|  Author | Topic: Fate [Novella - Parts One and Two] (Read 58 times) |
Arc
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« Thread Started on May 16, 2009, 9:42pm » | |
This is a story I wrote last year, and I just now got around to editing it. It's a fantasy-like story, taking place in a world I created. I already wrote Parts Two and Three, but I'm only posting Part One for now. Comments and critiques are greatly appreciated. I feel like I have a long ways to go before I'll consider myself a good writer, so I'll need some encouragement. 
Enjoy!
Fate
Part One
He was surrounded by fire.
Fire - blistering, terrifying, sizzling fire. And screams. There were many screams; agonized cries of the innocent being slaughtered, of families being separated, of brave defenders dying with a weapon in their hands and looks of horror upon their faces . . .
It was lucky that he was surrounded by fire instead of by the soldiers. He'd rather be burned to a crisp than taunted and slain at the hand of one of the king's raiders. His home was ablaze, his family was dead, and he was trapped in the center of the town circle, desperately searching for a way out of the inferno that surrounded him. In the distance he could see what remained of his home; the roof was about to collapse. He knew there was no hope. His family had most likely been burned alive or murdered by the soldiers. He had heard about the feeling of utter hopelessness and terror caused by raids, but he had never imagined it like this.
His world had come down around him in a matter of minutes; the peaceful life he had known had instantly became a horrific nightmare. If the fire didn't kill him, his broken heart would. He was nothing – he was dead without his family, without his home, without his livelihood . . . He felt like crying out, letting his emotions flow freely, but the heat of the flames had burned away his tears.
Just as he was about to give up and let the flames engulf him, a voice cried out from the other side of the red, blazing circle.
“Alaric! Alaric, please answer me! Alaric!” The voice was sad, hopeless . . . It was that of his wife, Isabel.
For a moment he couldn't speak, his lungs were so full of smoke. But then he cleared his throat and called out to her, suddenly hopeful.
“Isabel, I'm here! The well! Use the water from the well!” There was the sound of light footsteps, the creaking of the drum and rope as a full bucket was hoisted. In only a few minutes, the flames had been quenched and he could see her beautiful face - Bright blue eyes, sparkling with tears, and holding a baby boy in one arm, the empty bucket laying nearby.
Everything faded to black, the image before him disappearing as his memories blurred. In an instant he found himself standing in what remained of his home - a burnt pile of wood and debris. After searching for quite some time he found what he was looking for, and he knelt down. Lowering his head, he locked eyes with his father. Those eyes looked up at him, full of pain.
“Alaric, my son.” His voice shook. His burnt lips could barely form words. “I knew that this day was soon to come. My son . . . my only son.” The old man's hand reached up to touch his son's face. “My staff . . . You must take my staff.” His eyes filled with something strange – guilt, perhaps, as he handed the young man the staff that had been lying by his side. “You must.”
“Why, Father? Tell me.”
“Take it, and don't let it . . . fall into the wrong hands.” The dying man's eyes began to glaze over, and his breathing grew ragged. “You are such a . . . good son. Don't fail me. Don't fail me.” The father took one last breath, then said no more.
“Father!” He shouted, clinging to his father's hand as if it would somehow revive him. To himself, he promised that he would fulfill his father's dying wish. There was no doubt about it. “Father!”
* * *
Alaric woke with a shout. He was soaked to the skin in sweat, and his heart beat erratically. Looking around, the young man found that he was still in the middle of a forest, lying on his bedroll, the dying embers of the nearby fire giving off a weak light. His wife lay next to him, stirring and muttering to herself softly. Alaric's best friend slept a distance away.
After the raid, nightmares had plagued Alaric every time he tried to sleep. He knew not the reason for the attack on his town, but there needn't be a reason at all. If the king wanted it, he got it. There was never a question of why or how. As soon as the soldiers had destroyed every home and murdered whoever they could, they had left. Only a few had survived, including Alaric, Isabel, their son, and the old friend they were now traveling with. They had decided to head north, to find some safe haven if they could.
Isabel yawned, rubbing her eyes, and the baby whimpered softly in his sleep, probably in the middle of some sort of horrific nightmare that only children have. “What's wrong?” Alaric's wife asked tiredly, rolling over on her side in order to face him. Her brown hair fell in her face, giving her a comical appearance. Of course, Alaric's cry had awoken her. He hadn't thought it had been that loud. She had always been a light sleeper. “Nightmares again?”
“This time it was worse.” He didn't meet her gaze, instead staring at the campfire in front of him. Isabel touched his arm to get his attention, and he finally looked at her. “These nightmares are driving me insane. Do you think I'm crazy?”
“You're always crazy,” Isabel replied with a smug smile and a laugh. She had a way of making him feel a little bit better, whether she realized it or not. “Now hush or you'll wake the baby. Or worse, Mr. Legend over there.” She gestured towards the man lying on the opposite side of the fire.
“Don't worry about Xander. He's not all that bad once you get to know him. And he's a heavy sleeper.”
Isabel smirked and ruffled his dark brown curls playfully as she kissed him. “Hmph!” she snorted. “Go back to sleep now, Alaric, and don't have any more nightmares.”
Alaric sighed and rolled on his back, gazing up at the stars until sleep finally overtook him.
* * *
The ground was covered in a thick layer of fog the next morning. A foreboding breeze rustled the trees. There was no sound of forest animals, only the soft talk of Alaric, Xander, and Isabel.
Xander Legend held a map in his hands, and Alaric looked over his shoulder to get a good view of it. Isabel sat near the fire a few feet away, absentmindedly gazing at her baby, who had gone down for a nap on the bedroll.
Xander pointed at a small town on the map, a few days north of their current location. “Khuur. That's where we need to go. When I was separated from my family in the raid, my first thought was to escape the city and travel to Khuur. My wife and I had always talked of going there. Maybe she had the same thought.”
“Khuur? Tell me a little more about it.”
Xander smiled, as if fondly reminiscing, and then he began, ”I grew up in Khuur, you know.” Alaric didn't know, but Xander continued anyways. “My family uprooted and moved when I was still small, but, oh, do I remember it . . . Green grass, tall trees, snug homes with toasty fireplaces and fresh bread cooling on the window sill. That's how I remember it. I hope it hasn't changed.” Xander grinned again, placing a hand on Alaric's shoulder. “You can come with me, if you like, or you can find some other place to go. Trust me, friend. Khuur is a fine place.”
Alaric's eyebrow creased in thought, and he crossed his arms, stroking his beardless chin like he always did when in deep thought. Then turned to his wife, thinking it best to consult with her. She had always been one for making decisions. “Do you like the sound of Khuur, Isabel?”
“We don't have any alternatives,” she answered, standing. Isable gently bent down to gather her baby up in her arms and made her way towards them. “How far away is it?”
“Oh, I'd say about a day or so. Maybe even less.” Xander didn't even have to think about it.
“We should leave, then.”
Both men agreed, so the group began packing up their belongings right away. Xander and Alaric set about rolling up the bedrolls, putting away the pan from last night's dinner, and stuffing their possessions into the bags, while Isabel took her time feeding her bawling son.
After about half an hour, they were all ready to be gone. They left immediately, setting a swift pace.
Alaric was impressed by their progress; they only stopped once for lunch and a quick drink from one of the forest's streams. Occasionally Isabel would whine about how horrible it was, walking with a load on her back and a baby in her arms, and Xander would sometimes begin a long narrative about his childhood. Alaric pushed forward despite all the annoyances and distractions. He was eager to see Khuur for himself. Once, his brown robe snagged and he tripped on a root, receiving fifteen minutes of laughs and giggles from Xander and Isabel. That seemed to liven the trip for a while.
The young man only hesitated once, and that was when he caught sight of three figures on horseback riding towards them. In a sudden, fearful reaction, Alaric tightly gripped the staff that his father had given him and conjured up an offensive spell should the strangers prove dangerous.
Once the three men were a few feet from the travelers, they dismounted and approached Alaric and the others. From the insignia upon their uniforms, Alaric concluded that they were the king's men. They walked slowly, obviously in no hurry, and stopped in front of the travelers, blocking their way.
“Greetings,” the first man, and apparently the leader, said. Alaric couldn't help but think that there was something odd about him. It could have been the sarcasm in his voice, or maybe only the goofy mustache that he wore. Either way, Alaric didn't like him at all. “May I ask your names?”
Deciding it best to be polite and play along, Alaric nodded, trying to hide his strong dislike of the man by masking it with a cheerful expression. “Of course. My name is Alaric Tanton, and this is my friend, Alexander Legend.” Isabel had hidden behind them, so Alaric stepped aside and gestured towards her. “And this is my wife, Isabel, and our son.”
The lead man nodded in approval, stroked his uncombed mustaches, and explained the reason for his troupe's expedition. “We're searching for a staff. It's a golden color, with a dragon carved into it. Apparently there's only one like it in the world. This staff was stolen from the king, and we are to bring any man in possession of this staff to justice. There is a reward for anyone who can locate the artifact. Have you seen it?”
Alaric gulped, and his finger traced the dragon's head on the top of his staff. Why would the king want the staff? And how had his father gained possession of it? “No,” he said nervously, “we haven't seen it.” At that very moment, however, the staff grew warm in his grasp, burning him. The heat radiating from the staff nipped at his hand and began to scorch the sleeves of his brown robes. Alaric yelped, unable to bear the sensation. The wooden stick dropped and rolled, stopping only when it bumped into the soldier's foot.
The man bent over to pick up the staff, a blank expression upon his face. When he looked up, he merely glared, his upper lip twitching as if in suppressed anger.
“I can-”
“You can explain, eh?” The soldier cut him off. “That's what everyone says. Well, it seems like you have quite a bit of explaining to do.” He paused, then said abruptly, “Come with me.”
“What do you mean?”
“We're taking you to the capital, of course.”
“You can't be serious!” Alaric shouted. “My father gave that staff to me. You have no right.” He folded his arms, trying to look determined.
Isabel decided to take a step forward and help Alaric. She was even more fearsome than her husband; her blue eyes flashed with fury and her lips curled into an angry snarl. “Just take the staff and leave us be!”
“I didn't ask for your opinion, woman! He's coming with us.”
The king's man then stepped towards Alaric and grabbed him roughly by the arm, wrenching him away from Xander and Isabel.
Alaric gave up. The spell had he had been planning to use faded from his memory. He couldn't possibly hope to stand up against the king's men. It would only mean the death of him and his family. Alaric relaxed, and his look of determination faded to a blank expression.
“Alright, I'll come with you. Just let me say goodbye to my family.” The soldier nodded, allowing Alaric to return to his companions.
“Don't worry about me,” Alaric whispered to Xander and Isabel once he was out of the soldiers' reach and hearing, “I'll be fine. Keep moving towards Khuur, and I'll meet you there as soon as I've cleared all of this up. I promise.”
Isabel nodded silently and rushed forward to embrace him, leaving the baby in Xander's surprised arms. “Just don't get into any more trouble, Alaric,” she whispered in his ear, kissing him. Once the two had broken apart, Isabel stared at him with wide, blue eyes. She was so beautiful, he realized with a sigh.
“I love you.”
“I love you, too,” Alaric returned. He took a step back, gazing long and hard at Isabel, Xander, and his son, before slowly turning away from them. He nodded towards the lead soldier, allowing his hands to be tied, and left in the company of the king's men.
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vodka
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Karma: 0 | | Re: Fate [Novella - Part One]
« Reply #1 on May 16, 2009, 9:53pm » | |
Nice. Can't wait for part 2!
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Arc
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« Reply #2 on May 16, 2009, 9:54pm » | |
Wow. You already read that? lol. I'll have Part Two up as soon as I've edited it. Thanks!
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Arc
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« Reply #3 on May 17, 2009, 7:16pm » | |
Fate
Part Two
He was surrounded by ghosts.
There had to be hundreds of them, all pale and transparent, looking at him with blank faces and grabbing at him with terrified, claw-like hands. A few of them he recognized - his recently passed father, a couple of neighbors who had been killed in the raid, and a woman that he was sure he had seen before. Most of them were strangers, though, and they all stared at him.
“What do you want?” he demanded in a shaky voice. More hands clawed at him, tugging at his clothes and jostling him about. His skin crawled; a cold shiver raced up his spine each time one of the spirits touched his skin.
The woman that he recognized seemed to drift towards him, and all the other ghosts stopped their clutching and howling and turned their cold eyes to her. She stopped directly in front of him. This spirit was different than the others. She was beautiful. Her eyes were a dark shade of brown, her transparent skin was smooth and flawless, brown curls fell down her shoulders and back, a rich cascade of soft silk, and her face was warm and inviting – angelic.
When she spoke, her voice was pure, and it rang like church bells. “These souls are trapped, Alaric, because of you.” Her tone wasn't menacing at all, but rather soothing.
“Because of me?” he questioned. “What did I do?”
Again, that same, mesmerizing tone. “You took up the staff, Alaric. The gods are so busy bickering about this staff, they've completely forgotten their duties. And now these poor souls are stuck, with no place to go, for they've not yet been judged.”
“You speak as if you're not one of them. If you're not a ghost, then what are you?” he again questioned her, but she was patient.
“I am not a spirit that is stuck in the middle. I am one who is forced to stay behind; I have a duty of my own to fulfill before I can be judged.” Her face was expressionless, but it seemed as she were smiling; her eyes were bright and friendly. “I believe that my duty is to help free these souls by aiding you, Alaric.”
“What am I supposed to do?”
“Simply destroy the staff. It will not be easy, but I will guide you.”
“But how am I supposed to do that?”
She was sick of the constant questions; he could feel her irritation. “Enough. Come to me later if you have questions.” Suddenly, the ghosts around her began to fade until only she remained. And then she, too began to slowly disappear.
“Wait!” he shouted. “Who are you?”
But she was already gone.
* * *
The trip was filled with worry and silence without Alaric. Xander would only speak when need be, whether to mention something about where they were at, or to offer to carry the baby for a bit. Isabel would always politely turn him down.
By nightfall, Khuur came into view. The town was quite small, and the tavern was right next to the entrance – lucky, for the baby was getting fussy and they would be in need of a room right away. It seemed like a good enough place once the two got close enough to get a good look; it was in fair shape, not trashy in the least, and a merry fire could be seen in the fireplace through the window.
The town was guarded by two men. Not the king's men, like you would find in most towns. No, Khuur was not controlled by the King. Not yet ,at least. When Xander and Isabel approached them, they slowly stood and greeted them wearily. They had most likely been at work all day.
“Greetings, strangers. What business do ya have in Khuur?” One of the men, and the younger of the two, asked.
“We're meeting up with a friend of ours at the tavern, actually,” Xander said. He needn't lie. Khuur was a safe haven. “Our hometown was raided by the King's men. We've heard that Khuur doesn't currently serve his highness.” He emphasized that last bit rather sarcastically.
“Right ya are!” The guard said with a chuckle. “The King's no friend of ours. We're lucky he takes no interest in poor towns, or we'd all be dead already.”
Xander's previously dull expression turned to one of surprise. “Really? I thought the Knights of Khund looked after Khuur.”
“Hmph! The Knights of Khund are still off figthin' in the Cliad Region. We've been fightin' 'em back fer months now. Seems the Cliadians are wantin' te expand,” the other, older man said. “Sure, a few of the knights still hang around in Khuur, but most of 'em are gettin' fat in the tavern, either too scared te fight or too lazy. The knighthood ain't what it used te be, that's fer sure.
The baby began wailing, so the guards bid Xander and Isabel a good night and let them enter the town. From there, the two headed to the tavern, which was just a little ways down the street.
As soon as Xander opened the door to the inn and bar, the scent of liquor and the sound of merry-making hit them hard. The baby's wails were drowned out, and he cried even louder to try and be heard.
“What do you want?” said a rude bar-keep to the right. Xander turned to have a look at the counter and the short, portly man leaning over it. The two pushed past a couple of drunkards to get to him.
“Just a room for the night,” Xander replied, throwing three silver coins, the only money they had, on the counter.
Behind them, a fight broke out and they both spun around to get a better look.
A local had pulled his sword out on a drunken knight, who apparently had offended him in some manner. The local had long, sandy blond hair, and he was quite large; tall, strong, and tough.
“Knights of Khund aren't in charge here. Get out now and I won't cut off your dirty head!”
The knight snarled and drew his blade, lunging at his enemy in only a matter of seconds, aiming for his belly. He missed by an inch as the blond-headed man twisted to the side. The knight received a vicious blow to the face for his mistake.
His nose broken and bloodied, the knight angrily hurled himself at his opponent, flinging him onto a table-top. Grabbing a nearby bottle of alcohol, he bashed the man's head with it, trying to knock him out; however, the local seemed unscathed.
The blond warrior then kicked up, pushing the knight away. He ended the fight by slamming the butt of his blade into the back of the knight's head.
The crowd appeared quite pleased with the outcome; apparently Khuur hated the knights that had chosen to remain behind, and this man had proven himself to be a hero. After their cheering had ceased, the customers returned quietly to their food, drinks, and talk, and the warrior local sat down at a table close to the counter.
The bar-keep returned his attention to Xander and Isabel. “That's not enough,” he said bluntly, pushing the three coins away from him. “The price is five coins.”
“Can't you make an exception?” Xander pleaded, gesturing towards Isabel and the crying baby. “The baby is ill. We have nowhere else to stay.”
He had always been a terrible liar.
“No money, no room,” the bar-keep replied, turning his back on the two.
Behind them, the warrior-man stood from his seat and made his way to stand beside Isabel. He had heard their conversation, for he said, “Need a place to stay? It just so happens I have a spare room in my house for guests.” The man, who was rather handsome up close, didn't take his eyes off of Isabel. “If you'd like.” He grinned, winking. He was oblivious to Xander, who stood with his arms crossed in irritation.
“Eh . . . No, we couldn't. We wouldn't want to impose.”
“I insist. You need a place to stay. My name is Attican, by the way. Attican Asa, mercenary swords master.” His eyes, which were a gray color, brightened in excitement.
“I suppose . . .” Xander began, actually considering Attican's offer. “We were separated from our family and friends in a raid. We were supposed to meet them here, but I buess we have no other option, so I'll accept your invitation.”
Attican nodded and led them to the door, making sure to walk behind Isabel. Outside, the town was mostly deserted; the townsfolk were probably all inside keeping warm on so cold a night. Attican lived only a ways from the tavern, which was good.
At the end of the street, Attican stopped, facing a rather small home. It was in good repair, but Isabel and Xander both began to wonder whether there was room for them inside. “Here we are,” their new warrior-friend announced, his face split in a wide, proud smile.
“It's lovely,” said Isabel.
“Come on. Let's get inside before we all freeze.”
They did as Attican suggested, hurrying indoors, removing their cloaks and packs and having a seat in the living area. Isabel, after saying a word of thanks, asked where the guest room was and walked off to care for the baby, leaving Attican and Xander alone.
Xander took up a place by the fireplace in a small chair, and Attican went about cleaning the dishes in the kitchen close by, not even noticing Xander's curious gaze.
The silence lasted a while before the sound of a door opening averted Xander's attention. A young boy had entered the home, and he stomped over the doorstep and plopped down in a rocking chair in the corner. When he noticed Xander, he merely smiled at the guest and greeted him with a polite, “Hello.”
“Calvus?” Attican called from the kitchen, walking out into the living room. “You're late.”
The boy did look like his father; he had the same sandy blond hair and gray eyes. “Sorry,” he answered sullenly. “I lost track of time.” He lowered his head, obviously ashamed by his tardiness, and wrung his hands nervously in his lap.
“Don't you remember what I told you before you left?” Attican scolded, tossing a rag onto the kitchen counter before having a seat next to Xander. The father didn't say anything for a moment, and the room was eerily quiet. Then, he finally said, “We'll talk about this later.” He gestured towards Xander. “Calvus, this is Alexander Legend, and he'll be staying with us for a while. Alexander, this is my son, Calvus.”
“It's a pleasure to meet you, Calvus,” said Xander with a smile.
“It's a pleasure to meet you, sir.” The boy had to be no more than four years old, but he had wonderful manners, and that fact struck Xander as strange. He and Isabel had met Attican in a tavern, obviously drinking, and he was apparently a good father. How did that come about?
Isabel, after having put the baby to sleep, entered the room, her eyelids drooping wearily. “Who is this?” she asked, referring to Attican's son.
Calvus stood from the rocking chair and made his way to stand in front of Isabel. “My name is Calvus, ma'am. You can take my chair.” He grinned widely. “You're very pretty.”
Isabel laughed and smiled kindly. “My name is Isabel.” She did take a seat in the chair, and the boy sat on the floor next to her.
“It's about time he went to bed. Don't you think so, Calvus?”
Calvus sighed, but reluctantly he did as he was told. “Yes, Father.” He stood from his seat on the floor and trudged off in the direction of his room; however, he did turn to bid the guests a good night. “I'll see you all tomorrow.” With that, Calvus retired for the night, leaving the adults to talk.
Once his son had left the room, Attican immediately began questioning his guests.
“So, your hometown was raided by the King's men? I'd like to hear your story.”
Xander seemed hesitant to give anything away, so Isabel spoke up, receiving a very annoyed look from him. She didn't seem to care. “I don't know about Alexander's side of the story, but I can tell you mine. I trust you well enough.” She paused before continuing. “I remember that day all too well. I was at home cleaning dishes, and I heard a scream. I didn't think much of it at first, but when I looked out the window and saw smoke, I knew something was wrong. I was afraid it was only a fire, so I took the baby and went outside to see what was going on.
“Oh, how I wish it had been a fire . . .” Isabel trailed off, lowering her head to look down at the floor. “I saw the soldiers then. They were running toward my home. I ran away and hid in the bushes and watched as they burned my house to the ground. I was so scared . . . You have no idea. Scared for my life, for my son's life, for my husband's life . . . I made my way to the town square where the public well was. That was where my husband had went – to fetch water.
“The square was already engulfed in flames. I thought that my husband had been killed, so I gave up hope.” Isabel broke off, shaking her head as if to force away her tears, and then she finished the story. “But then something inside of me told me to yell for him, and I did. He answered me. I can't believe he answered me . . . He told me to gather the water from the well. I did.
“Soon we were re-united. I don't remember what happened after that, really. He led me out of the city, we met up with Alexander, and here we are.”
Attican didn't even wait a minute before he spoke again. “Where is your husband? Did you get separated?”
“Well,” Isabel began, her brow creasing in worry, “we had all decided to travel here, but we ran into a group of soldiers on the road. They were looking for some sort of staff that belonged to the King. You see, before Alaric's father died, he gave him that staff. He had no idea it had been stolen from the King. Now, I don't believe Alaric's father stole the staff. He wouldn't steal anything. He was such a nice man.
“So anyways, the soldiers found out that Alaric had the staff and took it away from him. And now he's probably marching to the capital right now.” Isabel suppressed her anxiety and fear by biting down on her lower lip. “I hope he can clear all this up and meet us here soon, but I'm afraid the King won't listen to him. You know how he is.”
“Yes, that bastard,” said Attican, “but I hope your husband is alright. I wish him the best on his journey to meet you.”
“Psh! You're so optimistic.”
Attican suddenly became serious. “And you're not?”
“How can I be? It's not like you know what this feels like.”
“I think I do understand, Isabel. My girlfriend left me and my son a few years ago. She was a barmaid at the tavern. I was in love with her. What was not to love? I thought she felt the same about me, but I was mistaken. She only wanted to have a bit of fun. Well, I got her pregnant, damn it. I guess that was fate slapping me in the face. Immediately afterwards I went away for a while – mercenary work, you see. I expected her to be there when I got back, but she had left me. She had left me and my son . . .
“I find it hard to trust nowadays. I just know that if I try to love again, I'll just get stabbed in the back again.. That's what love does for you, Isabel. It stabs you in the back.”
Isabel sat quietly for some time, getting herself together before speaking. “I'm sorry, Attican. I assumed too much.”
“You know what?” Attican said, perking up. “I'll make you a deal. If your husband doesn't arrive tomorrow, then I'll be happy to accompany you to the capital and force that bastard King to release him!” He smiled that same wide grin, hoping to cheer her up.
“Thank you.”
“I'm coming,” Xander added, eying Attican suspiciously. He still didn't trust the man.
* * *
Alaric's eyes snapped open, and he panicked as he took in his surroundings. He was sitting on the cold, dirty floor of a dungeon, surrounded by darkness. As soon as his foggy mind cleared, Alaric remembered – the King's men arresting him, Isabel's frightened face staring after him as they dragged him away, arriving at the palace and being thrown into this horrid darkness, and the dream . . .
The dream had seemed so real . . . But it couldn't be. There was no way a staff could cause so much trouble, but for some reason Alaric believed it. He had to somehow escape the dungeon, locate the staff, and destroy it.
But Alaric couldn't help but think that this was his fault – all of it. If he hadn't agreed to take the staff, maybe the gods wouldn't have abandoned their duties. If he had been stronger, more powerful, then perhaps he could have fought off the soldiers and avoided trouble. And then he would probably be with Isabel right now. If only . . .
Alaric's train of thought cut off abruptly when a distance sound caught his attention. It was the sound of the ground moving beneath him, of something rumbling within the core of the dungeon itself, and soon he felt it shift underneath him. He panicked again when he found himself falling, falling into the deep, abysmal darkness below.
He hit the harder stone floor below with a sickening crunch. Groaning in pain as he struggled to roll onto his back and off of his crushed arm, Alaric managed to push himself into a sitting position. The pain became more intense when he put weight upon his injured limb, and he grimaced, trying to keep from crying out.
The agony didn't subside.
He began to feel around, using his good arm for support, searching for a wall of some sort. The young man soon found one a few feet away and scooted back, propping his back against it, gasping for air and gritting his teeth.
Alaric sat there for what seemed like an eternity, lost in the darkness. He closed his eyes, and that made him feel a little bit better. The backs of his eyelids weren't nearly as black as the air around him. He pressed his injured arm to his chest, having concluded that it was broken in more places than one. This was a sticky situation, indeed.
When all hope became lost, a light flickered in the distance, rekindling Alaric's spirit. It was bright, and it resembled that of an orb – almost like one summoned by a mage, but Alaric had never seen anything like it before.
“Hey! Hey, over here!” he shouted hopefully, waving his good arm in an attempt to draw attention to himself. The orb bobbed towards him slowly, and soon the figure of a man could be seen behind it, guiding it with an outstretched hand, but not touching it.
This stranger was old, far older than Alaric himself, and he was menacing, with a beard and hypnotic eyes. The young man couldn't suppress a shiver.
“Come with me,” the stranger said abruptly, yanking Alaric up by his shirt and dragging the frightened man ahead of him.
“Who are you? Where are you taking me?”
“I'm taking you away from here, obviously,” he replied, avoiding Alaric's first question completely. “Here being somewhere beneath the dungeons. A cellar, I suppose.
Alaric, his pain forgotten, continued with his questions. “How did I get here? What do you want with me?”
“I helped you get here. You were in possession of the staff, were you not?” It was a statement rather than a question.
Alaric at first thought not to tell the stranger anything, but those hypnotic eyes forced him to answer truthfully. “Yes, I was, but not anymore. I guess it belonged to the king. I didn't steal it, though.”
When the two reached a well-lit room, the stranger stopped and looked about for a seat. Their current location was the main storage room of the cellar. A few crates were lined up against the walls. The two sat down next tp each other, Alaric quite reluctantly.
“What is your name?”
“Alaric,” he answered simply.
“Alaric Tanton?” Alaric nodded, and the man continued. “You are a wizard, then. One of the best, I hear. You even have a place on the wizards' council. Very powerful, indeed.”
“Not powerful enough to stop this from happening. The staff, the dungeon . . . All of it.”
The old man changed the subject, gesturing toward Alaric's broken arm and saying, “Let me see.” Alaric lifted his arm, allowing him to inspect it, and he was amazed to find that his arm was healed as soon as the man touched it.
“How did you do that?” Alaric demanded.
“Magic. What else?”
Alaric wasn't convinced. “No wizard is capable of doing what you just did! It's impossible. Only the gods grant healing magic, and not to a wizard. Priests and clerical workers, maybe, but not wizards.”
“And why not? The gods are not the only beings capable of healing,” the old one replied, quite pleased with himself. “I can even bring back the dead if I choose, without the gods' help.”
“How?”
“Anyone is capable of such things, Alaric. Wizards rely on themselves for their magic, yes?”
“Yes,” Alaric said. “To use magic, a wizard draws strength from themselves. Each spell requires a set amount of energy.”
“True. But why draw magical energy from yourself alone? Energy can be found in any living being. If you learn to draw life from others, you could be capable of anything! Healing, killing, manipulation . . .”
Alaric frowned. “The council teaches us that a person's energy is theirs alone. Tampering with those energies can lead to corruption.”
“The council? You truly believe the council? They are weak! Power does not lead to corruption. It leads to strength.”
Alaric looked away from the man for a moment. If he could learn to control this kind of magic, then he would be powerful, something he had always yearned for. He would finally be able to protect Isabel. Nothing like this would ever happen again.
“What power does the staff possess?”
“You know of its magical properties? It is capable of far more than any wizard. If one were to wield it, they would be all-powerful, all-knowing.”
“I . . .” Alaric stopped, reconsidering.
The old one interrupted him. “You must know one thing, Alaric. The rule a true wizard must follow in order to succeed. Anyone who stands in your way is an enemy – no matter who they may be.” The hypnotizing glint in the man's eyes intensified.
“I understand. If I bring you the staff, would you teach me?”
The wizard was very pleased. “Yes, and in return you will retrieve the staff for me. If you manage to succeed, I will teach you all that I know, and I will allow you to share my power. Do we have a deal?”
“We do. I am eager to learn.”
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vodka
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Karma: 0 | | Re: Fate [Novella - Parts One and Two]
« Reply #4 on May 18, 2009, 4:06pm » | |
Hm. Aside from jumping around a bit here and there, I enjoyed it.
Can't wait for part 3!
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Jenno
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Karma: 0 | | Re: Fate [Novella - Parts One and Two]
« Reply #5 on May 18, 2009, 5:59pm » | |
Part One:
Very, very good, consistent and interesting throughout, can't recall a single part where my mind or interest wandered, which is quite a feat given my inability to focus.
There was only one small thing which notably disrupted the flow for me.
Quote:| Alaric's best friend, and a fellow refugee, slept a distance away. |
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First time I read it I though this meant there was another refugee apart from Xander whom you neglected to name, it was only after reading on a little bit that I realised you were on about Xander. This could just be because I'm tired but it did make me stop, think and back track just to clear it up.
But one thing from a piece that long is very good. You must be quite persistent with your editting, something I could probably learn to do.
I shall get to part two in a little while, need a bit of a break first. I hope this was the kind of thing you wanted me to do?
~Jenno
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Arc
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Karma: 0 | | Re: Fate [Novella - Parts One and Two]
« Reply #6 on May 18, 2009, 6:25pm » | |
Thank you so much Jenno! I'm very glad you liked Part One, but I'm afraid Part Two still needs quite a bit of editing. I didn't get to thoroughly check through it before I posted it, so your interest in the next piece may "wander" a bit. lol. Again, thanks for the critique. I'll be sure to change that little bit.
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