Post by Arc on May 16, 2009 21:42:04 GMT -5
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!
Part One[/center][/size]
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.
Enjoy!
Fate
Part One[/center][/size]
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.