. I’ll have to make one more stop in the village, and then I’ll be on my way, he thought. And then no one will be able to hold me back.
As Jaon made his way into the village, he received a few strange looks from other villagers, which he ignored. I’ll be gone soon, anyway, he thought. His last stop was at Vic’s shop for a quick translation of the picture's writing. Vic was a skilled blacksmith who had long since passed the larger portion of his work onto his son. He still would assist if there was a special request that required his steady hand and masterful talents. Age was taking its toll on him, though, and he was becoming less and less active. He had been a longtime friend of Jaon and his family, always offering helpful advice to the boy. Jaon had learned from his father that Vic was an expert in many different languages, and now he intended to make use of that talent. Not many in the surrounding area were able to read any language, let alone two or three which made Vic especially valuable. As he passed over the well-worn threshold, Jaon realized that this was going to be the last time he ever passed through that familiar wood door into the warmth of the forge inside. He went in, and approached Vic, who was just finishing with a transaction. As he placed the coins into his money pouch, Vic looked up and noticed Jaon standing across the counter. His face became very serious, and he motioned Jaon to follow him into the small room located off the forge’s main area.
Once they were in the relative quiet of his room, Vic began to speak. His voice was low and rumbled in his throat. “I have heard your story, no need to explain. And I know just how to help you, young man. Not so long ago, I was in a situation not unlike yours. Of course, I didn’t possess a power quite like yours, but still. I didn’t have anyone to ask for advice, though, and I decided to just run from everything. I wasted many years of my life running away, when I could have been doing something worthwhile. And now here I am, an old man, my legs crippled from constant running, and little life left ahead of me. Every night since then I have lain awake, thinking that my life is meaningless and I’ve done nothing with my secrets, except run from it. But you have a chance to live your life and use this power for the good of the world. Even in my weakened state, though, I still might be able to help you. What can I do for you?”
Jaon opened his satchel and brought out the rough parchment that contained the drawing and the writings. He handed it to Vic, who brought the paper close to his face and squinted to read the small print. "I need you to translate this for me, Vic. My father left it for me and I think it might be a clue." Vic nodded silently, and pulled out a quill and some ink from a box. Jaon sat down on a stool and closed his eyes, listening to the soft scratching of the quill. About twenty minutes later, Vic finally spoke.
"There. Finished." He placed the quill and ink to the side, and arranged the drawing in front of him. "To Jaon, my son. Love from your Father. And it also says: When I am gone, do not worry. Hold strong." Vic rolled up the paper and handed it back to Jaon. "That's all it says, son."
Jaon took the finished piece, and placed it back in his pack. "Thank you. I guess...I'll be going now." He began to stand, but Vic cut him off.
"Not yet, Jaon. I have something for you."
Vic opened another door that led into the main forge, where his son was working hard on another pair of horse shoes. The clanging of the irons was harsh to Jaon's ears, but Vic did not even seem to notice. Hobbling along, Vic made his way towards the long wall of the forge. On the wall, there was a rack of weapons and armor, most blackened from soot and age. Some were broken; obviously scrap metal, while others were in decent enough condition that they could be resold. Vic took a mail helm and a small dagger down from the wall and handed them to Jaon.
“These should help you. They were made by my great-grandfather for me during the Great War for the Eastern Territories. I have no further use for these, nor any want to own them anymore.” He spoke with a sigh, and his voice was heavy. Jaon took the helm and placed it on his head. It fit very well, and after he tightened the chin strap it was nearly perfect. The dagger looked simple enough, but with closer examination Jaon noticed the beautiful script work on the pommel. This must have cost a fortune!
“This is wonderful. How can I ever repay you?” Jaon was amazed at the two gifts. He knew the blacksmith did not make much of a living, and these items could fetch a good price. Jaon fumbled with his sack, trying to reach the few coins he had at the bottom. A hand stopped him though.
“No payment is necessary. I only ask that you use them well.” Vic turned away from the wall of shining arms and armor and made his way towards the door. He stopped, and extended his hand to Jaon. “Now you must go, I cannot harbor you here any longer. It is growing late, and you must be well on your way by the fall of night.” He then opened the heavy oak door, and ushered Jaon out without a word. He closed the door soundly, and Jaon could hear the thud of the iron bolt as it clicked into place.
Once back on the dusty road, Jaon began to wonder why Vic had made him leave so quickly, and why he had bolted the door shut during his business hours. He decided to circle back and check in on the old blacksmith. Maybe there was something wrong. I just can’t leave him after all the kindness he showed me. Instead of going right back down the main path, however, he decided to go to the small grassy hill that overlooked the blacksmith’s clearing. This way, he could observe without the risk of being discovered by anyone with malicious intent. When he reached the crest, he adjusted the helm on his head so he could see more clearly. The helm was surprisingly light for being so large and thick, and this made Jaon even more grateful. A heavy helm weighing him down was the last thing he needed if he was to be traveling so many miles. Then he looked down at the old man’s property, and gasped in shock. Already dark shapes on horseback were riding down the main path towards the blacksmith’s shop. He heard shouts, and the sounds of doors being bolted and swords being drawn. A loud banging signaled that the forge door was now under attack. It won’t be long now. He turned away from the inevitable, and began making his way down the grassy hillside. The sounds of battle followed him for a long ways down the path. The darkness seemed to sink into him as it gathered all around. He withdrew into his own thoughts, and barely kept one foot in front of the other despite the obvious need for haste. There was so much he had experienced in these few hours, and he needed time to digest it all. How can I do this? Leaving everything to go…somewhere I’ve never heard of? He tried to keep the blacksmith in the back of his head and not think of his inevitable fate, but memories began to spring up again and again. He knew not what they were, or where they came from.
The women all crowded around the midwife as she wrapped the baby. The midwife handed the swaddled child to the exhausted yet beaming mother. “It’s a boy! You did very well, and he would be proud of you.” The mother ignored the words beyond this as she stared into her new child’s eyes and tried to quiet him. The small child reached up towards his mother’s face, grasping the air with his tiny hand. The door crashed open, and the father came into the room. “My son! My first son!”
FATHER!
The young boy came running into his house, tears streaming down his face. His elbows were split and bleeding from a fall in the forest. His mother bandaged them, and when she was done the father let his son sit on his lap. He comforted him, saying “Son, it’s all right to cry. Emotions are part of us, as long as we don’t let them control us.” His son, tears drying, looked up into the eyes of his father. “I love you…”
FATHER!
A man, well dressed for the peasant town he was in, came to the door of the small home. With a single knock the door opened, and the man readied himself for the news he was about to deliver.
“Ma’am, I am sorry to inform you that your husband has been lost during the war. He was caught in an ambush and died fighting to protect our county. Please accept our utmost sympathy.”
As he backed away, he could see the small child holding his mother’s leg as she cried. The child stared at him, emotionless. His eyes were hard, and they pierced the man’s gaze until he was forced to turn away.
FATHER!
Jaon came out of this living dream heaving for breath. He put his head down, and continued to walk, pushing away any other thoughts that threatened to hijack his mind.
Chapter 3: A Plan Altered
Jaon spent the long, cold night underneath a large pine on the side of the dirt path. He awoke and immediately felt the stiffness in his back where a root had dug into his back. He tried to massage it out, but the general stiffness and pain remained. Stretching, he looked out over the land from his hidden vantage point. During the night, the surrounding area had become a frozen wasteland. Snow was everywhere, at least a half of a foot deep in many places with a thin layer of ice spreading across the top. Tracks of some large animals were the only things that marred the otherwise clean, glossy surface. As Jaon stood up, he recoiled as snow dumped on him from the branches above. So…cold. He had not planned on such early harsh weather when he had packed his few provisions. He wore old leather boots that had once belonged to his brother. The leather had a few small holes and it was well broken in, but they would be able to hold up for a little while in the snow until Jaon could acquire new ones. Somehow. However, he wore only a loose fitting woven shirt that he had grown out of many months before and his trousers were full of holes. It’s nearly 5 miles to the next town. How am I going to make it? He thought of the stone, and how it had created warmth when he had first used. He quickly dismissed the thought, however, because he did not want to risk using the power unless his life was severely endangered. The risks Jules had told him about had made him very wary of the power, if not outright fearful. Despite the adverse conditions, Jaon decided that the best path was to set out for the next town, Cos on the Lake, where he knew there were friends of his grandfather. If he was able to find them then maybe he could get better clothes and such, as well as a temporary place to stay. With that thought in mind, Jaon set off towards the east. It can't be that far. The path stretched out in front of him, or at least he thought it did. The snow had covered so much of the land that no reckoning points could really be clearly seen.
Jaon had only managed to venture a few hundred yards before the cold began to take its toll on his body. His torso was racked with shivers, and his teeth chattered uncontrollably. His feet were nigh on senseless and his fingers lacked the ability to bend beyond his first knuckle. His boots felt like leaden clubs instead of appendages used for walking. The ice, despite being very thin, cut into his trousers and left painful gashes along his calves. In a few more minutes, his eyelids were frozen in a half-open state, and his nose was running almost constantly. Jaon’s mind began to shut down bit by bit as he mindlessly continued down the path that he saw in front of him. Soon his vision began to flicker, and he unknowingly began to list sideways towards a line of trees. He tried to correct himself, but his body would not allow him to. Shelter...must find. He tripped over a hidden rock and collapsed into a deep bank of snow, and lay there gasping for breath against the restrictive blanket of snow. The icy wind whistled as it thundered past, throwing snow into the air. A nearby tree dumped its load of fresh snow right on top of the figure that lay helpless underneath. But Jaon was unaware of this, as his head was still plunged deep inside the snow bank, zoning out all sounds or feelings.
Cold. Jaon only knew cold. No words could describe the pain of the ice and snow against his skin. They froze, burned, and then froze again. His mind reeled with the sheer weight of the pain on his senses, but he had no control of his limbs to move away from the snow bank which was trapping him. His helm kept the back of his head from the wind, but it proved more of a hindrance than any protection. He had been here for nearly an hour, clinging to the little bit of heat that his body still possessed. His arms had gotten trapped under his falling body, so they escaped much of the severe. Not so his legs, however. They flailed a few times more, feeble attempts to free himself from the ever-deepening snow. His mind was fully shutting down, despite his resistance. He flopped once more, and then his body sagged with the absence of consciousness.
Jaon awakened in a well lit room. The sunlight streamed through the open windows, and candles were lit all around the room. He began to move his head, but he found he could not. Something was in the way, and was pressing against his cheekbones. His eyes flicked up and down, taking in the scene around him. A man, clothed in an apron and very clean clothes was tying a rope around the upper part of his left leg. What...what is...wrong? Next to him, on a large bench, were a collection of sharp tools. What are those…for? Wondered Jaon to himself. He tried to move his arms, but they were strapped to something he could not see. Out of the corner of his eye he noticed that a fire was going with a large bucket positioned over it. The bucket had a long metal rod stuck in it, which shifted around at random instances. Jaon mumbled something incoherent, trying to attract the attention of the man in the apron. When that failed, he tried to kick his legs. His right leg was tied down, but his left leg succeeded in moving a few inches from the table and it dropped down with a loud thud. Luckily, the man looked up. He cursed, and then addressed Jaon.
“We were hoping you wouldn’t wake up yet. Of course. But I guess we’ll do it the hard way, then.” He turned away from Jaon, and went back to the rope. As he worked, the surgeon called out a name, and shortly afterwards a younger man entered the room. He looked no older than Jaon, and he was dressed in the same sort of apron that the older man was in. The older man addressed him. "Boy, put something in his mouth so he doesn't hurt himself." The assistant took a leather strip from somewhere in his apron and shoved it between Jaon’s teeth. NO! That was Jaon’s only thought as the sudden realization came to him. He struggled against his bonds, but they were tied tightly. The older man noticed his struggle and put an arm on Jaon’s shoulder.
“Son, I know this is hard for you. You need to relax, though. You are very lucky to even be alive now. If you struggle, we risk losing you again and I don’t think that either of us wants that to happen.” He spun around, and went to the bench.
His assistant splashed some water on Jaon’s left leg, and scrubbed it with a rough rag. The older man took a rough, wood handled saw from the table. He took another rag and ran it down the serrated blade. Jaon’s eyes rolled back into his head. No. This can’t be happening. He tried to reach out to the magical flow, but without the stone he had no access to the power. He realized that he had to face this alone. Numbness had come over his whole body as he waited for the inevitable pain. He tried not to look at the horrible sight, but his eyes were drawn downward by some uncontrollable force. The ridged blade skimmed across his skin, and the pain began. Jaon threw his gaze upward, and he uttered a throaty scream through the leather. He felt his skin crawl as the man continued the sawing motion, growing faster as he went deeper. Deeper. No. He heard the man curse again and yell at his assistant. “He’s bleeding too quickly! Get some more rope! Damn.” He continued to cut, and Jaon saw a flash of white as the younger man dashed over and tied off more of his leg. A throbbing began in his leg, and Jaon knew that the surgeon had hit bone. The minutes crawled by as the pain grew and grew, he wanted to scream louder, but his voice would not allow him to. The vibrations ceased momentarily, but the surgeon merely had switched instruments. He wanted to black out, and end his suffering, but something did not allow him to pass into the void. Something was there, in the back of his mind, a presence he could not shake. Don’t let go, Jaon. Don’t let go. The voice faded as quickly as it had come, but a presence was still there, sustaining Jaon's life force with a massive surge of power. Jaon would have wondered, but there was no time for that. As the bone finally snapped, he screamed for the last time. Then his mind began to shut off his senses as the pain grew more and more intense. His vision blurred, and finally grew so dark he could only see the smallest flashes of color His hearing flickered in and out, and he could only catch a few stray curses from the surgeon. Don’t…let…me…go. He heard a loud clang of metal, and then a searing burning passed through his body. It felt like he had inhaled fire, and it was burning inside of him. He could not even register the curses of relief from the surgeon as the wave of pain crashed over his consciousness. Fire consumed his being and all of his thoughts, and he began to slip away from the world. Don’t…let…me...go. The void of blackness loomed before him, and he teetered back and forth on the edge. He felt as if he was on the tip of a massive mountain, and below him laid an expansive forest of shadowy trees. Then his mind went blank. Painfully blank.
The sun was long gone by the time Jaon came to once again. He felt as if he were lifting a heavy and painful blanket as he struggled upward in bed. He was in a small room, barely large enough for the bed. His sheet was a woven grey blanket, which kept him surprisingly warm against the cold of the stone walls. His head pounded, but not with a typical headache or lack of fluids. He stretched his arms above his head. As he did, he immediately felt something different about his hand. Something is missing. He lifted his gaze up towards his hands, and what he saw repulsed him. His little finger on his right hand was a bandaged stump, reduced to no more than the size of his fingernail. He continued to stare at it, wondering how on earth that had happened to him. His memory of the past few days was almost non-existent, which left him confused and suspicious. Answers. I need answers. He pulled back the sheets, and began to swing his legs over the side. However, he immediately felt that something was wrong, and even as he looked down the memories of the past few days flooded back. He tilted his head back and howled, an inhumane sound. The door to his room immediately flew open, and a young woman dashed in. She came around to Jaon and wrapped another blanket around him. She held him as he cried, trying to help him realize that all was not lost. ”Honey, it’s alright. You’ll be fine; the doctor says you did very well.” Jaon ignored her words though, and his mind raced. How? Why did I end up like this? His eyes remain fixated on the bandaged stump and the bloodstains that remained around it. He traced the outline of the bandage with his finger, the shock rendering him almost mindless. He cried for a long time and even as the tears ran down a deep depression seemed to set in. It seemed like hours until the woman left, but still Jaon sat at the edge of his bed. His tears had long since stopped, but the overall depression continued to pervade his consciousness.
A few hours passed until there was another knock on the door. A man entered, and pulled a small chair in after him. The man was not very tall, and his black hair was tinged with small flecks of grey. His clothes were simple, but seemed to be clean and neat. He exuded an air of familiarity and professionalism. Jaon stared at him from his bed, his eyes vacant and searching. The man returned the watching gaze for a few minutes before clearing his throat and beginning to speak. "You probably are wondering why you're here. It's been about three days since we found you in a snow bank, unconscious. A few among us wanted to leave you for dead, but the doctor and myself decided that you were worth saving. We carted you back here and operated about a day after we found you."
Jaon tried to gasp out a few words, but his throat was still too sore for him to make any sort of coherent speech. A rasping noise came out, which alarmed the man. He stood up, ready to assist, but Jaon motioned calmly for the man to sit down and continue.
"Well. Why did we save you? I really can't say." The man paused, and closed his eyes for a moment. Re-opening them, he continued. "It was almost like something pressed the thought into my mind and caused me to save you. But never mind all that. The doctor almost immediately diagnosed that your left leg was ruined by the frostbite, as well as your finger. Surgery was the only way to save you from infection. You also have some pretty nasty cuts on the back of your neck, and your arms had a few cuts and were pretty well on the way to frostbite. That will heal with time, but just be careful so they can continue to recover unhindered. But the best thing about this all is that you are alive." The man stopped, pausing to let this all sink in.
Jaon continued to stare at the man, but there was some life to his gaze now. He was not fully healed, but his mind was beginning to come back to life. Inside, Jaon realized how lucky he was to be alive at all. It would take a long time to bring back what he had lost, but he was on the path to recovery. He cleared his throat, and rasped out a few words. "Where...where am I?" He marveled at the sound of his voice, and unintentionally smiled.
The man smiled back at Jaon. "I figured that you were going to ask that. You are in the town of Astefon, about twenty miles northwest of the Great Lake. We aren't very big, but we've got everything you need to live. I don't know how far that is from where you live, however."
"Neither do I." Jaon shifted around in the bed before continuing. "So...how will I walk? I mean, without..." he trailed off, but his meaning was very clear.
The man jumped in."Just what I was about to talk to about. You see, we have had others like you here before, so we have an idea of what you need. Our village carpenter whipped up this for you, built to roughly your height." The man lifted a long, wooden pole up from the ground where it had lain. The pole was a solid piece of wood, including the v-shaped split at the top. "This is a crutch to serve as your new leg. The bottom is fire-hardened so that it can withstand countless impacts, unlike normal human flesh. Hopefully you'll find it useful." He took Jaon's hand and pulled him upright, placing the crutch under his left arm. Jaon hesitantly took a few steps, and then stumbled. The man caught him, though, and put him back on his feet. "Keep going. I think that what will make the most difference is practice. So get yourself gone." He opened the door, and motioned Jaon through.
Jaon hobbled out the door. He turned around, and laughed for the first time. "Thanks." He hobbled off down the corridor. The strain was obvious, but so was his new found joy. The man smiled, and walked the other way.
Once Jaon was outside, he began to realize what a long road lay ahead of him, both figuratively and literally. The wooden planks of the surgeon's home had been one thing to navigate, but the dirt and stone roads were quite another. By the time he had gone about 100 meters, he had fallen at least a half-dozen times. He received looks from those who were passing by, but he ignored them in his determination. He worked on his rhythm, trying to get the crutch to feel like it was part of him. Nothing could ever replace my leg. It was hard work, especially in his weakened state. He wondered about how he was to continue his journey if he could barely make a mile in a few hours. Maybe...maybe I should settle here. He dismissed the thought quickly, and re-focused himself on the journey ahead. He continued the cycle of walking and falling for at least another hour, at which point he was sufficiently exhausted. He barely was able to make it back to the surgeon's home before he collapsed into a chair. His clothes were muddy and torn, and he had quite a few new bruises. He looked generally like a street ruffian who had gotten into a rough fight.
This was the first impression that Coralie had of Jaon. Coralie was younger than Jaon by at least two years, but she was nearly as tall as him. Her long dirty blonde hair flowed down to her waist, where it was neatly tied off. Her brown eyes were dull, but they sparkled when she smiled. She was known around the town as the brightest girl, able to match grown men in debates of issues. She was also very athletic, constantly showing up the village boys in contests of speed. She was the daughter of the surgeon who had operated on Jaon, and she herself wanted to follow in her father's footsteps. She was used to proper things and a general sense of cleanliness, so when she saw what looked like a one-legged street urchin at her table, she took one of the logs she was carrying and brandished it at Jaon.
Jaon knew none of this and was oblivious to his looks, though, and when he saw the log being used as a weapon against him he automatically reached for his crutch to fend off the blow. His assailant screamed at him as she tried to beat him with the piece of wood. "Get...out...of...my...house! You dirty...no good...useless...cripple!"
The last word really struck Jaon hard. He dropped his guard, melting in the face of the heartless insult. A blow to his chest went unheeded as he let it sink in. Cripple. That's all I am now. The girl hit him again, and that spurred him to action. He grabbed the log when she swung it at him again, and pulled himself up by it. He pulled himself up to his full height and stared down at her. "I don't give a damn about whatever else you say, but never call me a cripple." He knocked the log out of her hand, and hobbled down the corridor with the crutch under his arm. The girl remained standing at the entrance, firewood scattered around her.
Jaon almost ran into the surgeon as he made his way quickly down the corridor. The surgeon stepped to the side barely in time, and grabbed Jaon's shoulder. "What is going on out here? What happened?"
Jaon turned to him, almost embarrassed. "I'm sorry sir. I acted...reacted...a bit harshly." He let his gaze drift down towards the floor, his sorrow painfully apparent.
Unexpectedly, a voice came from down the hall. "It's my fault, Father. I attacked him without asking who he was." Coralie looked mournfully at Jaon, her eyes conveying an unsaid plea for forgiveness. Jaon looked back, and he nodded at her, his thanks obvious as well as his forgiveness.
"It's fine. As long as no one is hurt, I won't paste blame on anyone." The surgeon looked down the hall to his daughter, who was just beginning to pick up the wood. "Bring that in, dear, and that's all." He opened a door, but before he went through he turned to Coralie. "Maybe this evening you can take Jaon around town, show him around. Hmmm?" Coralie nodded, as did Jaon. The surgeon smiled, and then disappeared into what looked like his study. Jaon continued down the corridor until he reached his room. He opened the door, but before he went through he took one last look behind him. Coralie was just entering the room that her father had disappeared into. Jaon had never been a romantic type, but he knew a woman of beauty when he saw one. Too bad I have no chance. He went through the door, his head down.
When Jaon had been younger, he had always fawned over the girls of the town. He thought that each one was as beautiful as the princesses in the stories he had been told. However, as he grew older, he learned that with the meager living he made he could never support both himself and a wife. Besides, what would mother and grandfather do without me? That had always been his thought. Whenever he was tempted to go off and marry a particularly pretty girl, he always reminded himself of his duty. His duty was now gone, and though Jaon hated that thought he knew he had to move on. I could just settle down...no one will find me here! It was this thought that he dwelled upon until he was summoned by the surgeon's wife to go to supper.
The table was full by the time Jaon had cleaned up and slowly made his way out. The surgeon and his wife were seated at opposite ends of the wooden table, and Corelie sat along one of the remaining unoccupied sides. She smiled at Jaon as he hobbled in, but he looked quickly away. The meal was not extravagant, but Jaon was very happy to have anything proper to eat. He had not eaten a real meal in about two days; his exercise in the morning combined with the drain of his surgery had left him in desperate need of nourishment. As he devoured the meal vigorously, he suddenly felt ashamed of his gluttony. He slowed down, and concentrated on eating as politely and cleanly as he could.
The surgeon's wife noticed this almost immediately. "Don't worry, dear. We know it’s been a while since you last ate." She smiled encouragingly at Jaon. He nodded back gratefully and continued to eat. The meal passed otherwise without incident. Jaon did not participate in the conversation much, partially because he was busy finishing his meal and also because he did not know the people or places to which the surgeon was referring. He noticed that Corelie was similarly silent, and she almost seemed pre-occupied with something else. He dismissed the thought quickly. It's none of my business.
After dinner, the surgeon invited Jaon to come into his study. He sat down in a roughly upholstered chair, and motioned Jaon to do the same. Jaon took in his surroundings with a careful eye. The walls were loosely decorated with medical implements and a few pieces of parchment that looked like scribbled notes. A small fire was going in the fireplace at one end of the room, keeping the room warmed to a nice temperature. A long wood table ran down the wall opposite their chairs, and on it were books of all sorts, as well as strange tools that Jaon had never seen before. The surgeon steepled his fingers in his lap, and began. "Jaon, I only have one simple question for you. What is your story? I noticed something on your finger when I was examining you for further frostbite and broken bones. That symbol rung a bell in my head, so I looked it up." He paused, and his eyes searched Jaon's face. "Can you...enlighten me?"
Jaon knew he had no choice. Besides, they've been so good to me. "Well, sir, it all began just a few days ago..."
Jaon told his story for what seemed like hours, including every little detail. The surgeon did not make any comments or weigh in at all beside the occasional facial expression or nodding of his head. He did not even open his mouth until Jaon had reached the end of his story.
"Well, that is quite a story." The surgeon paused again, and he seemed to be searching for words. "I must be lucky to meet someone like this. If you don't mind my asking, what are you going to do now? I mean...after your accident."
"I think...at least for now...I'm going to settle down. Get an apprenticeship. Try to make a new life for myself. Anyone who is looking for me won't recognize me anyway." Jaon felt better saying the words out loud; they sounded much more rational than when they were just thoughts.
"If there is anything I can do to help, let me know." The surgeon stood up and paced over to the long table on the wall. "I do happen to know that the butcher is looking for help; it's hard work but you can work up to a decent income." He turned back to Jaon. "But I won't keep you any longer with speculation. You are welcome to stay here however long you need." He gave Jaon a hand up, and then when back to his books.
Meanwhile.
The building stood alone on a hill, just above the trees. A chimney sprouted from the thatched roof, and it belched black smoke and the smell of burning flesh. No sound could be heard from the ominous structure, but to passersby there was an air of evil surrounding it; little did they know how right they were. Few ever dared to approach the building as none truly knew what it was; there was no recorded beginning of the building, nor was any life seen in or around it. Some said that it was haunted; others said that a rich wizard lived there. The chimney continued to spew forth its abominable substances day and night, never ceasing for a moment. This day, though, a horse carrying a dark shape made its way up the winding path to the building.
Fredar had carefully disguised his face with dyes, and had worn a long cloak with a hood to disguise his stature. The horse was 'borrowed' from a rich lord of the land whom Fredar despised; therefore it was nearly untraceable. He had made this journey in such haste and secrecy because he had been summoned; the promise of bad news had spurred him onwards. He crashed through the heavy mahogany door, and did not wait to be greeted before he shouted angrily. "Where are you, bloody fool? Get out here and tell me this grand secret that you've been hoarding."
A diminutive figure scuttled out of the shadows of the building into the light of the furnace. "Master...do not be apprehensive. I will reveal all...in good time. Sit...sit and rest. I must finish an...experiment before I deal with our problem." The creature was a mutant; at least that was what he had told Fredar when he was hired for the job. He possessed two pairs of arms, one significantly shorter than the other. His legs ended in scaly feet, which had ten claws that clicked against the floor as he walked. He shuffled along with his back bent over so that one pair of arms nearly dragged along the ground. Fredar was disgusted by this appearance but the Doctor did good work. He will have to do.
"Our problem? Feth. It's your problem until you bloody well tell me what it is!" The Fredar dropped into a low chair and crossed his arms angrily. His words had no affect on the one to whom they were directed; this only angered him even more. Thinking out loud, he began to speak again. "I pay you to do what? Keep track of things and make sure nothing goes wrong. I gave you a workshop, tools, ‘patients’ and everything else for your experiments. I even lent you my fething magical specimens; they aren't easy to come by, you know!" He yelled off into the shadows. "All I ask. All I ask is that you don't interfere with my governing and tell me when anything significant happens. When something finally goes wrong, you don’t even tell me." Before he could begin again, though, the scuttling footsteps signaled the return of the creature.
"Master...let me tell you what I've found. Then...then we will see what you have to say." If a creature such as this could smile, the King could not tell. His anger was beginning to boil, however he retained his angry speech until it had finished talking, though. "As you know...we have sent three of our magical beings...to seek out the descendents of...him. As of two days ago...I am unable to monitor them. They have completely dropped off...our communicators. It is as if they do not exist any longer."
"What? Could they have reversed the spells? You told me they were...unbreakable!" The king was livid with his rage.
"There is...no way they could escape. Unless they were killed. My monitors reach...the farthest corners of the universe." The creature wrung its scaly hands. "Master...they must be dead. And the object escaped with a...a boy. That was...the last I could discern."
"Jaon? He is of no consequence. Just get me the fething plank and the stone. Bloody devil. If this fails...it ruins so many years. Do you have any idea?"
"Master...I have been with you all...all these many years. I assure you...this boy can be easily neutralized. Our other spies report he is just a typical...peasant." The creature chittered under the expansive hood that disguised its face from all but flickers of firelight. "I have already...taken the liberty of dispatching soldiers to comb the land for him. He...has no chance."
"He bloody well better not. I am not a man to settle for failure. You know that full well, doctor." The king stood, and walked a few paces away. "While I'm here...I might as well take a look at some of my projects. I trust they are still in functioning order?"
"Yes...yes they are."
"Good. Now you can return to whatever you were doing. Just don't blow anything up." The king exited through a hidden door which was lit with torchlight.
The creature scuttled back into the shadows, the clicking of claws combining with the shuffling of feet to form an odd chorus. As he went, he submerged himself in thought. Master is so... so foolish. He wants to endure forever? Bah. He'll age so far life will no longer be life. He kept on walking, passing glowing vials and bowls full of translucent green and blue liquids. He passed the boxes that were stacked against the walls, full of materials and devices that had never been seen anywhere else in the world. He passed the racks of sharp knives, long pokers and other instruments that lined what the walls of what he now called home. All of these things he had seen so many times, yet they never grew old. His only pleasure in life was gained through his experiments, which he spent more than half of his day performing. Last of all his passed the cages, suspended above his main work area. Contained in them were the 'magical specimens' that Fredar had mentioned. What were they thinking? They had once been young men and women who had discovered the power and had turned themselves in to the Empire. Now they served the king through their power; their only use was to give him eternal life and to power his monitoring machines. Next to them were more cages, full of trespassers and others who the King did not deem to allow to roam the continent any longer. As the Doctor turned to his table with a scalpel in hand, his 'patient' cried out, a small squeak in the darkness. Why does he cry? It's only another limb. He's lost three already. The Doctor lowered the scalpel, and began to make his incisions. Muffled cries echoed off the stone walls, mixing with the groaning of many souls and the thundering of the furnace.
INDEX TO TOPICS V3
-Moorhead on the Wold
Located on the eastern edge of the Imperial Territories, Moorhead on the Wold is a small farming town with a population of roughly 50 people. The town is under the jurisdiction of His Lordship Sir Herodaeus IV. The town has been exempted from a yearly quota of soldiers due to its small size and the financial struggles of the citizens. It is not far from here that Jaon makes his home.
-Imperial Territories
The Imperial Territories form the Eastern end of the great Empire. Formerly unsettled lands, the Territories are now roughly united under the leadership of Provincial Governor Duke Bannister III who is corrupt and incompetent. The territories are separated from the Empire by the Great Lake, except for two strips of land that connect on either side of the lake. The Territories are mostly temperate forests populated by the farming classes, but farther north lies a range of unexplored mountains.
-The Great Empire
The Great Empire is the kingdom that rules the whole Western Continent. King Fredar is the supreme ruler who rules through his parliamentary officials and various Dukes and Lords. The Great Empire came into being over 500 years before the present day, in the Revolt of the Peasants. Since then the various rulers have maintained control with an iron fist, but the people accept that government is doing what is best for their safety. (See Doctrine of Proper Thought)
-Legend of the Promised Child
The Legend of the Promised Child was originally written about by the great scholar Emulous about 200 years before the Revolt of the Peasants. He claimed that there was to be a magic-wielding child who would unite the people with the magical flow so that all would be able to benefit from it and no longer fear it. He would also bridge the gap between the Ba’Ha’Ral and the rest of civilization, but he would do it peacefully. Rulers have traditionally feared this, which lead to the introduction of controlled schooling and the beginnings of the Doctrine of Proper Thought.
-Doctrine of Proper Thought
Introduced soon after the rise of the Great Empire, the Doctrine of Proper Thought is a principle that is taught to all children who have any form of state education. Since state education is mandatory for all upper-class families and some of the lower classes, this principle makes it easier to control the minds of the influential members of society. The principle teaches that magic is the worst evil in the world as it is destructive and ruins society. The children are taught to immediately alert their authorities if they see something that falls into the category of “magic”. The Doctrine also teaches that free thought is dangerous and that the people should not ponder things outside of their own career paths; instead, they should leave the philosophical world to those who are appointed to study it.
-Magic Potential
The Great Empire defines Magic Potential as the ability to access magic and to potentially control it. Children are given mental examinations by one of the Empire’s magicians when they are young in order to determine if they have the ability to wield the power. If a child is found to have Magic Potential, he/she is quarantined and they are “cleansed”, a process which few survive.
-Revolt of the Peasants
The Revolt of the Peasants is the revolt in which the working class overthrew their king and brought about the beginning of the Great Empire. The peasant leaders succeeded in uniting much of the Western Continent under their banner and thus was the Great Empire born.
COMING SOON: Chapter revisions!
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