Kings of the Future

The State of Things

2005-11-30T23:01:00.000-08:00

No, this is not either of the things you expect.

First, it is not another chapter. There is a reason for that.

Second, it is not my telling you that the reason for there not being another chapter is that I have failed. For I have not failed, oh my brothers. Oh no.

It is the opposite of what you might call a failure. I have not just won NaNoWriMo. I have won something much greater, something much more exciting. I have won faith in myself. Trust in my abilities to tell a story, to capture attentions, and stir emotions.

Also I have won a greater understanding. Throughout this month I have read a great number of books, watched a great number of movies, and have been searching for each twining evidence of its success. Of its greatness. And I look at my story, a story that happens inside another, larger story (one you, my readers, have not seen) and I see great potential.

The book you have been reading is not the book I want to write.

It will of course, become a vital part of that which I will write. A living mythology, nested between the outside world and its mythology and that of the fertilized living within the Wall, a barrier that keeps others out and those in Meil from cultural genocide.

It is the essence of the book I need, and I will keep its essence alive. It will change, and many times. A writer's work is a million split-second decisions that at the time seem spontaneous and yet work to preserve the whole. At the end of the process that comes from spilling your mind onto the paper, the process of renewal begins. The ideas that you began with are challenged, weighed against others. Cuts are made, things are added. Plotlines, characters, events. Nothing is written in ink. Those experienced in the craft know what goes where, and why. They are blind men in the dark, whose minds can sense the way. I am a man lost in the dark, feeling my way to the end, clumsily knocking into obstacles I would later avoid. As a writer and and as a man I must teach myself to be blind in the dark. To trust what I feel and what I know. To practice my craft my own way despite the whisperings of others.

The book will be finished. It will be greater than anything you could have imagined from the reading of this rough drivel. It will be bound, and it will be sold. And only then will my journey truly begin.

I have no timetables for this. It will be finished when it is finished, and not before. For many that is no comfort. I am sorry. I am tempted to post the rest of what I have written for National Novel Writing Month, as I feel you have a right to know where my mind was going, and yet... And yet now that I've made my decision to transform this one of my projects into its truly living nature, perhaps it is best to keep the revelations suited for the climax of the book (and yes, this would not be the end, but the climax. The novel you have been reading was far from over when I crossed the line that others had marked as the finish). Is it wise to stop in the middle of the book and begin again? I have wondered, and I believe it is. For I know so much more now about everything, about Erich, about Essara, about Meil, about Mer'ka. There will no longer be one storyline, but a multitude, intertwining and dancing about each other as they connect and conflict and converge. Mer'ka will not be kept silent, its mystery hanging above the head of all readers. There will be no moment of utter revelation as to what the world outside the Wall has been all along.

When it is published there is no doubt that those who've read my writings up to this point will barely recognize it.

If I could choose my feelings, I would not choose to be ashamed. But I am. Not of what I've written so far, but of the state it's in when it is read. I know what it can be, will be, but how can I make anyone understand? That when someone tells me that my rough writing is good, I feel no joy. It is nothing, I know, not yet.

We are are own worst judges, and perhaps I'm harsher than most. But there are those harsher than me, and they are in charge of my future. They are in charge of my livelihood, of my career.

The pressure is on, and though I made it for myself, still I bear it. I often fear that my ambition is not enough, nor my resolve. Can I do this? Not the fifty-thousand words. Compared to the journey that is a step. Can I reach the goal I set for myself - make my words beautiful, cut readers to the core of their intellect, see beauty through my work in the world around them?

Lord, give me strength.

Book II - Exodus (Chapter 12)

2005-11-21T20:31:00.000-08:00

It seemed as if all of Erich’s fears regarding Essara’s reaction to his tale were unfounded. She accepted his story as the truth, and did not fear him for it as he had thought she might. Indeed, it seemed the opposite. She admired him for his strength when it came to dealing with the power waiting within him. For he had not used it carelessly, and did not enjoy the killing when its use became necessary. In her eyes he was no monster, and she conveyed this very well with her warm hand on his. He was a man given a weapon, and the responsibility to use it to serve the greater good, despite whatever moral grounds he might ignore in the process. It was war now, and the enemy no longer fought fair. Erich was to be the peacebringer. She understood him completely, and he thanked the gods endlessly for this knowledge. It meant that he was not mad, and that for the most part his decisions had been right. It also meant that he would have a companion for the rest of his journey, a friend.

Now, however, as the night came and the two travellers made camp, Erich’s mind burned with the problem of the Wall. If what Essara had told him still held true, there was no way through. The machines would be there, waiting, and the two of them would be killed. The original Darks from four generations back would have learned very quickly that small groups could not make it past the machines, and that they would need a very large group to even sustain a chance. How much they must have hated Mer’ka, to throw their lives in the air for even the smallest chance to reach Meil. He shook his head, slowly, trying to imagine it. He could not. But there was one thing he could, and he knew that if he were wrong and the machines still watched, the two of them would be torn apart by the spit of the metal animals before they had a chance to get near any of the entrances of the Wall.

He mentioned his theory to Essara, and she thought for a long while, her lips pursed prettily in the failing daylight. Finally she spoke.

“It is not impossible, and you may be right. Things age, and like all things, metal eventually breaks down, growing red and becoming brittle. And yet the Wall is made of metal, and it has been here longer than memory, and it has not done this. The machines are old, and it is possible they are no longer running, but it is equally possible that they have been replaced by something much more efficient. A weapon of the same magnitude as the cubes the Dark men with black ovals over their eyeballs carried. There are equal chances we’ll be opened up by the spit of a machine, vanished by the power of a killing cube, or that we’ll enter without incident. But, as you see, we are twice as likely to be killed as not. As for me, those odds aren’t the best.”

Erich sat down. She was right. The odds weren’t with them, and she hadn’t even bothered telling him that no new Darks had passed through the entrances in the last seventy years. But my mother…his mother would not be able to help him now. Had she told him some secret, told him how she’d made it through, he wouldn’t be so fearful right now. And perhaps she might have, if Krutt hadn’t…stop it, Erich. The man is dead. If it weren’t for Krutt you wouldn’t be here trying to stop the mass killing of your people. It was true. There was no point in trying to direct anger at the past, he was on his own now. He glanced at Essara and gratefully amended that thought. He was not alone now, he had her with him, and the knowledge gave him more strength than he was aware of.

“You must understand what I don’t want to happen, Essara,” he said to her. “I don’t want to drive myself to the Wall and then find there is nothing more I can do, and that I have run myself into a dead end. If I am stopped, then I am useless. The men with the cubes will have their way with the land of Meil, and I will be too far away and without any means of transportation to be of any help to anyone. If this world is destroyed and I’m not able to visit any other, I would rather be dead anyway. Do you understand?”

She nodded, and picked a small handful of huskberries from her pockets.

“And I agree,” she said, chewing. “There is most likely no other way, and if it is death we go to by the entrance, then it is death we have chosen. But if the way is not blocked…it will make all the difference. Unless of course, we come to our deaths in Mer’ka just as quickly.” She smiled, meaning the last line as a joke, but Erich paled.

“We’ll take one obstacle at a time, if that’s not a problem for you.”

She gave a slight laugh, and stood up suddenly.

“It’s all one obstacle, Erich. It just has many faces.” And she streaked away into the night, giggling. Erich sat on his haunches, mouth hanging open. She’s mad. Absolutely mad.

“Where are you going?!” he shouted after her, but got no answer. He couldn’t see her in the dark, and then he sighed. She’d be back. Probably with something else that would surprise him. He would do his best, he resigned, not to act surprised when the time came.

His best was not good enough, he soon learned. For the girl brought back three dead branches, and laid them on the ground in front of Erich.

“Branches? Where did you get those?”

“Saw a dead tree that had fallen over just north of here as we walked.”

Erich had seen no such tree, but he would not admit it.

“And now you’re going to make fire, I suppose.”

She winked at him in the starlight and he grinned in spite of himself.

“It does feel as if it will be rather cold tonight, Erich.” And she bent the work of it. What an odd girl. Where did she learn to make fire without flint and steel? I thought only traders and the like knew the skill.

He watched her gather a small pile of dead grass (plentiful enough in this place; the ground was either flat, dry soil or patches of the sharp blades of dead grass – Erich supposed that the closer they got to the Wall, the evidence of any life would be much harder to find) and place one of the large cracked branches over it. She took a smaller branch then and broke its end so that it was no longer pointed. Then, taking the smaller stick in her hand she rubbed it up and down the groove created by the crack in the larger branch. She worked steadily for several minutes, and when she began to breathe heavier he started smelling the hot charring stink of burning wood.

Then a spark, so tiny and yet so bright in the cool evening dark, flipped upwards and landed in the small nest of dead grasses. Essara quickly dropped her stick and fell towards the spark, breathing short gasps that would make it brighten for a moment and then slacken, and she worked the spark with her careful breaths for what seemed several moments, and then it exploded, igniting the grass and sending up a plume of thick dark smoke that signaled her success. She sat back, watching the small fire she currently contained in the nest, and then went about adding fuel to it. Two branches she placed over its top, and they leaned against one another to keep themselves upright and over the flames. To this frame she added many smaller wooden pieces, whose purpose would be to strengthen and heat the fire so that it would eventually eat its way up, to take the frame apart.

When she had finished, she turned to Erich, who was looking at her with a strange mix of admiration and disbelief.

“What?” Her voice was playful, and still demanding.

“I…I’ve never seen anyone do that before. And I had always thought that if I did, it would be…it wouldn’t be a girl of your age.”

“Good thing you have me along, then.” He nodded, speechless.

And she settled down for the night, building up a small dirt hill to lay her head on, and laying away from the fire so that her back would be warmed. Erich wanted for an insane moment to curl up next to her, and wrap his arms around her. Why not? She wouldn’t object.

But he sat by himself on the other side of the fire, and kept watch over her. He felt incredibly close to her, and there was a bond growing between them that would be unbearably hard to deal with if it were snapped. The horsa had been hard, because even though it had been a beast, it had served him well and was, on a deeper level, his friend. His companion. Already he was attached to the girl, and had feelings for her. He could not lose her as he had lost the horsa. Still, he knew that he might, and that if the bond between them was too strong that he might break. So perhaps it was best to keep himself away from her, even if only a little bit.

His thoughts turned to the Wall, and to the machines with their spitting mouths. He found fear in his heart, real fear, but it wasn’t for himself. If he ended up killing Essara, he would find it impossible to forgive himself for his stupidity. She did not deserve to die for his mistakes.

Gods damn the worries, he thought, wishing silently that he could sleep as she did, a look of peace on his face and a world of dreaming to explore.

He thought about Essara’s fire and he smiled. It was a fine fire, and she was a fine companion. ‘Good thing you have me along,’ she had said, and he agreed.

He would not know until the next afternoon, however, just how good a thing it was.

Book II - Exodus (Chapter 11)

2005-11-21T01:12:00.000-08:00

“Suicide?” Erich faced Essara as the morning sun cast its rays on them.

“The entrance is guarded by machines. Metal animals with eyes that can’t be killed, watching constantly. You pass them and they spit metal from their mouths, and you die. My great uncle Rendra was a child when his parents smuggled him in, and he remembered the metal animals especially. He watched them spit at everyone in their group, and only four of them got out alive, and his father had been hit in the back, but he didn’t die. Not for a week, when the white fluids poisoned his body and they had to bury him deep below the ground to escape the stink of his death. There were fifty in Rendra’s group, and only three of them lived.”

Erich did not understand, nor did he try to. Machines? It sounded like a baba’s tale, one the washer-women would tell. But it was true, and these machines were a new obstacle in his way. He would have to find a way around them.

"So we won’t go through that entrance. Where’s the next closest one?”

Essara gave him a look of disbelief.

“Erich, you do not understand. The machines guard every entrance along the wall. When the orginal Darks came here four generations ago, they went through the wall in large groups, some as large as a hundred. The ones who made it through the massacres were the ones who were able to live and thrive in Meil, creating the communities like they did. Our ancestors are all survivors, Erich. We are alive because our ancestors had luck enough to not be killed. I am surprised you don’t know this, it’s a common teaching among all the Dark communities, no matter which kingdom you come from.”

Erich flushed.

“I…my mother smuggled me into Meil not more than ten years ago. I was two years old, and I remember nothing of the outside world. A magician stole me from my mother when I was three, and made me his slave. I’ve only just been freed from him, and that’s when I started my journey.”

Essara began to walk again, and Erich took stride beside her. They angled themselves away to the left, so that they would not pass directly over the mountain, but travel along its sloping face until they reached the other side. All the while they continued to speak, and Erich’s face reddened more and more.

“I don’t mean to doubt you, Erich, but that your mother brought you in from the outside world that recently, that’s impossible. No Dark has breached the Wall in over seventy years. Which means either two things: that life outside the Wall has gotten considerably better since the original Darks fought their way in, or there’s no way to go through anymore. And after seeing the Dark men with black ovals over their eyes, I don’t believe the first possibility can be true. It makes sense that after a time when Darks filtered in to escape Mer’ka, the way would be closed by those who did not want further contamination. So forgive me if I have a hard time believing that you are from the other side of the Wall.”

Was it really that impossible? He’d never talked to anyone about his mother and his origins but to Krutt, and his policy had been to not talk about it. And yet he spent a year with his mother, maybe more, in this place, and she had told him many times where he had come from: a land called Mer’ka, from where every person in Meil eventually had an ancestor. She told him that she had smuggled him in, brought him into this land so that he might be kept safe, and yet he had no memory of it. Perhaps he would have, in his dreams, but for Erich there had never been any dreams. He had always believed his mother, and had cherished her memory. When had he been given a chance to doubt? When had he been given a chance to talk to anyone about the world he thought he knew until now? Never. As a slave, Erich had been cut off from his people, from the world. From what Krutt told him, he’d thought he knew the extent of goings-on in Meil. And yet from what Essara was telling him, he’d been very, very wrong. That meant there was still more he didn’t know.

“It is my memory, Essara, even if it is wrong. I do not know what you know, you tell me these histories as if they are things I should remember from my childhood learnings. But I don’t. Every thing you tell me now is a new thing. I am not meaning to seem ignorant.”

“I’m sorry, Erich. You’ve given me no reason to believe you’re anything but a Dark, as learned as those from my community. Yet I suppose I could have seen the scar on your cheek and recognized it as the marking of a slave.”

“I am not a slave any longer.” He knew she did not mean it as such, and yet he bristled. Is pride so heavy?

“So you have said. Indeed if you were free from your master or no, after what you’ve done for me it would be difficult to think of you as one. It was a mistake, whoever took you, for those with your strength should not be using it to lift and carry.”

No, just to kill without a blade or arrow. He struggled to change the subject as the peak of the mountain passed by over their right shoulders.

“Essara, I would know everything you know about…about our people and about the Wall. The histories I have not heard before, and to hear them would make me glad indeed. Why did wecome flee Mer’ka? Was it so bad? I have often thought of what the land on the other side might look like, and yet you may know so as to tell me.”

She sighed, and bargained one more time with Erich.

“I will tell you what you ask if you tell me what I ask. How did you save me from the seven knights? How did you come to be in Triga, and why do you think that you will have the power to stop the murder of the Darks in this land? Tell me, Erich, I want to hear all of it. Who are you?”

The boy who had so recently been a slave, weak and fearful, considered, and decided that it was only fair that she hear his story before he demanded any more out of her. But she will fear you, hate you, he thought. But he also thought, To think this way is the way of a fool. Any good person that will hear the truth and accept it has no reason to fear it. For the truth is good, and only good can come of good.

And so, as the mountain dropped behind them and they marched steadily on toward the Wall, Erich told his story. He started at the beginning and left no part out, telling Essara of the Market Fair in Hatha, and of the woman at his tent and Breyda, the knight who warned him of the threat facing the Darks. He told her of the boys who tried to kill him, and how he unwittingly defeated them. During this part he kept an especially watchful eye on Essara’s face, but she gave no sign of surprise or horror, and he went on. He told her of his confrontation with the pack of wolves, and of his meeting with the hunter in the forest. He told her of the dark green men who hunted him down, and of his efforts to lose their trail, and finally he came to his entrance into Triga, and told his tale carefully as it was the part that concerned her. He saw her eyes widen, but she nodded when he told her of the power he’d used to save her from the man on the horsa. She’d seen the other knights flying, she said, and had dismissed it from her mind as being due to the knock she’d taken. Erich concluded his story with the brief description of his battle to get her and himself onto the horsa’s back, and was at last silent.

The mountain lay many miles behind them, and the Wall loomed more ominously than ever before as the sun dropped low in the western sky.

Book II - Exodus (Chapter 10)

2005-11-20T22:52:00.000-08:00

Erich listened to Essara’s tale with widening eyes, as nothing she told him was anything he would have guessed. When she arrived at the part involving the strangely dressed Dark men with cubes that flashed, he had trouble accepting it. Surely, it has happened. The girl saw it with her own eyes. Watched the men enter the kingdom. He knew it was true, and yet it meant that in so many ways he had been wrong. There was no other Dark who had his power, none jealous of Erich’s own. He was just a threat to their workings, a boy to be killed at all costs, as he was the only one who would be able to stop them. But who are they? Men from the outside? From Mer’ka, where you believed you’d be welcomed? No one there will want you. You’re dangerous, and they know. Somehow they know. But as Essara went on, Erich began to wonder. Triga was no accident, and yet did that mean that every other kingdom would fall to the same fate? It was possible, and if that were the case he would not be able to help. Because the men with the cubes travelled by magic, it seemed. The other kingdoms would be doomed, and he would be too late no matter which one he tried to reach first. His horsa was gone, and he knew they could only go in one direction from here walking, and that was east. Past the mountain and to the Wall. If he could not save the people of Meil from inside, then he would try from the outside. Perhaps there was still a way.

Essara finished her tale and looked at him expectantly. But he could not bring himself to tell her, not yet, and he excused himself by telling her he was tired, and that the night had come and they should sleep. She looked hurt, and he saw a flash of anger in her eyes as she rolled away from him and put her hands beneath her head. In fifteen minutes she was asleep and Erich cursed himself. Why was he so afraid to tell her the truth? She was the closest thing to a friend he’d ever had, and yet he wanted to contain himself. She won’t understand you, you’ll be like the men with the cubes to her. A boy with the power to kill with magic. She’ll be afraid, and you’ll be a monster. He pulled his legs up to his chest, resting his chin on his knees, and rocked himself through the cold, (though warm breezes wafted up from the swamp every now and then) fearing the one thing he’d never worried about before. She won’t understand, and you’ll be alone again. The boy’s heart clenched, and he remembered the horsa he’d lost in the sucking muck of the swamp. What I would have done without the girl after that, I don’t know. How would I have the will to do anything? He took little solace in the fact that he was stronger now than ever, in character and in body, and that he would have journeyed on, stopping only when he could no longer move forward. It was stubbornness. The thing that exists in all people that refuses to let them lie down and die, or sit by and watch while their siblings are murdered. Depending on the situation, his drive to meet his goal could be considered valiant or stupid, fruitful or useless. And he discovered that he didn’t care. I am the one who has been chosen to save these people, even if I have chosen myself. I have never felt like I belonged with any of them, and yet I will put forth my life for theirs. The cause is right, and there is no right cause that’s not worth dying for. If indeed it comes to that.

He whiled away the hours until morning by gathering more huskberries from the plant. The bush, he was surprised to find, had many untouched branches and he collected enough of the berries to keep them satisfied for a week or more. Once again he blessed the girl for finding the bush. She would not have known until a day or two from now, when the walking became unbearable, and her stomach was sticking to her spine. Then she would have wished for a find like this. He placed the berries in a small shred of the hunter’s pouch that would still function as a pocket, and he secured it with another shred of fabric so that the berries would not fall out barring some tumble down a cliff.

When dawn came, the sun did not rise. Instead, the Wall to the east gave off an incredible glow, a red line of light that bled from its lip. It was an incredible sight, and Erich sat watching for several minutes before he remembered the girl. He shook her awake, and soon she too watched the sunrise from behind the Wall. As the sun crested the lip of the giant structure, the entire land was instantly illuminated, and for anyone who had seen many sunrises, it was already mid-morning.

By this time, however, the two travellers were walking east, up the mountain.

“Where are we going, Erich? Can you at least tell me that?”

“There’s only one place we can go from here, only one place that may mean I can stop whatever’s going on in Meil.”

“You mean to go to the Wall, and through it.”

“Yes.”

“How do you plan to get through?”

“I don’t know.”

“You don’t know?”

“Well, I was hoping…well, we’ll have to walk along it until we see an opening.”

“You plan to go through the wall without any idea as to where it opens?”

“…Do you have a better idea?”

“Yes, actually.”

“You do?

“I do. I told you about the schools they held for Darks in Triga, right?”

“Yes.”

“One of the most cherished pieces of knowledge that the elders passed down were the locations of the entrances all the original Darks had used to smuggle themselves into Meil. All of us were taught this knowledge.”

“So you know where to go to find a way through?”

“Provided I know where we are, and that’s a very tricky thing right now. But the Wall was visible from Triga, and after lessons we’d all go outside and find the locations by sight, mapping the external features of it so we’d be able to find the entrances. Right now, I can see a part of the wall that we had always been taught was the ‘little foot.’ It’s there, straight ahead and to the left. From Triga, it had always been north, and now it’s south of us.”

“Can you find your way from the ‘little foot’ thing to an entrance?”

“That won’t be a problem. There’s one south of there maybe five or six miles. But we won’t want to use it.”

“Why not?”

She stopped then, and Erich hiked three more steps before he realized she was no longer at his side. He turned to find her looking at him, in that way that made him understand that what she was about to say was meant in the most serious way.

“Because it’s suicide.”

Book II - Exodus (Chapter 9)

2005-11-20T00:27:00.000-08:00

When Erich again awoke, he felt much better. Before even opening his eyes he did a mental check of all of his body systems, from his toes on up. He could feel the sun’s rays on his body had slackened, and that meant it must be early evening; he’d slept only three or four hours. He opened his eyes, and looked around for the horsa…no, the horsa was gone. He’d momentarily forgotten where he was and what he was doing here. Ther girl, that was who he was travelling with now. He should be looking around for her. So he did, and when he didn’t see her he stood up, testing his legs. Really, I feel amazing. A complete recharge. He felt stronger now, older, than he’d been just a few short weeks ago. Was that really possible? He shrugged mentally, figuring that questions of possible and impossible had left the stage of reason about the same time he started killing people without touching them. Now where is that girl? Noting that going down the slope meant re-entering the swamp, he started up it, remembering that he’d told her to see if she could find some food.

About two hundred yards further up, he saw her. She was examining a bush, pulling its branches out and shaking them. He saw several little dark things drop, and his stomach groaned in anticipation. It was almost certainly a huskberry plant, of the type he’d seen all the time when he’d travelled to the South with Krutt to perform at Yosgir, a kingdom only fifteen miles North of Agrotia, where the wild men lived. Huskberries were small, that was true, but they were filling – the last time he’d eaten even the smallest handful he’d felt them grow in his stomach, taking his hunger away immediately. Finding a huskberry plant now was miraculous, depending on how many of the berries remained – that is, how many of them had been passed over by the birds.

He walked slowly up the slope, stopping every few moments behind a dark prickly plant that had grown past its normal height. So she didn’t see him when he came up behind her, and when he spoke she jumped, uttering a small cry and throwing her hands up, dropping the huskberries she’d just picked.

“So you’ve found some huskberries.”

After her small fright she turned to him, her face a mixed mask of embarrassment and anger.

“What’s the idea, you sneaking up on me like that? I’ve dropped nearly all the huskberries because of you…how long have you been there, anyway?”

He smiled easily, in direct contrast with the forced one he’d given her just after his horsa had been pulled under the muck.

“I just got here. Woke up and figured you’d gone off up the mountain. So I came to see how you were, and I see you’ve foun some huskberries. That’s very lucky. We won’t be hungry for a while. And what makes you think I was sneaking up on you? Maybe I’m just quiet.”
“How do I know? It’s that grin on your face. It doesn’t help your argument much.” Erich shrugged, finally conceding the point.

“Let me help you get those piced up, then.” Essara uttered a small thanks and the two bent down to the ground, picking huskberries out of the moist growth.

“How are you feeling?” Her voice held just the right amount of interest and concern.

“I feel amazing. Strong, and…healthy. Still, getting some food into my stomach won’t hurt. Are you…I mean, you were hurt pretty bad, maybe I shouldn’t have told you to go looking for food.”

“No, I’m all right. Strange, I felt broken after that knight rode me along the ground like that, but it seems like I’ve just got the usual aches and pains that might come from that sort of thing.”

“But you’re all right.”

“Yes.” She popped a berry into her mouth, and chewed thoughtfully. “That is, I mean…I don’t know why I’m here with you, or where we’re going. I suppose you rescued me from those knights, something like that…how did you get away, anyway?”

Erich’s grin faltered, and he looked down.

“I think if I tell you, you won’t believe me. And if you do, you’ll be afraid of me. So maybe that’s a tale for another night. Is that all right?”

She looked into his face, and Erich feared she saw the hidden pain there, writhing beneath his calm expression, before she nodded.

He looked past her and Eastward, toward the Wall. The mountain stood in their way. Is that still where you’re headed, boy? Through the wall, to Mer’ka? Will that help you find the man who’s killing kingdoms? Is it still that you would run from this place, when it is in need and you have the power to do something about it? Maybe not save it, maybe not that, but you’ll go down fighting. He considered for a moment. Did he really want to go down fighting? Sure, Meil was in trouble, perhaps in a little too much trouble. Would he die for a cause that was doomed? But you don’t know that. And even if it is doomed, it’s right. And any right cause is one to die for, if it comes to that. He’d passed the hours in the night dreaming of the wonders that would await him outside the Wall, his people and their advances, their acceptance. Could he give that up so easily? He didn’t know.

Erich caught Essara giving him an odd look, and he averted his eyes, clearing his throat.

“I…I was just thinking about what you said, about where we’re going. And I don’t know anymore. I was on my way out of Meil, to rejoin my people, and be accepted. I don’t know how I’d get through it, there are passages, but I know no one who can tell me the way to them. It was a fool’s bounty, perhaps. Maybe in my heart I never really believed I’d make it, it was just a goal, a fantasy to pass my time. At least, that’s what I need to tell myself. Despite all that, I have a real desire to go there. If it were possible I’d sure try. Now there’s…the thing that happened in Triga, with all the people dead. It seems like I’ve got new priorities. To stop whoever’s doing it.”

Essara looked confused.

“Erich, we’re going to have to work together here, compare stories. There are things I know that you need to hear before you start making assumptions about what happened in Triga…and as to how you’d stop it, I still don’t understand that. Perhaps it has to do with the knights.”

He nodded slowly, but did not speak.

“All right. Well, I think it’s best we sat down and had a talk. I tell you what I know, and you tell me what you know. We may be together now, but you’re not responsible for me. Wherever you choose to go, I will go willingly. This…I’ve never been outside Triga in my life, and lately it’s the one place I haven’t wanted to be. So, now, I have this opportunity. Don’t worry about me, I will be no burden. Just a companion on your voyage, wherever you decide it should lead.”

So the two sat down near the huskberry bush as the light diminished, and talked. Essara went first, and this is what she said:

“You saw no people in Triga, and yet you know they are all dead. I don’t know this, but it is what I have feared. For the past two weeks I had been hiding atop the church, watching the goings on and leaving only to steal food for myself. I dared not leave, as the knights I thought would have seen me and killed me almost immediately, being that toward the end they were on almost constant patrol up and down the main roads, between which the church I took shelter on was placed. It was either I leave my safe spot to risk almost certain detection and death, or stay in the one place they had not bothered to look. As food became scarcer I believe I would have had no choice, but for the time being I stayed on top of the church.

Before I was driven there, and after I took roost, I saw many evil things, things that I dared not believe and yet have come to accept. I cannot honor the memory of my mother and father without believing that they died bravely, fighting a foe that has no right to exist in these lands.

Triga, as you may or may not know, is widely known for its large Dark population. There was a community of us, and most of us knew every other one. Our knowledge base was large, as every piece of information our ancestors had passed down to their children about Mer’ka and the rest of the outside world was also, in time, passed down to us. And we learned well, existing with pride in our heritage and where we’d come from no matter what those in Meil thought of us. We had a school, for those of Dark heritage, where we would learn things the other people rejected, or would not understand. We learned of numbers, and their higher functions. We learned to write, and read, and a very few of the old stories had made it through the Wall with the original Darks in the form of books, which are collections of papers with words written on them. It was not a secret that the others, the fertile, were afraid of us, and wanted us to leave. There were, however, too many of us, and after some time they put aside their energies to control us and began to pretend we didn’t exist. Until about two weeks ago, nothing large had happened, no violence against Darks that we had noticed. Then it happened that we were gathered together and warned against a plot to kill all Darks, a warning we shrugged off. To kill all of us seemed insanely impossible then, but then it started happening. Darks started disappearing, and it was the elders first, those with the most knowledge of the ways of the outside world. We were afraid, and locked ourselves within the homes we’d made over the generations. That’s when the men from the outside appeared.

Yes, from the other side of the Wall. They appeared on the main road with no horsas, and no hint at how’d they’d arrived. They were dressed in strange smooth clothing, clothing that seemed to be all the same, a dark gray glove to fit the body. On their faces they wore black ovals, over their eyes. And they were Darks, Erich. They were from Mer’ka. And they were there to kill us all.

I was on the churchtop, watching in fear. And I won’t forget what I saw. I don’t want to forget. In their hands they carried cubes. Black cubes. For a while they just walked the road, and the people there watched and, after nothing happened, went on about their lives. This didn’t mean the men weren’t watched. They were. They’d just been put aside until the people could figure out what to do with them. And I watched the men; the whole time knowing they weren’t good, weren’t a new breed of emigrating Darks from Mer’ka. No. These men hadn’t snuck through the Wall. I doubt they’d even passed it, because it seemed like the way they appeared that their sort of travel wasn’t anything that could be done on the ground. It was either through the air, or…or something else altogether. And while everyone else had put on an air of temporary acceptance, I pleaded silently with everyone to do something, to run, to hide! But no one did. And then it started happening.

The black boxes in their hands, they began to do something. Brighten, give off light. Then they were white and there was a flash, and I had to sheild my eyes. There were screams of fear and surprise on the street below me, and the smell of burned clothing reached me. Around where the men had been standing, and where people had been milling about, there were no more people. They’d been…vanished. The men walked up the street and those people who hadn’t been caught by the first blast started to act. They shouted, and ran back to their homes, pulling their families from them and leading them out of the city. They never got far, not even those who got on horsas. Because the black boxes could be focused, and shot at distances, and I watched as one of the men held his box up facing the fleeing people. A man and his horsa vanished. As did a group of Darks all holding hands as they ran. There was no sound, no screams. And yet it was as if I could feel them die. I know that’s strange, but at the time I was filled with such sadness and horror, and I knew my family was doomed. As long as the men could see you, you had no chance. It was merely luck that they had not seen me. I should have moved, pulled myself back into the church, but I could not stop watching. It was luck they never looked up to see me. The more the Darks (and even those pale ones from Meil) ran, the more of them disappeared. The panic was absolute amongst those who saw there was no way for them to escape, nowhere for them to hide where the men from beyond the Wall could not get them. And then we began to fight back. Up the road, I saw a blacksmith supplying men with swords, and from windows I saw bows peeking.

Two of the men from beyond the Wall began to pick these men off with their cubes, and those at the blacksmith stand disappeared after a short series of the white flashes. But a few of the men dashed into houses, and even with their speed the two men with cubes could not get all of the bowmen before near on a dozen arrows were shot. Most missed, but I saw four arrows hit men with cubes, and only one of them died. Their clothing acted as mail, and every arrow that hit their body was repelled just as quickly. But one man was shot through the ear, and he fell down, dropping his cube. The other men glanced at him, and went on firing their cubes. No one else was able to hit a man with a cube in the head, and soon all the archers were gone. From then on, the flashes went on steadily, even when I could not see the men with the cubes, and soon the flashes began to slow. My family was gone, I knew that. My mother and father had been flashed by a cube, and in my heart I believe I knew they were dead. But they had gone fighting, I knew that. My father, once he had realized what was going on, had done his best to save all of us. And yet, I knew I’d seen the only dead man from beyond the Wall that I was going to. We never got another one.

You say you want to stop whoever killed all the people in Triga, and yet you do not know how to reach them, or how to fight them. Their power is aweful, and I don’t understand it. How could anyone fight it? They took an hour or two, and destroyed our kingdom without displacing a stone.

The men did not leave after that, no, they walked up the main road to the castle, where I had assumed they would kill the king. I never saw them come back from there, but after two hours I knew they were gone from Meil. Out the same way they’d come in, through the door behind the curtain. Because there is no door behind the curtain. Still, I stayed in my spot, and very luckily, too. Other Darks and non-Darks were trickling out of the side-streets, a very small group of them. That’s when the patrols came. The patrols were the king’s knights, on horsas, and carrying swords. They rode down the Darks, cutting and stabbing them to death. I watched this, as I was unable to look away, but tears dropped down my cheeks far faster and hotter than they had ever done before. To those from Meil, the knights made a short speech, and the pale ones scattered. They had been told that the streets were no longer a place for any man, and that to stay alive one must hide. A warning stood for any pale one who crossed the patrols, and a blade for any Dark. That was when I knew I could not leave unless need forced my hand. And so I have lived, until you rode into town on your horsa, you the only soul I’d seen for more than ten days, and I was going to save your life. It seems you saved mine. And perhaps you’ll tell me how.”

Book II - Exodus (Chapter 8)

2005-11-19T11:18:00.000-08:00

The girl awoke first, morning light ripping into her unconsciousness like a wild beast. For a moment she was floating, then the pain flooded back and she groaned. I’m still alive. She opened her eyes, slowly at first to adjust to the light, and then quickly as she realized she was on a horsa. She eyed the other figure warily. The boy. It’s the boy I tried to save. Her heart started up, squeezing faster. He wasn’t moving, just lay sprawled across the horsa’s back, the part she wasn’t on. He’s dead. She thought back. The knight who grabbed her, had her hair and was dragging her along the ground. She could feel all the little gashes in her back even now, filled with dirt and oozing. She’d screamed, a loud thing, and had hurt her vocal chords. Then she’d heard a shout, (his shout) and she’d been let go. Tumbling along the ground, she finally came to the stop where she saw…knights, some on their horsas, flying up into the air. No, that couldn’t have happened. She’d hit her head, knocked it hard. She’d imagined the flying knights. So what if you did? Where does that leave you? Well, she’d been unconscious. The boy must have escaped them and rescued her. That had to be it. There were seven of them. Seven knights. You think a boy like that just…escapes? And has time to save a girl on the ground as well? But it was what had happened, she decided. And now he was…what? Dead? Asleep? She passed a hand in front of his mouth and was rewarded by a warm puff of air.

She sighed in relief, and looked around. The horsa was trotting slowly, its head down. Fog filled in around them, and the horsa’s hooves made sucking sounds as it pulled them out of the mud. She couldn’t see the ground, only the fog and the strange plants that grew out of it, but then the horsa stopped. It lowered its head and made several strange liquid noises. It’s drinking. What is this place? I’ve never heard of a place like this, it shouldn’t exist, not if it’s anywhere near Triga. Then, she found cause to look up, and realized that Triga had left them long ago. Towering above them, though still many miles distant, was the Wall. She’d seen it every day of her life, a constant higher horizon visible easily from Triga, a massive countenance even then. But this. It had easily doubled in height, and from here she could see that in either direction it never seemed to end. How could they have built something like this so long ago? The Darks granda talked of weren’t masters of masonry or construction. No, they were masters of the little things. Tiny metal pieces that could make a dead thing alive.

The basin the horsa trudged through rose up on all sides like a bowl, and toward the Wall formed a mountain, large in its own course and yet a pittance compared to the monster of size that lay behind.

The horsa neighed, and shook itself, and the boy began to slide forward off the horsa’s back. She grabbed at the ripped cloth that rode around his waist, and pulled him back. He was heavier than he looked, and it took most of her weight and strength to keep him from pitching face-first into the fog. The horsa neighed again, louder, and this time shook itself hard. The girl heard for the first time the panic in its voice. Something’s wrong. She struggled to keep herself upright, all while pulling at the boy’s cloth belt. Looking around, she tried to see what was happening. Some snake, slithering through the mud? A larger predator? But the fog had risen, and she couldn’t see a thing. She looked to the plant she’d noticed earlier, its green and gnarled fingers reaching desperately from the fog and it hit her like a shot. The plant had risen as well, and that meant she’d been wrong. The fog hasn’t risen - we’re sinking into the mud!

Before she had time to take action, the horsa bucked, meaning to rear onto its hind legs but unable to, as its front ones were encased beneath the fog, deep in the mud. Its hind end tilted downward; it had managed to sink its hind legs deeper with the effort. The girl’s hold on the horsa was gone, and she was falling. Her hold on the boy’s belt, however, never slackened, and now he was on his way down as well.

She landed with a wet smack, and the boy on top of her. Her chest was depressed and she light a mighty breeze of air escape between her lips. The ground was moist, and for a moment she thought that was all. Then it began to soften, and she began to sink. She tugged at the unconscious body atop her, but the boy was too heavy and she was not in position to exert the proper leverage. Warm, stinking muck climbed up around her body, pulling her into the fog. She heard the horsa whinny, this time its panic echoing her own, and she knew that it would not be freed. And if she didn’t do something quickly, neither would she. So she kept her head up, and her arms, so that even if she sank deeper she’d still be free to breath. You’ll breathe the fog, and it’ll kill you. What could she do? The boy was weighing her down, driving her deeper into the sucking mud. The boy. Wake him up, girl. Wake him up and get him to save you again.

He was lying face up, on top of her, and at an angle so that his head rested near her left shoulder. She raised her right arm high, and, making a fist, powered it into the boy’s stomach.

He awoke suddenly, mouth opening in a shocked display of pain as his eyes shot from side to side, trying to see who was attacking him.

“Wake up, horsa boy, look where we’re at!” She shouted it in his ear and he slid sideways, off of her a bit and that was good, but he was staring at her and she knew he hadn’t heard what she’d said. He mouthed something that looked like the word, “you.”

“Yeah it’s me, now hurry up and figure out what you gotta do to save us because your stupid horsa led us into this thing!”

He seemed to finally get it, to understand that yes, they were in trouble (mighty big, yessir, mighty big trouble) and that they could possibly die if he didn’t do something. He blinked, and his mouth closed with a clap. He looked around, taking in the situation, then rolled to the left, off of the girl’s body. She stopped sinking almost immediately, but she didn’t rise any higher. The boy was on his feet, now, and moving. Keep your feet moving, if you stop you’ll go just like the horsa. She glanced at the beast now, and saw that it was up to its breast in the fog. Its eyes were wide and black, and she saw insanity there. Because it knows its reached it’s final resting place and it’s afraid. She looked to the boy, who was stopped near the strange plant, using it as a support to keep himself above the muck. He was undoing his cloth belt, the thing that held together all the other pieces of cloth covering his lower body. He had it off now, and she understood he was going to try to use it to pull her out.

“Right, girl. Grab hold of this, and I’ll pull.”

She nodded feverishly. Yes, yes, just hurry. I don’t want to breathe the fog, don’t make me breathe the fog.

Then the piece of cloth was in her hands and she was pulling as well, pulling as the boy pulled. She rose out of the muck much quicker than she had been sunk in, and again she was resting on the surface. Wasting no time she rolled as he had, and got to her feet, making for the plant with as quickly as her body let her.

“Your…your coverings,” she said, holding her hand out. The boy took his cloth belt and she tried not to look at his man parts. He did the belt up again, and was once again covered. She looked at him, expecting him to say something but he wouldn’t. He wasn’t even looking at her. It was the horsa. She turned and watched as well, watched as the beast, bucking crazily now, slid beneath the surface of the fog.

She put her hand on the boy’s shoulder.

“I’m sorry for your horsa, I didn’t mean that it was stupid, I just needed for you to wake…”

“It’s my fault. He hasn’t had any water for four days. Just came in here because he could drink. I promised myself I’d take care of him, and I didn’t.”

He still wasn’t looking at her, just stood staring at the spot where the horsa had disappeared. A drop of something fell down his cheek and he quickly rubbed it away.

“Well, I suppose we’d better…well, who are you, anyway?” His eyes were on her now, a feigned interest quickly becoming real curiosity, and she felt her face go hot.

“My name is Essara. I watched you ride into the kingdom and ran to stop you from finding the knights…” The knights. What had happened with them, anyway? But the boy looked down, his eyebrows furrowing together like the two blades of a plow, and she did not ask.

Then his eyes were on her again, and he was smiling, his cheeks dimpling with the force and insincerity of it.

“Essara. My name is Erich. Pleased to meet you. Now how do you suppose we get out of here?”

She glanced around. He was right, they were still in a tight spot. The fog seemed to go for thousands of yards, and the nearest rise in land was to the North, although plants like the one on which they stood were scarce in that direction.

“We’ve got to keep to the plants, like you figured. And get to where the ground rises. Best way I can see, that’s...over there. She pointed Southeast.

Erich nodded. “All right. But we’ve got to stay on our feet, keep moving so we don’t drop into it again. We rest at the plants. Are you ready? That one over there.” He pointed to the nearest plant in the direction they were headed, one that was less than fifty yards away. Fifty yards though, that’s still not a very safe bet. Essara shuddered. She didn’t want to feel the warm fingers of muck around her again, didn’t want to be made to breathe the fog.

“I’m ready,” she breathed, and then they were running, little quick steps so that their feet were on the surface of one section of the muck for as small an amount of time as possible. They reached the first plant fairly quickly, and soon set off for the next one. It seemed they travelled in this way for near on an hour, and then the sun rose higher and burned away the fog so it became easier to see the surface over which they scurried. This way, they were able to spot the incredibly wet spot they’d have attempted to cross had the fog remained. Instead they had to circle around, and even then hadn’t gone far enough and one of Essara’s legs hit a weak spot and plunged in down to the knee. Erich got her up, but not before she let out a series of frightened, angry screams.

After an eternity it seemed, of hurrying over the unstable and overly moist ground, they reached the edge of the bowl, where drier land rose up out of the swamp. They walked for a while, exhausted, and then Erich dropped to his knees. He pushed himself over, and lay on his back, letting the sun bake his nearly naked body as he massaged his head.

“My head aches, Essara. I need to sleep, and you should not awaken me unless we are in dire troubles. Perhaps you should sleep as well, or if not you could look for food. We will need some of that soon, I know.”

“For what, Erich? Where are we going?”

“Now? Now I don’t rightly know, but before I entered your dead kingdom I was on my way to Mer’ka.”

Essara blinked.

“Mer’ka? Over the Wall?”

“The same. We’ll discuss it after I sleep. I am no good like this.” He rubbed his head again, absently, and Essara silently disagreed. No, you have done splendidly. Even if you are crazy. For he had been planning to breach the Wall, and enter into Mer’ka. It was suicide. Suicide for him, though? The knights – I must find out what happened with them. When he wakes, I will ask him. Look, he sleeps.

He lay absolutely still, but his breaths came shallow and even. His eyelids fluttered, and he made no snore. He sleeps like the dead.

Essara got up, and looked up the sloping ground toward the mountain that lay to the East.

Now, where would I go to find food?

Book II - Exodus (Chapter 7)

2005-11-17T23:30:00.000-08:00

As he threw his leg over the horsa and hopped off, Erich had the oddest feeling. It was paranoia, but coupled with the incredible wrongness of the environment, it made the hair on the back of his neck stand on end. Someone was watching him; no. Quite a few someones were watching him. And yet the kingdom’s streets stood deserted, wind whistling through the empty alleys and sending dust and dead plants over the cobblestones Erich stood on. Something bad happened here. Something really horrible. He’d forgotten about his position; forgotten about his desire to leave Meil. What he really wanted at this moment was information. And to know what sort of people had their eyes on him. He walked out into the middle of the empty road, looking about himself with puzzled wonder.

Carts and merchant stands stood empty, one of them containing fruit that was now rotting. Doors to some houses swung open on their hinges while others were boarded up. He scanned the top row of the buildings, looking for eyes that might be peeking from attic windows or rooftops. He saw none.

Either everyone had been ordered to leave, or they were all dead. Not dead, surely. Where would they hide the bodies? Who would have done such a thing? He eyed the castle. Whatever had gone on here, someone in that direction would still be alive; unless the king had been killed or had vacated as well.

Caution was something he had forgotten, and he began his march toward the castle. Someone there would know, would tell him, and he’d be able to…what? Deal with it. He startled himself with the thought. He’d find the people responsible, and he’d take care of them. Because you really don’t think everyone has left, do you? Too many things left as they were, besides, you know, don’t you? Erich clenched his teeth. It didn’t matter how, but he knew. Everyone was dead.

Someone had killed them all, and Erich shuddered in rage and confusion. Why? Kill a cityful of people, and for what? Innocent people, Darks and those whose ancestors were a part of the original fertilization. No. He knew he’d touched on something there. Darks. Someone wanted all the Darks dead. How that fit into this he didn’t know, but it did. He’d find out soon enough.

If someone gets in your way? He’d take care of them. His power would get him there, he’d avenge the deathof every righteous person who’d died here and had been carefully taken away, the streets cleaned to make it seem like everyone had fled. It was wrong; no one had the right to murder thousands of people, no one had the power

(except for you erich magician’s boy you have the power)

to do it. He stiffened at once, and froze, realizing the truth of it now. They have a Dark. One like me, who kills. He’s killed everyone. Erich didn’t understand who would be in charge of a thing like that, or how it fit, but it was the only thing that made sense. There was no other way the people that had lived here could have been wiped. No other way. They have a killing Dark, like you, and he’s much stronger. Killing ten thousand people like that, slaughtering them with his power, he’d have to be stronger or the backlash would kill him outright. You have no chance here, Erich. Your talent is nothing more than a magician’s fancy compared to his.

He saw the seven knights on horseback bleed out into the streets from its edges, saw them ride toward him. In his mind, he saw the killing Dark commanding them, ordering them to kill Erich, a challenger to his throne. He was dead, no matter how he played it here. So he’d make an ending of it. A grand ending.

The knights pulled up, bringing their horses to a stop in front of Erich. The boy did not move, and set his face hard. He looked the horsamaster who had pulled himself to the front in the eyes, and found his hard look reflected back at him.

“What’s your business here, Dark?” The knight said the last word as if he’d been aiming it at a spitoon.

“Does it matter? You’re going to kill me anyway.

“I had to ask. Orders is orders, and any Dark boy we see we gotta ask."

Erich smiled grimly.

“Been hearing rumors, have you? About a Dark boy?” The knight didn’t answer. They know about me. Erich didn’t know if he was surprised or not. By now he’d figured out his ability was rare, or else he would have seen it being used somewhere else. He was unique, or somewhat so.

“You want to know why I’m here, do you?”

The knight leaned in, eyeing him with sharp, piercing eyes.

“Spit it out, boy. Once I hear what I hear you’ll be mine. Think I’ll split you open end to end, make a day of it.” Erich shrugged and the knight looked a little disappointed. He had no fear, not now. He wouldn’t let this man or any other kill him without a fight.

“I came here to have a rest on my journey, but then I see someone’s gone and killed everyone in the city. Only a few people can do that. I’m one of them. So I decided I’m going to do my duty and kill the one’s killed all the people.”

The knight, atop his mount, looked genuinely confused. That’s when the girl appeared. From behind him, Erich heard a shout.

“Horsa boy! Get out –”

He wheeled about, and stood looking at a girl who had rounded the corner of a large stone building to see him talking with the knights from the kingdom’s center. She was frozen, maybe two dozen steps away.

“Khazal, get her.” It was the knight in charge, speaking to one in the back. Before he could think, the one called Khazal was galloping toward the girl.

“Move, girl, and I’ll kill you where you stand.” She didn’t move, and the big knight took a mighty handful of the black hair on her head and was off, dragging her along the ground. She screamed, and Erich’s moment of shock wore off. She was going to die unless he did something.

He felt within him a torrent of the hot electric power, and this time it didn’t just contain itself to his gut. It spun throughout his body, crackled from his fingertips and got behind his eyes in a fuzzy sort of rage. He screamed, aiming at the man on the horsa.

“LET HER GO!” A wave of the hot electricity shot from the place between his eyes and the man dragging the girl did. He was thrown high and hard against the large stone building from behind which the girl had emerged. The force was enough to flatten the man against the stone, crushing his body. When the body of Khazal at last landed on the ground, his helmet was in ruins, as if a blacksmith had warmed it and had then taken ten huge swings at it with his largest hammer. His head was still inside.

But Erich saw none of this. He turned to the knights who had ridden out to face him here, in the middle of the street. They were scrambling, pulling their swords from their hips, eyes wide in fear. The leader’s mouth was opening and closing stupidly, and he shook his head in unbelief as Erich made eye contact with him.

“I warned you! And you ignored me!”

One of the knights had his sword free, and his face opened up in an expression of shocked triumph. He was going to be able to kill the boy!

A moment later, as the power that rode the Dark boy was released in a giant wave aimed at them, the knight with the sword was reeling through the air, even though he felt the horsa between his legs. His last thought as the boy’s hot power fried his brain was that it wasn’t supposed to be like this. This wasn’t how it was supposed to end, he was going to kill the boy…

They were all in the air now, all of them tumbling away from Erich as the place at the top of his nose played conduit for the power that escaped him. No, it wasn’t escaping; he was forcing it at them. And it filled him with an insane pleasure, cancelling out his rage almost immediately, making him weaker, and eventually dropping him to the ground as the last of it poured out. The knights were dead; he’d killed them all.

A tinge of regret rose up into the blanket of satisfaction, and flowered into a question Erich quickly suppressed. What am I? Some sort of monster?

The girl; he had to see if she was all right. He pushed himself up onto his elbows and then to his knees. With some effort he regained his footing and began to walk. It had started already, he felt that. His legs were rubbery, and he had to concentrate hard for them to move in the direction he wanted. I really killed myself over it this time; I’ll be asleep for a week. It seemed to take an age for him to walk to the girl, and when he did his mind escaped him. He stared at her, this bloody mess he’d seen minutes before standing up, shouting for him to get out of the road. She was pretty, he saw that. Her face was angelic, cheeks full and her lips small and pouty. Her skin was darker too. She was a Dark. Like him. Never mind that, is she alive? Erich puzzled over this for far too long, as he seemed to be losing control of his conscious mind. He did however notice by and by that she was breathing, just barely, and this got him onto a different train of thought. What to do. Stay here? No, they’d have more men after him and he was helpless now. Had to leave. Get out and hide somewhere. Take the girl with him.

It was all incredibly for difficult to him, thinking these thoughts. All he wanted to do was rest, lay his head down on the cobblestones and let his mind drift away, into the sleep he yearned for. He shook off the temptation and wandered over to his horsa. It sensed his trouble and began walking back with him, and Erich leaned on its flank. He had to get the girl up on the horsa, then manage to put himself up there as well. He forgot, momentarily, what he was doing and why, and he stood motionless for several moments staring at the girl on the ground. Eventually he remembered, and though consciousness was excruciating, he managed to hoist the girl (oh how light she is, how pretty and light) up onto the horsa’s back. The horsa didn’t fuss, and Erich knew that all he had to do now was get on as well. It was difficult, but after three tries he managed to force his rubbery limbs to do what he told them to do. He kicked the horsa’s side half-heartedly, and laid his head on the horsa’s mane, arms dangling to the sides.

“Let’s go, friend.”

The horsa understood. It travelled well into the night, to the East, with the two unconscious figures on its back.

Interlude - A Dark Watching

2005-11-17T20:28:00.000-08:00

She watched the boy on the horsa ride into the kingdom, and once she was able to overlook the strange coverings he wore, she noticed something else about him that made her heart jump.

He was a Dark. To her, it seemed, he was also lost.

From her hiding place on the balcony of stone building that had been built as a church once but had long ago been abandoned; a place she often went to be alone, she could see for miles in all directions. It was an odd sense of power, that, and she often pretended she was sentry, protector of the city of Triga. Lately, however, things had gotten bad, and she’d had to spend more time in her hiding spot than she’d wanted to. She no longer pretended she protected the city that had betrayed many of her people, instead she longed to leave it.

Now, as she watched the boy ride his horse up the main road, she began to worry. He doesn’t know. He’ll be killed. Indeed, the boy was riding directly toward the castle, where knights with orders to kill Darks on sight waited.

Get off the road, boy. Into the alleys, where you can hide. Hurry! They’ll see you!

Seeming to hear her, the boy pulled back on the reins and the horsa slowed. When it came to a stop on the side of the road, the boy got off. And stood there, looking around in amazed puzzlement.

For the streets of Triga were empty, merchant stalls abandoned and windows in houses closed with boards. He was, she saw, a lonely figure in a dead city; one that had been thriving only weeks before.

He doesn’t know, she thought again. He’ll walk around and one of them will see him, and he’ll get killed. I have to do something. The boy, although directly up the road a hundred yards or so, was too far away for her to shout. She’d have to go to him.

Quickly she bounced to her feet and ran around the balcony until she found the small cubby she’d used to climb out. She pulled herself through the hole and raced down the spiraling staircase she’d climbed more times than she could count. When she reached the base of the staircase she passed the altar made of stone that swirled (and so old it cracked in most places) and flew between the columns that marked the entrance to the church. Taking a cursory glance up the road, to where the boy stood, she noticed he’d wandered out into the middle of it and was looking toward the castle. Archers, she thought, archers will get him. An arrow through the throat.

She weaved her way through a small alley to reach the one that ran behind many of the houses and parallel to the main road, the one that the residents of this kingdom had used for throwing out their excrement until a week before. The smell was overpowering, but she weathered it. She was running parallel to the road now, panting with exertion and sweating with fear. Finally she reached the passage between the old conciliary building and the learning place. She took the left turn, padding up the passage until she had a partial view of the road again. The boy was standing there, and she opened her mouth to shout.

“Horsa boy! Get out - ”

As she rounded the corner of the conciliary building, she was able to see the rest of the road. And that the boy was not alone, but rather standing opposite a group of knights on horsaback, knights who now looked at her in surprise and then interest.

One of them, the one in the front, said something and the knight in back took his horsa around and galloped toward her. She tensed, as panic took her in full form, and prepared to flee.
“Move, girl, and I’ll kill you where you stand.” The knight’s voice was rocky, and she hesitated, uncertainty freezing her. It was all the time the knight needed, and he grabbed her by the hair as he rode past and dragged her along the ground beside his horsa. She screamed, in fright at first but then in pain, the real, excruciating pain that told her her hair was going to rip the top of her skull off, or her whole head. She had fallen backwards when the knight had grabbed her, was now being dragged on her back, little stones and rocks digging into the meaty places under her shoulder blades and along her spine. I’m dead, she thought. I’m already dead, my body just doesn’t know it yet. Her throat hurt, and vibrated strangely, and it was her screaming that did it.

She heard a muffled shout from a thousand miles away, and her hair was let go. She fell to the ground, rolling, and before she blacked out she saw something impossible.

The knights were flying.

Book II - Exodus (Chapter 6)

2005-11-17T20:26:00.000-08:00

A day later, the Wall rose up misty on the horizon, and Erich stopped. He looked at it, a magnificent feat of steel forged by the hands of many men, and felt insignificant; an ant in comparison. From here it seemed the Wall was impossibly tall, and every few miles closer he rode it seemed to grow exponentially. By the time he was actually stopped before it he feared he would not be able to see its top.

As he stared at the collossal structure looming a day’s ride away, he began to realize the foolishness of his plan. He’d made up his mind to go through the wall, to escape Meil. At the time he’d actually been naïve enough to think he’d be able to climb it, but he saw clearly now that he’d be looking for some opening, one that would lead all the way through. If the Wall was that tall, it was most likely at least half as wide to support itself. He’d have to find out where the Darks came in, and he’d need a Dark to tell him. Which meant another change in his plan. Don’t fool yourself, boy. When did you ever really have one? You just assumed you’d reach the Wall and it would open to you, bid you safe passage through. I gross misjudgement, one that must be remedied as soon as possible. Which means going to a city to find a Dark who can tell you where to go.

Not Rothkin, though.

He’d have to travel South, to Triga. It was out of his way, but not much. He’d already been circling South to avoid Rothkin, and if what he remembered from the geography he’d picked up from Krutt, it should be less than fifty miles from him. He could reach it before nightfall if he hurried. He patted the horsa’s neck, knowing he was pushing the animal hard, it had not had anything to drink for more than two days. But he would survive, long enough to take Erich into Triga, and then Erich would take care of him like a real horse master.

Looking at his body and the makeshift clothing he’d made for himself from the hunter’s bag and some of the desert grasses, he made a mental note to obtain some proper clothing when he arrived. Clothing that he could hide behind, be just another peasant. He’d need a large hat, one to cover his face, and the scar that would cause him all sorts of trouble if he ran into the wrong people.

Despite the change of plans, and his disappointment that he would not be leaving Meil as soon as he’d thought, he was grateful that he’d be able to at least stock up on supplies (that he’d most likely have to beg for or steal) before heading out.

Besides, Krutt had never taken him to Triga. It would be an adventure.

Unless you can’t find any Darks to tell you where to go. It was a possbility, one that was very real. Most of the Darks he’d heard of had been raised in Meil, and the one who’d actually sneaked in through the Wall was already dead. Still, there were more recent immigrants, like his mother, who had come within the last twenty years. He would find someone, and he would ask for the information he needed.

What will you trade for the information? Work, he supposed. He was strong, good with his hands; his muscles had grown fast for a twelve-year-old because of the relentless character of his former master.

Krutt. Erich found himself thinking less and less of the man. Every time he remembered the way he’d been treated, like an animal, even though the magician had needed him to do his magic right. He regretted much about Krutt, and most of all he regretted calling the man “master.” He had done it out of reflex, and out of fear. The term of respect had beaten Erich down, made him feel unimportant next to the magician. When he thought of it now, he seethed. He never let me know, never let on that I was the strong one, not he. I could have stopped him at any time, except for that he was using me, draining my power. Stealing it. In my mind I was weak, an insect compared to him. Oh, Krutt. How I wish I could exchange those boys’ lives for yours. Nine years your slave and still I watched another man end your life.

Erich did not like that he had killed, but he accepted the fact that he had. He had not meant to, and yet that didn’t mean he wasn’t responsible. The injustice of it gnawed at him, however. Why had he been made to kill those he had not meant to, and not the only man who he’d ever hated?

On his way to Triga, as he rode the horsa hard, Erich resigned himself to the fact that if the ones who wanted him dead were going to try to kill him again, he was going to have to use his power. It was right in the defense of himself, he decided now. He wouldn’t like it, but he was no longer the weak boy who had feared a coward, and called him “master.”

He was Erich, and he would survive to see Mer’ka. No matter how many men they sent to end his life.

Book II - Exodus (Chapter 5)

2005-11-15T19:05:00.000-08:00

Erich pushed the horsa hard until the sun went down. The rolling hills were no longer green; they were a mottled brown and yellow, as the dead grass set in patches covering the otherwise visible soil. Every gallop brought up a plume of dust, and the wind whipped it around Erich’s head, forcing him to lower his head and squint. He felt completely exposed the whole time he pushed the horsa, the dust made him visible, too visible. Still, he needed to put distance between himself and the men who were tracking him, so that he could be sure they were not following.

He knew that no matter how far he went, or how fast, they would find him. Most likely they’d left their own horsas a short distance from the river, and had gone to retrieve them as soon as Erich was out of sight. He could be as much as six hours ahead of them or as little as ten minutes. His horsa’s tracks would be visible until the wind filled them in with the sands that seemed to be hiding just under the top layer of rocky soil and surviving yellow blades of sun-burned grass.

There was one option left, one option that did not lead inevitably to the death of himself or the people around him. He’d have to bypass Rothkin altogether, reach the wall before they realized he’d changed course. By the time they discovered where he had gone it would be too late. They’d never expect it; to them, he was just on his way to Rothkin to hide. They think I’m stupid, that I’ll play into their hands.

The sun was set again, the blanket of cold dropping over him again and he cursed himself for leaving his clothes on the riverbank. I am stupid, he thought. But they will be so disappointed when their trackers arrive in Rothkin expecting me to have gotten there ahead of them.

He had to lose them, make them think he’d done something he hadn’t. And he knew the trackers dealt in tracks; those he’d made in abundance. They’d tell them where he was…or where he wanted them to think he was.

To do it right, he’d need to leave the horse. But only for a short while. He pushed the horsa to a trot and scanned his surroundings, looking for a place where the ground would harden, where the grass was heavier. It was troublesome, as this far East the land was more arid, and flatter. He didn’t find much green grass, and none of it served his purpose. The dark made it harder to differentiate colors, but he knew that if he found what he was looking for he’d find it in abundance. He searched in earnest for hours, traveling steadily East. Finally he saw a few trees ahead of him and to the left. No, there were more than a few. It was a line of them, all of different sizes and spaced at random intervals. They were natural growths, and that meant one thing. Water.

“Ya!” he shouted, and the horsa galloped, pinning Erich to its back again. They neared the trees and Erich pulled the reigns, slowing the beast. There was grass here, and it was thick and green. And something else, something Erich hadn’t been counting on but what made his plan so much better. A small river, one that flowed down from the North and made an oxbow so that it curved round to continue back in the direction it had come from only a hundred yards or so farther up. He pulled the horsa up to a stop, and hopped off, feeling his feet sink deep into the soggy terrain. He would leave perfect tracks. He walked evenly to the grassy area, and then pushed through the tall blades until he was at the riverside. Three days without, and then I get two rivers on the same day. He smiled. Thank the gods for the rivers. If he succeeded, they would be integral parts to his success.

He stepped into the river, judging its depth. It came to his knees. A perfect height for someone planning to travel down (or up) it on foot. Good. Now came the important part. He stepped back onto the bank, and made his way back through the grass. When he came to where his tracks were visible to the eye, he turned around. Squinting at the ground in the dark, he located each mark where his foot had landed and placed his foot back in the same spot. Working like this, he eventually arrived back at the horsa. He jumped onto its back, careful not to let it think it was time to start running again. Checking the tracks over, he grinned at his handiwork. It looked like he’d dropped off of the horsa right here, walked into the river and had tried to lose trackers that way.

Still, if he began riding again right away, they’d never believe his trick. If he’d really left the horsa standing here, after a while the beast would wander off, meandering through the plain until it decided to move on. So Erich nudged the horsa forward, and to the right. After a random interval he’d change the horsa’s direction, and when he looked behind him he knew he’d done well. The trees and the oxbow were more than a mile to the back of him now, and he figured he could run again. He kicked the horsa’s side and they were off again.

Two days, less. Then he’d be out of Meil, going home. To Mer’ka. As he pushed himself through the night, all the familiar questions he’d asked himself about his homeland went trickling through his head. He mulled them over, one by one.

And he shook with excitement.

Book II - Exodus (Chapter 4)

2005-11-15T00:42:00.000-08:00

When Erich and the hunter’s horsa finally fell out of the other end of the forest, the boy was feeling much better. His strength had somewhat returned, and he felt energized. When he saw, on horsaback, the distance he would have had to travel to reach the Eastern edge on foot, he realized that he would never have made it. The hunter had unwittingly saved his life, and though he thought little of the man, Erich loved him for the horsa he’d left in his path. And the bread. Oh, the bread. It filled him even now, and he had not eaten more than half of it. There had been no leather flask filled with water, but he was free now to ride fast. The horsa would lead him to water, and he would drink.

He kicked the horsa’s side a little harder than he’d been doing in the forest, and it’s head lowered. The ground moved by faster now, and Erich felt the horsa’s legs under him cycle in their mild run. He bent over in the saddle, and took hold of the beast’s mane. He kicked harder.

“Ya!”

The horsa opened up, laying waste to the ground beneath them as it realized its rider was no longer a heavy man. It could run now, and run it did, Erich clinging to the horsa’s back as his eyes watered from the speed. It felt wondrous. Powerful. He looked to his right, cocking his head against the wind so that he could blink away the tears. That’s when he saw it. A shape on the horizon, small and vertical. A smudge, as his vision blurred. He blinked rapidly, and the shape became clearer. A man?

“Whoa, friend! Whoa!” The horsa pulled up, relinquishing its gallop as it shifted easily into a trot. Erich wiped his eyes, blinking. Then he squinted into the horizon, searching for what he’d seen. There was nothing. What had it been? A man? From this distance how would he tell?

A shape on the horizon. It had been a trick of the sun, like the one it plays to make the air shimmer when the heat dries the ground. Like that, and coupled with his watering eyes. He had seen nothing.

And yet as he urged the horsa back into it’s delightful gallop, something gnawed at his stomach, and it was not hunger.

It was the terrible feeling that something was wrong.

***

The river was wide, and yet not terribly deep. Erich knelt at its edge, holding horsa’s pack. He pulled the clear, cold water into his mouth and drank deeply. After five large swallows and he stopped himself, even though his body screamed for more. He would not be foolish; he did not want to vomit and lose the bread he’d eaten. It was good that he stopped, for suddenly his stomach felt full and heavy. Another few gulps and he would have been making a peace offering to the river. Or the ducks, after it floated downstream a ways.

He’d topped a particularly tall and sloping hill and had been shocked to find himself staring down at the river. Its water bubbled musically over rocks and Erich had closed his eyes to listen. It lasted but a moment before he realized that his thirst had pushed its way back into consciousness and was now kicking the horsa down toward the river’s bank.

Now, the sun at its highest, Erich pondered what would come next. How far a ride to Rothkin he did not know. Would he have access to another river before then, or would this be the last water he’d have? The hunter had left no flask with his horsa, so Erich had no way of collecting and transporting liquid, except for in his stomach. That would have to be it. He’d stay here some more hours and drink as much of the water as he could. No point in riding away from anything while it’s still useful. And the river, he could use it for more than hydration. He took the rope from the hunter’s pack and tied the horsa to one of the smaller trees lining the river. It had room to turn a circle, and to step forward and drink if it so desired.

The horsa secured, Erich shrugged off his meager clothing and plunged himself into the icy river. It only rose to his stomach, so the current did not pick him off his feet.

He ducked his head under the water, and came out gasping. It was cold, but that didn’t mean Erich wasn’t feeling the best he had in a long time. Dirt dropped off him like flakes of dead skin, and the rushing water took it away downstream. The boy scrubbed himself raw, leaving the dirt that never seeemed to come off. It was as much a part of his skin as his skin was a part of him.

He hopped out of the river and shook himself, shivering to get warm even though the sun’s rays were already baking into him. He sat down beside his horsa and closed his eyes, letting the sun dry him.

The feeling in his gut was still there, the one that told him that something was wrong, that he had forgotten something. It had to do with the smudge he’d seen on the horizon as he’d been riding. He’d decided it was nothing, but maybe that was a foolish mistake. Breyda had told him there were men who wanted to kill him, and Erich could only assume that as long as he was in Meil he was not safe. So he’d walked for days, ridden through a forest. Who was to say he had not been followed? He must be cautious, even now. A complacent man dies a fool, Krutt had always said.

If he had been followed, he would most likely be being watched as he sat here naked on the riverbank, eyes closed.

Why not? It would be a perfect time to strike.

Erich opened his eyes and whipped his head to the right, scanning the terrain that surrounded the Southern reaches of the river.

He saw nothing but tall grass, bushes, and small trees whose roots were exposed to the river’s eroding path. Still, he moved his eyes slowly from side to side, scanning further and further away. There was nothing. The other side, then.

But the smudge was on my right side as I rode this way.

Just check..

He turned his head to the left now, and faced the North. Immediately he saw what he had dreaded, and his heart skipped a beat. Crouched not more than two hundred yards away was a man, clad in dark green clothes, watching him. The green was meant to be camouflage, and perhaps it worked from longer distances, but in Erich’s vision the man stood out perfectly.

Erich jumped to his feet, and scrambled to the horsa. What an idiot I’ve been. The gods help me if my hands are not nimble enough to untie this horsa.

Seeing that he’d been spotted, the dark green man rose to his feet and began making hand signals. They weren’t for Erich, and once again the boy looked South. A second dark green man rose from behind a bush a mere hundred yards from him, and in his hands Erich spotted a bow.

His heartbeat quickened, and panic started to set in.

No no no no. Untie the horsa. Get on and ride. Go go go go.

But his hands were still numb from the water, and the knot he’d tied had gotten tighter as the horsa had pulled at it. The gods help me, Erich thought.

If only the hunter had left me a blade, something to cut with.

You don’t need a blade. You have a power. Reach into it, kill the men.

Erich played with the idea. It was tempting, that was for sure. He shook his head.

No. I’ve still got time to get away. I won’t kill them, I swore I wouldn’t kill anymore.

His hands were playing at the rope more frantically now than ever before, and his mind was frantically trying to convince him of the best plan of action.

You’ll have to use it eventually, it’s inevitable. These men won’t stop hunting you, you’ve got to kill them. No matter how watchful you are from now on, they’ll find you off your guard at some point and you’ll be dead. Use the power. Kill the men.

He shook his head.

No! I’ve still got time to get away. I won’t do it unless I have to.

One of them has a bow, you’ll be dead before you realize it’s time to use it.

I don’t care.

A part of the knot came loose and Erich enjoyed one moment of triumph until an arrow dug into the ground beside his feet. The horsa reared, breaking the rest of the knot and freeing itself from the tree. For one horrible moment the boy thought the horsa who’d taken him this far would bolt, leaving him naked and alone and in the range of an archer’s shot. A quick look to the first dark green man showed a steady advance. He was jogging through the grass, leaping short distances down the hill that banked the river to the West. In one hand he swung a longsword, of the kind a knight would use. He would reach Erich’s position very shortly, and, if the boy was not gone, end his life.

But the horsa did not bolt, and allowed him to rein it in by the saddle so that he could make an awkward leap onto it’s back. Then he was up, and as he looked to his right he saw the archer loose another arrow. Erich flattened himself against the horsa’s back, and a moment later felt the arrow’s passage through the spot he’d just been occupying.

Kicking the horse’s sides, he spurred it onward, through the icy waters that rose to the horsa’s breast. All the while he kept his eye on the archer, as the other one was no longer a threat. The archer watched the boy go, and lowered his bow. He made hand signals to the other man, and the other man stopped running. And, with both men watching, Erich, naked rode away from the afternoon sun.

Interlude - Revelations

2005-11-14T20:32:00.000-08:00

“None of this feels right, my lady. We’re losing too many of them, losing Darks who no one should know about. Last night one of ours found a Dark we’d warned dead in an alley. Near the castle gates.”

“What you say is true, Breyda. They have a grip on our dealings; an uncanny knowledge of all that goes on here. But it makes perfect sense, don’t you think?”

“My lady?”

“That as soon as we began to pour our efforts into telling the Darks they were being targeted, our enemies would see and take advantage? We were doing their job for them, Breyda; finding the Darks so that they could tag them and kill them later.”

“You think they’ve infiltrated us.”

“Yes, and to the highest level. It is someone who has access to the list, the one that tells of every Dark we’ve found and talked to. The person who is doing this has been faithful to his true employers in every way, making contacts with them at regular times. The opposition knows. Everything.”

“Surely I don’t have to tell you that what you speak of is impossible. Beside the two of us, no one has access - ”

“Do you remember the boy, Breyda? The one you imagined had killed the four boys? The one you’d imagined was the World Breaker?”

“Yes, my lady. He disappeared into the Hathan streets. Hopefully he is still alive.”

“You don’t hope. You know. Your contacts have had him followed, and they know where the boy is.”

“My lady, this is ridic-”

“Do you think I did not weep when the trackers told me where they’d seen you? Who you’d been talking to? You’ve been my friend, Breyda. A brother. Do you think it did not lay heavy on my soul when I knew that you, of all people, were the traitor? So, for the sake of the gods, Breyda, speak of me no longer as your lady. You’ve betrayed me. You may have destroyed our entire struggle! If indeed the boy is the World Breaker, and you told them where to find him, Meil is doomed. Do you not understand that?”

“It…it was never my intention for you to find out this way. I was offered…they knew what I was, they were going to kill my family! What could I do? I never did it for any bad reason, you need to know that.”

“…Breyda, that does not ease the thing I’m forced to do. You would have done the same for me.”

“Please, my lady! Lock me away, I’ll never speak again. I swear it.”

“I cannot let this thing go unpunished. If I did what you asked, and you watched them murder your family you would wish that I had done this thing.”

“Gods forgive me, forgive me.”

“Azalta! Ruxt! Come here!”

“My lady, forgive me. I would never have done you harm, my hand was forced. Do not think ill of me.”

“I will not, Breyda. You were a good man. Azalta, Ruxt. Captain Breyda has betrayed our cause. Take him from here, and kill him. Return his body to the family he has so loved. They deserve that.”

“Goodbye, My lady. I have failed you.”

“Goodbye, Breyda.”

Book II - Exodus (Chapter 3)

2005-11-13T22:01:00.000-08:00

As the day wore on, the scenery around Erich changed. A line of trees appeared in the horizon, only when he first saw them they were too distant to make out as anything other than a thick, dark green line. Still, he recognized it for what it was, and was glad for the chance to judge his speed. If it was a proper forest, he might find some berries or roots to chew on, and even possibly a stream.

His stomach growled as he thought of it, the claws of hunger gnawing deeper than ever before. He noted the weakness in his step, the way his head felt like it was pulling away from his body. Hunger had been normal when he’d travelled with Krutt, but this was the worst it had ever been. Still, he imagined he’d last at least another day if not two without food, and now that he had a forest to look forward to, it looked more likely that he’d soon have something in his belly besides hunger pains.

It took another three hours to reach the forest, and when he finally entered into the protection of the tall boughs and thick-trunked behemoths that made up its visage, he was greeted by a perfume of pine and maple. The forest floor was matted with pine needles and cones, and every once in a while a patch of luminescent green moss sprung up on the trunk of a giant. Erich looked up as he walked, unable to the see the tops of the trees, and only occasionally catching a glimpse of the sun, which was already sliding down its afternoon track. He would most likely spend the night here, in this forest; it was either that or find some way around, and at its edge it seemed to go on forever in both directions.

He walked with his eyes travelling constantly, looking for plants that would yield berries, but was severely disappointed to find that beyond the impossibly tall trees that spanned the girth of several men, the forest was mostly barren. Perhaps it had been foolish to hope that he’d find something immediately, and he realized now that subconsciously that’s exactly what he’d been doing since he first saw the forest line.

Now he was practically in the same situation he had just exited. Only instead of constant rolling hills with no outstanding features, he was now traversing constant rolling hills with a tree sprouting out of the ground every ten or twelve body-lengths.

So he walked, as he’d charged himself to do, and as the sun went down for the second time since his journey began, he became increasingly uninterested in the forest. It seemed the same, now, in every direction, the orange forest flooring littered with patches of green saplings and ferns, and it was amazing that Erich could even tell in which direction he had to walk, as the treetop canopy gave little light. Still, even when it was approaching full dark, Erich was able to see fairly well, which struck him as odd. He picked a tree in far in front of him, as he’d done with the star the night before, and set himself that way. Once he reached the tree he’d chosen, he’d choose another one, and by this way worked steadily Eastward with only a few small fluctuations to the North or South.

At the fifth (or was it the sixth?) tree that he’d marked as destinations, he collapsed. He was reaching for the ground before he was fully aware that he’d begun falling, and the pine needles he dove into offered a surprisingly soft landing. He lay for a moment, dazed, trying to determine what had made him fall. His legs quivered wearily, and he realized that fatigue had finally found him. Well, then he would rest, and when he felt better he would begin again. Strangely, all fear of death had left him with his encounter with the wolfas. He understood that he might die, might starve alone in the forest, and yet it didn’t bother him as much as once it might have.

He rolled over onto his back and pulled himself up against the tree. Which way had he been facing? All sides looked the same now. He’d have to wait until sunrise. Secretly he was glad for the chance to rest, and at the same time he knew that every moment he wasn’t drinking water or eating something was a moment closer to the end.

And so he spent the next four hours in a trance-like state. His eyes he closed, and yet he did not sleep. His breathing slowed, his mind focused on nothing, and even then he was perfectly aware of his surroundings. He ignored the pains in his stomach and in his legs, and listened to the sounds of tiny animals playing high up in the trees. He melted into the forest, ceasing to be himself, breathing in the sweet pine scent of night and feeling the warmth in the air. He remained in this not unpleasant state for some time, until just before the sun rose. That’s when he met the hunter.

The arrow missed him by inches, driving itself deep into the tree’s trunk by his left ear with an impossibly loud crack.

Erich’s eyes shot open and he was in motion at once, rolling to the left and away from the tree. He crouched, staring at the arrow-shaft. Pre-dawn light was beginning to trickle down through the treetops, and Erich could see the feathers on the tail end of the arrow quivering in the wind.

Deep laughter sounded from the direction the arrow’s shaft pointed. Erich turned his head, and saw a man wearing a tall hat standing seven or eight trees away. Erich stood up, and faced the man. His laughter coming to an end, he finally addressed the boy.

“Ho there, boy. So you weren’t sleeping then. What a shame; a person waking in fear is an enjoyable sight.” The man moved closer, his legs moving lithely past one another. Erich looked back at the arrow lodged in the tree trunk, and his eyebrows narrowed. He sneered at the hunter, putting as much force into his expression as his twelve year old self could manage.

The hunter chuckled.

“No, I know what you might be thinking. But don’t worry, boy. If I’d wanted you dead you wouldn’t be standing here now. All I intended was a a warning.”

“A warning.” Erich said it coldly, as he knew this kind of man. He’d met him many times before, when his hands had held a sack in front of him. He’d wink at Erich, and smile obtusely, and the boy would grit his teeth. This type of man liked to degrade, to place himself above another and then laugh down his accomplishments and advanced social standings.

The hunter waved his arms about him, gesturing to the forest they both shared.

“Aye, a simple warning. Just to say that the trees don’t take kindly to strangers here…this forest is no place for a little lost slave boy.”

“The trees. Do they take kindly to being shot? I think the trees can speak for themselves. Unless of course, you meant to say that there are other things in this forest that don’t ‘take kindly’ to strangers.”

The hunter’s grin dropped off his face.

“Aye, I might have been saying just that. Do you feel safer now?”

He stepped closer to Erich, one hand fingering a dagger on his belt. The boy wanted nothing more than to show the hunter that Erich was the one to be feared. But he stopped himself, even though he felt the first tinglings of electric power growing in his belly. You can’t do this. Would you do this, become, a monster? Quick to kill anyone who offends you? It’s time to walk away. Let him think he’s won.

Erich raised his hands in a warding gesture, and took a step back.

“Well now, I have no quarrel with you, sir. I’ll just be on my way then. Do you happen to know of a stream that would be in reasonable walking distance?”

The hunter stared at him.

“Good luck hunting; I mean it. I haven’t seen an animal in this forest yet.” And he began his trek East once more. The sun’s glow was more pronounced now as the top half of it peeked over the horizon, making giant shadows that all pointed west.

For the first five minutes after he left the hunter, his senses he forced to their highests sensitivity. It was stupid to turn your back on an archer, even when he was out of sight. But the hunter had been travelling West, otherwise Erich would have seen him on his way in. Perhaps the man with the bow would have an easier time catching food than he had. Though he was glad he did not have to kill the man, he wished he had a blade, a knife or dagger that would make him seem at least some kind of threat. He wished for food, for water, and to not have to walk any more.

He heard a noise from over the next hill. The neigh of a horse. Erich crouched low, pulling himself forward carefully, until he could see. The horse was alone, tied to a tree. Saddled on its back were the carcasses of three rabbits. And a bag. Erich stood up, and walked closer. The horse saw him, and whinnied.

“Shh, boy. I won’t hurt.”

He sidled up to its face, keeping his hands out away from him in what he hoped was a non-threatening way. The horsa’s eyes were open wide, and it began to shake its head back in forth, making grunting noises as it fought the rope. Erich stepped back.

“No, boy. I won’t hurt. Shhh. I’m coming closer again, all right?”

This time when he stepped nearer the horsa it stayed still, eyeing him warily. So it heard me. My voice soothes it.

“That’s right, I’m a friend. I won’t hurt, I’m going to try to pet you now.”

The horsa blinked, and neighed, looking away from him as if it had decided Erich was no longer a threat. Erich placed his hand on the top of it’s head, and it made no move to stop him.

“We’re friends now, aren’t we, boy. Let me untie you from that tree.”

The horsa paid him no mind as Erich tugged and manipulated the rope around its neck. He removed it without much trouble, then stuffed it into the bag hanging near the rabbit carcasses. His nostrils flared, as he smelled something amazing. Snaking his hand into the bag, his hand fell on something yielding and softly warm. He nearly collapsed with joy. Bread! There was bread in the bag, and he nearly ripped the bag from the horsa’s back to steal away into the forest. The urge he suppressed, however. This was the hunter’s horsa. The rabbits strung on its saddle made it plain. So he would not take just the bread.

He wanted the horsa as well.

It took several tries, but then he was on its back, urging it on Eastward. His heels gently massaged the horsa’s sides, and it picked up pace.

“Take me out of the forest, my friend. Then I can feel you run.”

Seeming to hear and undestand him, the horsa obeyed. Erich grinned when he imagined the hunter returning to the tree where he’d left his horsa. He’d look around, confused, and would then see Erich’s tracks and the tracks of his horsa, and he’d scream in rage.

The bread in Erich’s belly made the fantasy so much better.

Book II - Exodus (Chapter 2)

2005-11-12T18:18:00.000-08:00

He found out quickly that he had grossly underestimated his supplies, as he’d only been walking half a day before he realized he’d been stupid enough to go on this journey without any water or bread. Purpose was everything in the world until you had no strength left, then it would only seem a foolish dream. He cursed his pride, his confidence, for he had forgotten caution and had not thought ahead. He could die now, and it wouldn’t be anyone’s fault but his own. Forget the men trying to kill you, or the street-people who might try to mug you, you’ve done this to yourself. How could he have been so blind? To think he wouldn’t need nourishment on a journey that wouldn’t take him near another kingdom for almost a week? He could go back to Hatha, that was true, but he wouldn’t. He’d rather die than return there, and that was the truth. It was pride, stubborn pride, but the kingdom had done nothing for him while he’d been there and going back wasn’t going to help. He resigned himself to the path ahead of him, the one he’d chosen in the darkness of night. Erich had always made do, with Krutt, and in Hatha he’d done all right. He’d be all right here, too. Just stick to my feet, keep walking East. Stopping may become necessary as the sun went down; he didn’t want to end up walking in circles, but he could use the time to make weapons for hunting. He had no knife, no metal on him at all. A rock and a stick? He could make a sort of club with those, he supposed. Any beast he might find he’d have to outsmart, then beat it to death. Then he’d cook it…no. He sighed. He had no fire, no flint or steel. It wouldn’t work, any of it. He’d waste more energy on trying to get a beast to eat than he’d get back from the beast he’d eaten. Who was to say he’d even get one, anyway.

What are you saying? That I have to walk all the way to Rothkin without any food? Erich didn’t like it, but there was no other way. The tiny claw of hunger scaped at his insides and he sighed, knowing it would soon grow and multiply into many larger claws. Nothing he could do.

As the afternoon sun fell to its evening position, Erich walked on, Eastward.

***

That night he faced the first serious trial of his journey.

Dusk’s light winked out, leaving Erich without a sense of direction. He walked for a bit following the same track he had been all day, then decided he couldn’t trust himself to keep a straight line. Eventually, he knew, he’d make a small adjustment to the right, or the left, and the small changes would build up. He didn’t want to be facing away from the rising sun the next morning, with most of his previous day’s work undone. Instead he sat, facing East, and waited for the stars to peek through the atmosphere. His master’s tent, which he’d left at the death site of the four boys he’d killed three nights ago, would have served him well here. The chilly Northern winds tore through his meager clothing, and stung his skin. The grass around him became laden with dew, the cold drops adding their own efforts to his misery. Erich shivered, wishing he had the tent, some food, or that he was laying behind the bakery again, warm. He was, for the first time, regretting his stubborn resolve to stay away from Hatha. At least he’d be warm there, and he’d be eating. No, he knew he was right. He couldn’t go back. No matter how tempting it seemed, how much he felt like returning, it would be wrong to give in. Especially now, it would be giving in. If he changed his mind about this, what other things might he change his mind about once he returned to Hatha? Would his resolve to leave Meil weaken? Would he give in to the wishes of Breyda’s organization? No. He’d made a decision, and he would stick by it. He would be cold; no matter. He would be hungry; no matter. The journey ahead of him would not be easy, and he would deal with it.

The stars came out. Choosing a bright star as close to the horizon as stars came, directly in front of him, he was free to travel once more. He stood, wiping the dew from his thin cotton trousers, and began to walk.

A howl, sounding from closer than it should have been, froze him three steps from his sitting place. It was to his left, and he cocked his head that way, straining stupidly to see.

From behind him another howl sounded, closer this time, and Erich had a moment of déjà vu. There were wolfas, a pack of them, positioning themselves around their quarry: Erich. It was the same thing the boys who had tried to kill him three nights before had done. As he expected, a series of other wolfas answered the first. As the round ended, Erich counted seven wild voices calling from all directions, each one seeming closer than the last.

He was outnumbered – horribly so. And wolfas were not boys. One could make a run at him and leap for his throat before he had a chance to so much as blink. He’d be dead before he hit the ground, and the pack would eat. Fear clenched on him hard, and his gut made a swooping dive as his heartbeat doubled its tempo.

Erich looked about for a weapon, knowing that without one he would be ripped apart by seven shredding snouts. But the plains were bare, starlight showing him only waves of flowing grass. Anything useful would be buried, and he’d have to pull up the deep-rooted tufts of grass to even have a chance at finding a rock that was even moderately sized. A rock would do little to a pack of wolfas. Had he been in a forest, among the trees, he might have had a stick to ward them off with, and the option of a tree to climb. Here, he was easy prey. He would have no weapon.

The decision was made, had perhaps been made even before he looked about for a way to arm himself. He would need his power. The power he’d used to destroy the gang of boys that had mugged him. Despite his decision, a bout of uncertainty dropped on him. Would he be able to call on it? What if it didn’t work again in the same way? He anticipated that if the wolves came one by one that he’d have to use his power several times, to equal results. One wolfa could take him down, if his power offered him no more protection. Pushing aside a deep unbelief that his power was anything more than a fluke, Erich struggled to remember how he’d felt the first time he’d used it. There had been rage, a great sense of unjustice, and pain. He felt none of those now. A wave of despair washed over him. Oh gods of the night, of the sky. I’ll be dead before I’ll have the power to save myself.

Standing there in the cold night, guts clenched in a roiling torrent of nerves and fear, Erich became angry with himself. His decision to push on to Rothkin had sealed his fate, ensured that he’d die alone in the wilderness. It had been foolish pride that kept him from returning to Hatha, where at least he’d be safe.

As his frustration with himself mixed with his fear, Erich was surprised to feel something new in his gut. Something he’d felt the night he’d killed the gang of boys. It was the power, or some of it, and it was building an electric fire of strength within him. He clenched his fists, no longer feeling the whipping winds that had pierced him like daggers of ice.

The first wolfa howled again, this time from Erich’s left shoulder. He turned his head in that direction, and was not surprised to see the dark canine shape advancing. It was cautious, edging forward at an angle. The other wolfas made no answer, but Erich knew the howling was no longer necessary. They could see each other now, and the boy looked about, spotting three of the other dark figures advancing. His fear had dwindled, like a failing candle, and now he knew that he would fight, either to his death or to theirs.

Erich didn’t bother keeping track of all the wolfas, he just kept his eye on the leader. If the order to attack came, he would know at once. But the leader made no noise. It came closer, and finally stopped about four body lengths away. Erich could see the reflection of the stars in its eyes, and its breath made steamy imprints in the air.

It bared its teeth and made a low, throaty growl. Was that it? He cocked his head to listen for approaching bodies cutting their way through the grass toward him. No. It hadn’t been the attack symbol. The leader sniffed, snaking its tongue out to taste the air as well. When it was done, it looked at him. Erich looked back, staring defiantly into the beast’s eyes.

After what seemed a very long time, the wolfa did something Erich had not been expecting. It turned, and began to pad away. Muttering a low howl, it began to run, and from his sides six other dark shapes billowed past, straining to catch up with their leader.

Erich stood stunned as his adrenaline levels dropped to zero, and then a joy so ridiculously complete enveloped him. He had won. Without lifting a finger, or shouting a word, he had won. The power within him remained unused, and now it returned to its dormant state. He was a boy once more, standing alone in the middle of a desert of grass. He laughed, listening to the way the sound felt in his ears, and noticing it being carried away by the winds. It was a happy time, that, and he shared it with no one. He had looked the face of his death in the eye, and it had fled. He laughed again, louder this time, and let himself be carried laughing into the East, following the star he had chosen earlier.

When again the morning came be was pleased to see that the rising sun had only drifted a degree to his left, and he adjusted automatically. He felt at peace with himself, and with the world. Hunger attacked his body but he ignored it, as he did his thirst. Sooner or later he’d find something, it was eventual. He just had to keep himself on his feet, and the more time that passed without replenishing his body’s needs, that task would become harder.

Erich recalled his standoff with the lead wolfa, and became increasingly grateful that he had not been forced to use his power. If he had done so, and won, he would be travelling the open plains in a stupor, stumbling forward until he had the idea to drop for sleeping. When again he woke up, he’d most likely be too weak to go on, but he would try. The whole journey might have been compromised, if the wolfa hadn’t stood down. Erich replayed the moment in his mind repeatedly, finally coming to the conclusion that the lead wolfa had sensed the power writhing in his stomach. It had been deterred from sending its pack at him, as Erich’s whole aura had been smacking of wrongness. Wolfas were strong, but that did not stop them from being cautious. It was too bad Jerika and his crew hadn’t shared the same trait.

Whatever may be awaiting him on his journey out of Meil, wolfas were no longer a fear. And that was a satisfying knowledge.

Book II - Exodus (Chapter 1)

2005-11-10T20:45:00.000-08:00

The Market Fair had come to an end. The vendors, as the sun set over the castle on the seventh day, began to pack for their long journey out of Hatha and to whatever homes waited for them. For many, the road was their home, and they’d be off to Mercha or one of the nearby merchant kingdoms in their lifetime quest to find wealth, true wealth. It was dark, or very nearly so, when Erich emerged from one of the alleys and joined the river of those who would not stay in Hatha.

There were so many of them, all moving at a good clip, and Erich felt blessed. He belonged here, if only for a few hours. He was joining those who turned their backs on the great Kingdom of Hatha, the birthplace of Meil. Of their ancestors. Well, Erich supposed, that didn’t exactly apply to him, as he’d been born outside the Wall, in Mer’ka. A place he’d only seen as a baba, and he didn’t remember. How could it be any different from Meil? A land of rolling green hills, populated with his people. But he knew that wasn’t right. He knew the Darks lived in needles, metal needles that poked at the sky. Perhaps the needles came out of the hills.

The river of merchants gave no notice of him, and he kept his pace with theirs so he wouldn’t trip and end up underfoot of any oxen and the carts they pulled. They’d reach the limits of Hatha’s merchant district fairly soon, and after that it was only a mile or two to the green hills.

Men grumbled, talked to each other in low, bored voices. Wheels turned, squeaking, and oxen breathed heavy sighs. Erich let his mind wander as he absorbed the sounds and smells of the merchants’ exodus from Hatha. For once he did not have to think, just blankly followed the flow of the crowd. No one paid him any mind, and he paid them none in return. They were past the limits of the the merchant district already, and the group was beginning to spread out, each merchant travelling his own separate path. Erich took notice again, trying to find the largest group, the most people going in the same direction, so that he could tag along. They took the path toward Mercha, about a third of them, and Erich pulled himself along. He’d stay with them until the morning, because they wouldn’t stop for rest. Not tonight.

Much of his worry had dropped off his shoulders when he decided he would leave Meil. Men had done it before, he knew that, but they never came back to tell of it. They’d seen what was on the other side and had been so enchanted by what they had seen that they wanted to stay there, leaving their homeland behind forever. Or they’d been killed. It all depended on which storyteller you believed. Erich decided it didn’t matter what had happened to the ordinary men. He was a Dark. He was one of them, and he belonged on that side of the Wall, no matter how much he regarded the land of Meil as his home. Whoever waited on the other side would accept him as a son of Mer’ka.

The next couple of hours he walked steady, noticing that he wasn’t getting tired. He wouldn’t need to sleep, not tonight. Perhaps not the next night either. Possibly it had been a one time thing, a fluke, that he’d slept and dreamed among the others who did the same. He shivered, as the cold of the night truly set in. He began thinking of Breyda, and the things he’d told Erich. There was a secret organization who watched out for Darks like him, who kept them safe from the ones who wanted to kill them. But why did they even exist? To protect murderers like himself? People who can’t control their power? Breyda had said something about making a better world. Were the Darks they protected just being used as weapons against some higher power? If that was it, then Breyda had lied to him. Manipulated him. He made me believe I was something good, something to keep Meil from being destroyed. How can that be so, if everyone else like me is only capable of destruction?They told me I was in danger so that I’d be in their debt. So that I’d fight for them. Erich clenched his fists. I won’t kill anymore. I’m not a killer. Not for them or anyone else. Let one of the other Darks fight, kill. Erich wanted nothing to do with it, any of it.

All the better that I’m leaving Meil, then. He forgot the cold, and stepped with force, anger. Breyda and his people had freed him, only to trick him into being their slave. They’d made a mistake, to believe that he’d go along with it. He’d never be a slave again, despite the mark on his face. He was his own now, he was Erich.

The morning came silently, and seemingly all at once. The path they’d been walking on became illuminated with pale light as the sky brightened. In the East, rays of fire warmed the atmosphere, and when he looked behind him Erich saw they’d walked far enough from Hatha that it was no longer visible. Just their road, cut in the dirt from passage, and rolling green hills on every side. The light of dawn lit up the blades of grass, making the undulating waves glow spectacularly. It was beautiful, and Erich watched many a man become distracted from his travelling purpose, just to gaze.

He knew he’d have to leave the group, he’d planned to do it at dawn, and so Erich the Dark set out on his own path, toward where the sun touched the ground. He was going East. There were several kingdoms to the East of Hatha, Triga and Rothkin just two of them. Beyond them, and beyond the great river Mispi, was the Wall. The barrier between the outside world and the inhabitants of Meil.

He took a breath, hardening himself for the journey ahead. It would be long, and he would be tired, but he’d reach the wall and his people soon enough.

For the tenth time that morning, he found himself imagining what it must be like on the outside. Heaven or Hell, it would be his home.

Interlude - A Conversation

2005-11-09T21:23:00.000-08:00

“It’s been three days, and he’s still alive.”

“That may just be luck. They may have found him by now, killed him.”

“He has to survive on his own. We’ve too many others to protect. The Regulators are serious about this, every time we warn one of the Darks, another one of them we’ve not gotten to is dead.”

“Surely a boy on the streets deserves more protection than the others, he’s got less of a chance to survive than the rest, they’re grown!”

“It’s true we need him, that magician Krutt showed us the magnitude of power in the boy. There just aren’t enough resources! We can’t have one of ours babysit the kid. He’ll have to do it on his own. The Regulators won’t be worrying about a boy on the streets right away anyway; he’s got time to hide himself or run.”

“He’ll be in their sights eventually, and you know it. We need him.”

“Perhaps by then we’ll be able to protect him. It’s just not an option right now. I know how much he means to you.”

“To our struggle.”

“Of course.”

“Do you have anything else to report, Breyda?”

“No…well, just an oddity. A gang of boys was found dead in the Gord district. Spread out, impact fractures on every one. But no other wounds. Like they were just…thrown against the ground.”

“You think it was Regulators? Looking for our boy?”

“It’s possible, but…I think maybe it was our boy.”

“Erich? But that’d be impossible unless he was…and he’s not.”

“Why not? What if he were?”

“Then he’s even more vital to our struggle than we thought. Integral. He’d have to be kept safe, at all costs. You really think…?

“Nothing is impossible.”

Book I - The Magician's Boy (Chapter 6)

2005-11-09T20:28:00.000-08:00

Erich spent the next couple of days in a funk, unable to think straight and for the most part lost in a sea of confusion. His head ached with the strain of being awake and his limbs felt sluggishly out of control. What was happening to him? It wasn’t the effects of hunger, he decided. He’d starved before, gone more than a week without more than a scrap of food, and his stomach wasn’t ailing him all that much. It was his head. Something in his head was pounding, knocking around in there and making him essentially useless. He knew enough to stay out of the alleys now, and a street or two beyond the Market Fair, and for the most part he sat still, puzzling at the way his head spun. Remorse clung to him as well, even though he had not intended to do what he’d done to the boys who’d been assailing him. He’d only meant to scatter them, break them up a little so that he’d be able to fight back. It seemed he’d scattered them to the winds. His face did not feel as bad as it should have, and oddly it seemed like his nose was no longer broken, as it stood out from his cheeks as it should have and didn’t hurt much anymore. His other wounds, gashes on his arms and chest, healed similarly, fading until there was hardly a trace they were ever there. And yet, he wondered if he was going crazy. He felt hardly a part of himself, an uninterested observer in a tower overlooking his body. Erich had a hard time functioning, struggled even dropping his excrement. He found he wanted only warmth, somewhere to crawl into and stop moving for a while, stop thinking. Maybe his head would feel better then. But Erich had never stopped thinking, and to want such a thing made him feel strangely suicidal. How else, if not to die?

Still, he could not deny himself his needs, and he got up from his sitting place and began to wander throughout the streets looking like many of the men he’d seen leaving beeries. His mind wandered, he found himself thinking of his mother, and felt a distant sadness when he realised he could no longer produce an image of her face in his mind. He’d betrayed her memory, he felt that, and at the same time he was dully angered at the man he’d seen die in front of him. Krutt, who’d stolen him, who’d known about his power and had drained it all his life. Leaving him alone to discover the way it killed, the way it put a madness into his mind.

He passed men asleep on the ground, and envied them. They put their lives on hold, their worries at length. They drank themselves into a stupor, and then crumpled contentedly against a stone wall and sank to the ground to congratulate themselves on a wasted evening. Sleeping while he walked, a boy with a mark on his head, a boy with a deadly power in his belly, sleeping with a selfishness that made them ignorant of their surroundings.

Erich had forgotten his purpose, his intention on this long walk. Erich had as well almost forgotten his name, but still some bits of identity clung to him. Warmth. He had been searching for a warm place to lie down, and…and what? Stop. No more thinking, no more feeling. His head spun, and he found it between his legs, his mouth open to let out the endless stream of guilt, pain, and confusion. He pushed himself away from the vomit and staggered again to his feet, moving them with all the stubborn devotion his barely conscious self demanded.

After some time he sank to the ground outside a baker’s window, pulling his arm over his face to cover the brand that cut him off from the people in this kingdom. The warm air from opened ovens lulled him, and for a while his head felt a little better. Everything was getting duller, dimmer.

Then the hallucinations began.

He was alone, walking the rolling green hills of Meil. No, he wasn’t alone. Krutt was behind him, he could feel the magician there, could feel his eyes on him. He turned, seeing his slaver running toward him, weilding an ax.

“I always keep my promises, boy!”

Erich struggled to get his legs moving, to get himself running. He had to stay ahead of Krutt, ahead of the ax that wanted his head. But his legs were sluggish, and though he poured all of his strength into them, trying to make them piston faster, they wouldn’t. The icy hand of fear clutched at his throat, and mixed with his desperation to survive became panic. Krutt and his ax were closer now, he could hear the man’s footfalls on the grassy hillocks. If he didn’t stay ahead, didn’t run, (but where?) he would die just as those four boys had…those four boys. He tried in vain to use his power against Krutt, but nothing happened. The magician kept coming, the ax head seemed to grow larger the more he gained. Erich was going to die, and there was nothing he could do to stop it.

Then the hallucination changed, and he was no longer in the green fields of Meil. He was running through the alleys of Hatha, and his panic did not lessen. Krutt was no longer behind him, taunting him with an ax. Instead, countless gang members and juveniles bore down on him, screaming for his blood.

“No,” he panted, as no matter how fast he ran they were faster. “No no no no.”

Someone kicked him in the side. Erich opened his eyes. He struggled to focus them, and when he did he saw a well-dressed man staring down at him past crossed arms that seemed as muscular as a knight’s. His hat stood on his head oddly, sloping against the man’s bare skull in a way that made Erich think it was falling off. And yet it stayed.

“Don’t care if you sleep, kid. Just don’t do it in front of my store. I got business to do, and customers is skittish when they see slave boys sleepin’ out front o’ my bakery.”

Erich looked at him with blank eyes. Sleep? He thought I’d been sleeping?

The man, taking his moment of silence as indecision, knelt down. Erich looked into his eyes. There was kindness there, something he rarely saw.

“Look. I know you plopped down there because of the warmth. And slave boys got the same right to exist and sleep as any other kind. You didn’t get the best end of the stick, and it would be wrong of me to shoo you off just because of that brand on your cheek. Why don’t you walk on back behind my building. It’s real warm back there; can’t promise others like you won’t already be there, but it’s what I can do. Now, I have customers I need to attract.”

Erich nodded at the man, unsure of what to say. He got up and slinked off into the alley. There were indeed already quite a few people sleeping behind the big man’s bakery, but none of them paid him any mind and he lay down in an area where only two old men slept. His eyes wanted to close, his head felt fuzzy. It was warm here, and soon his breathing became deep and regular.

There were no nightmares this time.

He awoke feeling much more himself, although he was confused as to why he was lying here, among gutter-dwellers. It was almost full dark, which meant that he’d lost track of time. And his eyes were crusty, hard to open. He yawned.

So that was it. He’d stumbled into this alley and fallen asleep. How odd, to know such a thing, when he had never experienced sleep. At least not in his memory. Erich knew it had to do with his freedom, and the deaths of the boys who had tried to kill him. A change; others would come, he’d have to get used to them.

After he’d killed those boys, he’d been so confused, so anguished, that he hadn’t thought to retrieve his money, or his tent. He’d ran, just picked a direction and went, and when his adrenaline ran out and he was running purely on his own steam he slowed down and rested against a stone building that looked like every other one on the block. He’d sobbed, as much for his own misfortunes as for those whose deaths he’d caused. He sobbed for his mother, who smuggled him into this country only to have him stolen from her by a travelling magician. She’d never get to see him grow up, and after that night Erich hadn’t been so sure that he would grow up. Yeah, the boys who’d robbed him had been a significant setback (he hadn’t thought he’d survive, let alone win the fight), but the ones trying to kill him wouldn’t be stupid enough to let him know where they were before they struck. He would have no chance to use his power. Fear had dug into his mind, like an itch in the back of his head. He’d left the stone wall with dryer eyes and a diminished sense of reality. That’s when he had dropped into the funk that acted like a bag over his head.

And now he had slept. How would he know if it was a one time thing or if he’d need to do it at regular intervals? He’d be completely vulnerable, and whoever wanted to kill him would only need to know where he was, and then a moment to complete the act. Erich would never know. He had to leave Hatha, he knew that now. It was a magnificent kingdom, and he wished he fit in. But the truth was that no one wanted him here, no one but the secret organization Breyda had told Erich he belonged to. And even then, Breyda had only been adamant that the boy know he had a target on his head. If he’d wanted Erich to stay, Breyda would have offered the boy refuge. He was in a bad situation here, being a slave with no master. If he stayed, he’d have to live on the streets, steal his food, and watch his back constantly.

He would leave immediately. Travel the countryside and go…where? Where would he be safe from the ones who wanted to kill him? If there truly was a plot to tag every Mer’kan to enter Meil so they could be killed, it wouldn’t be only based in Hatha. There would be agents everywhere, in every kingdom in Meil. He’d never be safe. Unless…

Unless he went somewhere they couldn’t follow. To a place where he wouldn’t be turned away. He’d been born there, Breyda had told him that.

Erich’s whole face transformed, molding itself into a grin. He pushed himself to his feet and left the warm alley where the old men slept, and started in the direction that would eventually lead him out of Hatha.

He was going to Mer'ka.

Book I - The Magician's Boy (Chapter 5)

2005-11-07T23:20:00.000-08:00

Life should have been easier without Krutt, but the truth was that it wasn’t. In many instances, Erich was sure it might even have been harder. He’d taken to the streets like a rat to a sewer, carrying with him as much of the gold he could take from Krutt’s cart as he could carry on his body without being weighed down with it. The first few days went by fairly quickly, and he ate well and slept in Krutt’s tent. But a slave does not live in the lap of luxury for long before it is either lost or taken from him by those with watchful, greedy eyes.

It was the fifth night of the Market Fair, only two days before its end, when Erich lost everything, nearly including his life.

Because he didn’t sleep at night, and only lay in the warmth of his master’s bedroll in the tent, Erich heard the four bandits well before they reached him. To their credit, they were extremely quiet, only calling to one another once every thirty seconds to judge position. Erich had time to realize his mistake, he’d set the tent up in an alley a few streets from the Road, in a place where there was no protection in numbers. The thing was, he had not been able to set his tent up with those from the Market Fair as they’d driven him out, tagging him as a renegade slave. He’d cursed the coin brand then just as he cursed his stupidity now. He did not have to move this far away from the Market Fair, in a place where he was easy game for the jackals of the night.

They were on all sides of him now, one guarding the exit hole, another behind and two on either side. Converging closer, he heard their footsteps and fear blocked his throat. He was a boy, smaller than all those his age, and they were most likely all stronger, larger and older than him. He felt the bag of money at his hip, measured it. There was enough here to kill for. Enough money to justify the snuffing of a life. He would die here, if something wasn’t done. No secret man with a politician’s agenda would stifle him; it would be four hoodlums, ready to dive on the tent and stick the body inside full of sharp steel. Erich stood up.

“Stop! I know you’re out there. I have the money you’ll be wanting, and you can have anything else I’ve got. Just let me out of this tent.”

Silence from outside, and Erich knew they were all eyeing each other, surprised. Was it really going to be this easy? If Erich had it his way, then yes, it was. He waited a moment, and then another, until finally one of the four spoke up. It had to be the leader.

“All right, kid. Come on out, we won’t touch you long as you give us the coins you got stashed away.”

It was all the encouragement Erich needed. He dropped to his belly and shimmied his way out of the exit hole. The air outside was crispy cold, and when he breathed it in the wet spots at the back of his nostrils nearly froze. His breath came out in cool little clumps of steam, and he slowly got to his feet, staring about him at the ones who’d captured him.

They were not so large as he’d imagined; the oldest of them was maybe sixteen, with the rest within a year of age from him. They were, however, all weilding knives. Little blades for stabbing, piercing holes through tent fabric and man skin.

“Well, aren’t you a little bugger. Got his own tent, his own money too? Must be some mistake.” It was the largest boy, the boy who had spoken before. The clan leader. The others chuckled, and Erich saw one of them running his finger over the face of his knife. However easy he had hoped this would be, he had been wrong. The only thing he felt like doing at this moment was running, and yet he knew that he could not. They’d be on him like spit, their long legs and knowledge of the Hathan streets. And there would be no Breyda to stop them. If he ran, he’d be gleefully butchered by these wild boys. So he fought down the urge to run. I have to act calm. No fear, they’ll know it if I’m afraid.

“I got your money right here, and take the tent if you want it, I don’t much need it anyways.” Erich’s voice wavered slightly, and he hoped he was the only one who’d heard. To no avail.

“Ha! Little boy’s all riled up, frightened we’re gonna take a little more from him than the money he stole. We gonna kill him, boys? We that mean?”

A trio of “Nah,” sounded from Erich’s sides and behind his back. They’d moved around him again as he’d crawled out of the tent. Now running really was out of the question. Despite the goading from the leader of this little night gang, Erich pulled the little sack of gold coins from his waist and held it up. The leader boy stepped up and snatched it from Erich’s grip.

“You’re right though, this money’s mine. Bag like this got stolen from me and my crew about a week ago. Maybe you the one stole it, yah? Bought yourself a tent to sleep in, too afraid of Jerika and his boys to lay out at night? Ah well, bygones is bygones. And maybe I’d let you off, too, if it weren’t for that scar on your cheek. You a slave, boy. And a runaway slave who thieves from starving boys such as ourselves (at this, the rest of the boys chimed in: “Yeah, Jerika. We starved,” “All your fault I ain’t et in three days,” “Let’s show him something for our trouble.”) and thinks he’s good enough to sleep warm in the streets, well, he’s got to be set to rights, hasn’t he?”

The other boys murmered assent. Erich prayed to the gods as his knees began to shake.

“Drop the blades, boys, we’s got to play this one fair and fisty. Don’t want it to be over too quick, yah?” The leader dropped his knife on the ground, where it clanked. Erich heard three other clanks, and he closed his eyes.

“Yenki, you first.”

Erich’s back exploded with pain as the jackal named Yenki drilled his knee into his spine. The slave boy flew forward, eyes flying open in shock just in time to see Jerika’s raised fist flying toward his nose.

Revolving rainbows of red and white danced in his head as flowers of pain erupted behind his eyes. He was vaguely aware that he was on his back on the stone of the street, and that heavy boots were kicking at him from all sides. One boot stomped Erich’s face, sending fresh waves of nauseating pain from his broken nose. Another boot launched into the slave boy’s groin, and his stomach clenched as he vomited all the food he’d eaten that day. The kicks did not stop, or slacken. In fact, they became more vigorous, coming faster and harder than before. He was going to die here, on the ground, kicked into jelly.

No. It had to stop. The kicks had to stop. The gleeful shouts of the boys had to stop. All of it. Erich, who had never slept, was not going to be forced into unconsciousness. He would feel it all, feel all the pain until it sucked him into the cold nothing that was death.

He clenched his teeth shut as the kicks came, and rage filled him like water from an oasis would fill a canteen. They’d taken his money, his dignity, and now they wanted his life. A slave he may be, but he would not lay down. It was time to fight back. He opened his mouth and screamed his battlecry.

“I WON’T LET YOU!”

The kicks stopped. Erich staggered to his feet, supporting himself with the adrenaline that was running through his veins. And perhaps there was something else?

No fists came at him. He turned, search for his opponents, whirling about. They were gone. Blood gushed down his face, his ribcage creaking as he turned. No, that wasn’t right. They weren’t all gone. He spotted a dark blob on the ground in the alley to his left. It lay twenty yards away. He spotted another one, in the road to his right. And the other two, scattered in other random directions.

There was no need to check them. He’d killed the boys, thrown them so high and far they’d been killed by the bricks he’d been laying on. Only he knew that wasn’t right. Before they were even in the air, they’d already been dead.

Breyda’s words came back to him then, about the power within him, a power that had been drained and suppressed by Krutt. With no magician to drain him, the power remained within.

And tonight it had been awakened.

Book I - The Magician's Boy (Chapter 4)

2005-11-07T21:57:00.000-08:00

Though he treated the summons as an annoyance, Krutt couldn’t keep the smile off his face.

“Think of the money I could be pulling in right now. The crowds I could be commanding. And yet, I would not refuse the King his wishes, as I hear it is some great honor to be chosen to perform for him. It is only just that he should choose me.”

Erich pulled the cart silently, knowing that his master was talking more for his own ears than for the boy’s. What a tantrum he’d throw when he found out it was all a mistake, that the King had not asked for him. It will have been the page boy’s fault then, and Erich hoped his master had forgotten the trick he’d played earlier to get the coin into the page boy’s hand. The magician was not stupid, and he’d be able to figure out something had been going on unless Erich gave him no other reason to suspect him.

The walk was long, longer than the distance they’d walked the day before. Because Erich had been able to see the top of the castle, he’d thought they were within a reasonable distance from the giant structure. But every step made the castle larger, and it loomed taller than anything Erich had seen before, even the canyon walls surrounding Tojo. The castle was a masterpiece of masonry and design, as several cylinders wove around each other and narrowed, eventually coming to a point at the castle’s peak. It was amazing, a colossus of human achievement. King Regynold must truly be the grandest king in all of Meil, to live in a castle like that. It was a humbling thought, and Erich knew Krutt was aware of it as well.

The closer they got to the castle, the more the scenery changed. There were less peasants scrounging about in the alleys, and more knights patrolling the Road. During the Market Fair, no chances were being taken. The boy pulling the cart that carried his master passed several knights and they paid him no mind. It wouldn’t last that way for much longer, however. Someone was bound to ask where they were going. But they hadn’t reached the gates yet, and maybe their guardsmen were in charge of the questioning of travellers. Erich was glad, however, that he had not chosen to go alone, as any one of these knights would have seen his face and caught him, as he was a slave and the property of a magician. He would have had to sneak through the alleyways, and by the time he reached the gate the sun would have been too low in the sky for the meeeting. As it was, he had less than twenty minutes until the sun reached the spot it was supposed to, although it was harder to tell now since the castle was so much taller and he had to judge the sun’s height from where he’d seen it previously.

As the boy pulling the cart approached them, the guardsmen of the enourmous gates relieved themselves of their posts temporarily and began walking toward him.

“A little welcoming committee, eh, boy?”

Erich grunted. Let the master believe what he wants. Three of the guardsmen formed a triangle around the cart, their hands on swordhilts.

“State your business,” the knight in front of them said. The authority in his voice told Erich that this man was the leader of the guardsmen. He hoped Krutt would see this and understand that there was danger. Handle it with discretion.

“Whoa, there. I am simply a magician on my way to the castle to perform for King Regynold. I have summons, you see.” Krutt spoke with a flourish, persuading the guardsmen to look into his eyes. They stood for a moment, entranced, before the leader broke off.

“Yes, I can see that. A fine magician, at that. Haven’t been that touched since I was a boy. You’re all right to go on in, but you’re going to have to leave the boy outside. No slaves are allowed within the castle gates. Strictest of policies.”

Erich glanced at Krutt, who glanced at him. Neither of them had planned on this. Would Erich still be able to meet his quarry from outside the gates? How would Krutt keep him from running if he so desired? The uncertainties were many. But a king was a king, and in Krutt’s experience they were never to be kept waiting.

“That’s all right then,” Krutt said to the guardsmen. He stepped out of the pullcart. “I guess I’ll have to pull this then.” He walked to where Erich stood and took the reigns from him.

“Stay out here near the gate or I’ll chop your head off with an ax. No bluff. I’ll be back before you know it,” Krutt whispered.

Maybe before you know it, too, Erich thought.

“Open the gates!” The leader guard shouted up to the tower guard. The enormous steel gates creaked open, disproportionately slow to the speed at which the tower guardsmen were cranking the wheel.

With that, his master began pulling the cart through the opened gates.

Eric stood as close to gate as he could, and the whole time he squinted around, trying to see the woman he was here to meet. Where was she expecting him to be? Obviously not inside, if slaves weren’t allowed in. Somewhere on the outside wall surrounding the gates? She hadn’t said that. He checked the sun. It was considerably lower than it had been even when he and Krutt had arrived. Had he missed her? Finally a voice sounded in his ear, although it was not the one he had expected.

“Magician’s boy.”

It was the lead guardsman, the one who’d been so touched by the magician he’d let him in, speaking from his left shoulder. The boy’s head shot around and his eyes found the man’s face. He’d used the same words the woman had used the night before. After a moment of uncertain fear, Erich understood.

He’d been expecting to meet the woman here, but that was obviously wrong. He wouldn’t meet her, but one of her affiliates. The guardsman. He would be able to tell Erich what he’d been summoned here for.

“Yes, sir.” It was a formality, one he was sure he no longer needed, although it wouldn’t hurt.

“My name is Breyda. It’s not important. We have a limited time to speak, and I’d be grateful if it were my lips that moved most often. Understand?”

Erich nodded. He was ready.

“I’m part of a secret organization, one that tracks illegals into Meil. From the outside. The old world. We keep them safe. Before you ask why, you need to know that the illegals are the ones keeping Meil alive. Keeping it in the luxurious state it’s in at the moment. It’s not known how, not yet, but we know that if we keep enough of them alive, something far greater will happen. This is where you come in.”

“But I’m not…I’m not an illegal! I was born in Tojo, and when I was three Krutt stole me from my mother!”

“Please, boy. I don’t have time to argue with you. Your mother arrived in Tojo twelve years ago, carting the baba she’d smuggled across the great Wall. Krutt stole you because of the power you hold.”

Erich laughed. This was all absurd. He’d been tracked by a secret organization out to protect anyone who’d gained illegal entry into Meil? From the land the men in beeries called Mer’ka? He was no illegal, and the idea of him holding power within himself, that was a scream.

“If I had power, Sir Breyda, I would have used it long ago to gain my freedom. From the magician.”

Breyda’s face was set with grim lines denoting his anger.

“I will not be laughed at, not by a magician’s boy. You must believe, because it is in your greatest interest. Someone is planning to kill you, and it’s going to be soon. I tell you this because your life is one that we cannot lose. Too many others… too many others from the outside have already been slaughtered. If you are lost, the destruction of the entire land will begin.”

Erich’s smile left his face. This was serious. They meant it. He was an outsider, a boy from Mer’ka. And he was in danger.

“Who is out to kill me? Is it Krutt? The magician I’m a slave to?”

Breyda chuckled a bit.

“No, no, boy. He needs you more than you know, and it’s the reason you cannot escape him. You’re the source of his power as a magician, and the brand on your face completes his control over you. He drains it for himself, and at night while you lie awake it fills again for him to drain again the next day. In the castle his powers will be much lesser than the times at which you are at his side. Even so, he is a good magician. My King Regynold will be pleased, even though the man was not summoned. That was your trick, I gather? Very clever.

No, the man who is out to kill you is much more powerful than your magician. He’s a man of political strength whose agenda is reliant on many subversive relations. He’s got friends of power in Agrotian, where the wild men train, and from many of the other kingdoms as well, including Mercha and Rina and Tojo. I do not know what form he’s chosen for your death, or from which direction it will come, but I must tell you, it will come. And it would help if your magician was no longer holding a whip over your back. I’ll take care of that once he returns.”

“I don’t understand, sir Breyda. This is all too strange. How does the politician know who I am to kill me? I am just a slave boy, I should not be known to anyone in prominence.”

“Take a look at your skin, boy. It’s darker than that of any other person in Meil. Not much, as your mother was a lighter skin than most of the outsiders, but it’s still noticeable to those who know to look. This is not a force designed specifically to kill you, young Erich, but rather many of you. A net force, to kill many at once. You are not the only one we’ve had to warn. Just know that. Now move away, if I’m to be seen by one of the enemy they’ll know what organization I’m a part of and I’ll be jeopardized. Move!”

Erich wandered away from Breyda, and found his way back in front of the gates. One of the other soldiers moved up to him, and pushed him onto his back.

“No slaves this close to the gate. Go back to where you came from, dirt of my boot.”

Erich got up, rage pounding in his throat, and moved back. Finally he stopped, and stared at the soldier, even as he’d stopped noticing the boy. Krutt would be angry, Erich was not as close to the wall as he’d said he’d be.

As he thought of the man, he saw Krutt walking out of the palace, pulling his cart behind him and laughing jovially. His performance had obviously struck the right feeling in the King, and perhaps he would not be so angry at Erich. The gates opened again and Krutt plodded toward him.

“What are you doing this far from the gate, boy? I told you to stay up there until I returned!” His eyes were on fire, he was energized from his performance and wanted to lay into his property.

“The guards, they told me to-”

“I don’t give a beast’s flank what they told you to do. I gave you an order, and you failed to follow it. Deserves a bit of punishment, in my book.”

Krutt’s right hand went flying through the air and landed like a brick on the side of Erich’s face. The boy dropped to the ground. Looking up at his master, he could see the glee in the man’s eyes. There was nothing else the magician would rather be doing at that moment.

“I’m sorry, master.”

“You’re sorry? Ha! And you think that’s what I’m looking for – an apology! Come on, boy, stand back up here. You can disobey me, you can stand up to me, can’t you? I mean, I’m not that big, am I?”

Erich stood up, his fists clenched. The rage that had been boiling at the guardsman now changed its course. He would kill Krutt. He didn’t know how, but he would do it. Nine years is too many, too many.

Breyda, who had been walking calmly over, nudged Erich out of the way and spoke to Krutt.

“I’m sorry, sir, but I’m not sure the slave you’ve got here is properly registered. Would you mind pulling your papers for me?”

Krutt stared at the soldier incredulously, his mouth hanging open and his eyes widened.

“Eh? This boy? Well…can’t you see the mark on his face? That’s the only registration I’ve ever needed.”

Breyda stepped forward. He was nearly a head taller than the magician, and bulging with muscles. His sword hand went to his hilt.

“You have no papers."

Krutt was even more confused now, and Erich saw him swallow.

“Ah, well, maybe, in the cart there might be some - ”

“You’ve been illegally transporting stolen goods, is that what you’re trying to say, Magician?”

Krutt’s face hardened. He puffed his chest up and stepped forward into Breyda.

“I have not! This boy has been my property for the last nine years, and he is not stolen goods. I will not stand here and be insulted by a laborous swine not fit to lick my boot! I’ve just spoken to King Regynold, and I’m sure if I went back in there I could have you removed from your post, soldier.” He spat the last word as if it were some bug caught on his tongue. Then, without warning, he wound up and punched Breyda in the jaw.

Breyda’s response was quick, and frightening. He swept his leg behind Krutt’s, knocking the magician to the ground. His left hand drew his sword from its scabbord, and its point was bearing down on the man’s chest in less than an instant. A quick thrust and it was back in it’s scabbord. Erich flinched as Krutt’s scream filled the air. He watched as the dying man felt the hole in his chest, felt the fiery warmth as his lifeblood soaked his tunic, and was not altogether saddened.

“You are nothing to me, maggot,” Breyda hissed at Krutt. Krutt’s eyes were spinning wildly, and Erich doubted that he heard anything the soldier was saying to him.

Breyda strolled away, leaving Erich standing in front of his dying master. The boy stepped forward and leaned in close, catching the man’s strong breath in his nostrils.

“You took me from my mother. I am glad to see you die like the beast you’ve been to me.” The boy inhaled and spit with all his force into the magician’s face. Turning, he began his walk back into the streets of Hatha.

He was the magician’s boy no longer.

Book I - The Magician's Boy (Chapter 3)

2005-11-06T22:06:00.000-08:00

The day dragged like a turtle on its back, and the sack in Erich’s hands grew heavier by the minute. He’d never seen his master command so many at once, a crowd grew roiling, newcomers filling in the back as those who’d been satisfied sidled forward, extending their money-filled hands. It was hard to concentrate, even though his job was simple. He found himself thinking about the only thing he could; the woman who had spoken to him through the tent the night before. The more he thought about it, the more his stomach tingled. It was a fighting mixture of fear and excitement, and he knew that if he was lucky, he’d get to see the fruition of his feelings. Come to see what more you could have, the woman had said, and Erich agonized over this part of her short speech more than he’d worried any piece of tough beastmeat he’d been fed since his teeth grew in sharp. What more could I have? Surely freedom, that was the most likely possibility. To be in the grips of his slavemaster no more, and to live as his own man, that was something he hoped for, wished for, during the cold dark nights which he’d spend exploring if he could. What else could she possibly have meant. Power? Magic? He desired neither, and if her offer was one of these he would not take it but to gain his own freedom. Power turns kings into monsters, blinding them morally and subjecting others to their dangerous whims. Magic turns men greedy, lusting for money they’ll obtain and use without charity. And yet, for freedom… He would be willing to play the woman’s game. And if she was bluffing, as the tradesmen did in town beeries as they played game after game of King’s Left Hand? Erich hadn’t seen her face, watched her eyes to see if they’d slant, but he knew she’d said truth. To bluff, what would be the object? Kidnap him from a man he did not truly hate but yearned to abandon? It made no sense. Who would steal a slave boy? There could be no ransom, only retribution, swift and deadly. Krutt’s retribution. He had decided he would see the lady, and he would. The only matter that remained was the question of how.

What finally triggered the idea in his head was the messenger boy, the one ducking from stall to stall speaking to each merchant in turn, telling them that the King had heard of their wares and would like a personal demonstration. It was an honor, in Hatha, to sell to the King, and those who were offered the chance hitched up their carts and began walking toward the castle gates as soon as they heard. If Erich could get Krutt to believe he’d been chosen to perform for the King, he’d walk with his master to the castle gates, and therefore abandon any plan that involved a temporary escape from his master.

Soon the magician broke for supper, as the sun dipped under the clouds for the first time since that morning. Still, the dark orange ball hovered well above the highest room of the castle, and that meant he still had time. However, his opportunity was becoming smaller. He would have to be perfect. He swung the bag between his legs as he moved to sit down opposite Krutt, and feasted his eyes on the offerings the two would share for the night. Most of it the magician would share with himself, and when he was satisfied he would push the remains over to Erich. It was ritual, and the boy soon became familiar with the slight gnawing in his gut. It had never been unbearable, for the magician was not truly a cruel man. Tonight’s meal was a bird, fat for its size and yet it was no turkey. Erich erected the spit quickly, his hands sure and deft. The fire was soon lit and the bird turned over the flames and its skin seared and blackened. Krutt had not yet asked for the bag of money, and as the man touched the tender bird’s flesh and then licked his fingers, Erich deliberately swung left his arm down between his legs, while resting his chin on his other. He played his fingertips over the bag’s opening, and before Krutt looked at him again Erich had a gold coin in his palm. His heart was beating fast, and yet he’d not been caught. So far, so good.

Now he only had to wait for the messenger boy. If the King was exhausted for the night, and the messenger boy’s job was done, Erich would have to think of another way to sneak off. But no, as the slave boy looked down the Road away from the castle he saw the blond-haired page boy talking to a man with a small stall that sold sausages. The King is hungry tonight, Erich thought, hungry for sausages. And maybe it was true. For his part, though, it didn’t much matter. The page boy would be coming back this way, and Erich would be ready.

The sausage man shook the boy’s hand and here he came, walking up the road with longer strides than most adults managed. His legs were long, for his job, as he was most likely the fastest runner in the Hatha. When horses are scarce, and messages need to be relayed, long legs run them where they need to be.

Erich caught Krutt’s eye.

“I have to drop a piss.”

Krutt’s eyes narrowed for a moment, and Erich wondered if his voice had sounded odd in any way. He played it back in his mind and came to the conclusion that if Krutt was truly suspicious it could not be helped; Erich’s words had been as natural and calm as they’d always been.

“Where do you plan to do that?”

“Same place. Alley across the Road.” The boy pointed. They’d both emptied their bladders against the walls in that alley, and he’d seen more than enough other people do the same to know that’s what it was used for. If it suited him, he might feel bad for the cobbler whose cart was set up right in front of it, but it didn’t so he didn’t bother.

If Krutt sensed his anxiety he made no sign.

“All right. Get on with you, but stay in the open where I can see. Remember what we talked about before we showed up here.”

“Yes, master.”

The boy stood up and began to walk across the road. He had timed it perfectly. He would intercept the page boy in the center of the Road. The crowd was heavy, and he took his time, speeding up and slowing down as it would serve him to reach the page boy at the right time. And right as he would have passed in front of him, Erich tripped on a rock and tumbled hard to the ground. It could not have gone better. The page boy’s boot sank into his side and then he was falling too. Erich was up on his elbows as quick as he could manage it, and his quarry was still trying to catch his balance. Erich pushed himself to his knees and shot out a hand to steady the boy he’d tripped so carefully.

In the next movement he took his palmed coin and pressed it into the page boy’s hand.

“So sorry, sir. I must have tripped on a rock.” The page boy looked down at Erich, face filled with thanks for catching him. Then he saw the brand on the boy’s face, and the coin in his own hand, and he raised an eyebrow. He understands.

“The magician, behind me. Krutt. I need you to tell him he’s been chosen to perform for the King.” Erich’s calmness surprised him, and he spoke from the side of his mouth. Krutt was no doubt watching him at this moment, and when the page boy looked up at him he would think it was because of the recognized brand on his slave’s face.

“I can’t…His Majesty King Regyold has not-”

“I do not care if he is let in at the gate, they can tell him it’s been a mistake. All I need is for him to believe it. Or I can take your payment back. Your choice.”

He’d chosen correctly; the messenger was all too keen on keeping the gold piece in his hand.

“He won’t know it was you,” the blond boy said with a slim smile.

“Thank you, sir.”

The page boy was off up the Road again, striding a pace that only a trotting horse could keep up with. He’d be back in a moment to do his job. Meanwhile, Erich really did have to drop a piss. He nodded at the cobbler as he sauntered past, and made his way into the alley.

Book I - The Magician's Boy (Chapter 2)

2005-11-04T02:04:00.000-08:00

That night as he lay in his place on the tent floor, his mind was working in overdrive. All the sensations of the place, the spices in the air, the night sounds of men sleeping, animals moving their feet, vagrants stumbling along the Road. It was an overwhelming truth, knowing how the kingdom breathed at night. Erich’s legs twitched, and he shook them. They were restless. He had an urge to get up, push himself out of the hole and just start running. Where he went, it didn’t matter. When he stopped, it would be the start of his new life. Life away from Krutt. Only it wouldn’t work that way, and he knew it. The gods knew it would be easier for him to escape for good if there wasn’t a brand on his cheek. He would receive no shelter or food from anyone, no one wanted to be caught harboring a man’s slave – and those who had lived long enough would recognize the coin brand’s origin, and return him to Krutt. On the other end, Erich was certain it wouldn’t really matter whether or not he was branded on the face or not. For he believed his master when he was told that Krutt would stop at nothing to retrieve him, and then would kill him for his disloyalty. Once he’d wondered, why would he go to so much trouble to get me back just so he could kill me? He needs me, or else he wouldn’t care. The only other possibility was that his master had been making empty threats, but in his nine years with the man, Erich knew that in reality it was not a possibilty at all. Krutt kept his promises, all of them. It didn’t matter how lofty or small, he kept his word. He has his own reasons, Erich thought, and shivered.

But to get up, step outside and breathe the night air, stand and watch the stalls and feel the rhythm of the kingdom’s respiration? It wouldn’t be much of a risk, but Erich knew that it wasn’t worth it, not after the scolding he’d gotten the night before. Might be more than a scolding this time, whipping most likely. For Krutt was a man who slept lightly and had an uncanny knowledge of what Erich was doing at each moment, and he was a jealous keeper. What are you keeping me for? What purpose am I to fulfil?

He heard footsteps then, distinct and slight. Each step with purpose, and yet purposefully quiet. He listened to it for several moments noting its perfect rhythm before realizing the sound was becoming louder. Whoever it was who walked at this time of night was headed toward his tent. Erich sat up slowly, his heart thumping in his chest. Maybe he was mistaken, the walker would just pass his tent by without stopping, or it would visit one of the neighbor’s stalls. But no, the sound became steadily louder, and something inside him told Erich that there was no mistake.

He was right. As the footsteps slowed, and finally came to a stop three feet from where his head was, Erich could not think straight. Someone’s come to kill me, I have nothing to defend myself. He looked desperately at Krutt, thinking that maybe he should awaken the man.

But it was no blade that cut through the tent wall. It was a woman’s voice, beautiful and whispered, the words she spoke sweetened by the Hathan accent she afforded.

“Magician’s boy.”

It was not a question. This woman, whoever she may be, obviously knew enough about him to know that he’d be awake and laying on this side of the tent. He’d been watched. Erich didn’t answer.

“Meet me tomorrow, when the sun touches the castle’s tip for the second time. I’ll be at the gates. You must come, to see what more you could have. You’ll find a way.”

She was gone, and if he had heard her footsteps as they faded into the night, he didn’t remember. He was thinking, and even with her gone his heart beat with the tempo of a Market Fair drummer’s sticks. Someone knew who he was, and wanted to help him. He looked over at Krutt, and thanked the gods the man had not awoken at the woman’s voice.

Was it possible? That he could be rescued from this man? Erich didn’t know. It was possible the woman had set a trap for him, possible even that Krutt had hired her to prove the boy’s loyalty to him. Still, in the boy’s mind he had no choice. He would find a way to be at the castle gates at dusk the next day. He would find the woman with the sweet voice, and he would hear what she had to say. Whatever he decided would be decided then.

And the magician’s boy lay in the dark, blinking through blackness, and soon through the barest light, as the first red rays struck the tent. He’d never been more excited to see the sun rise.

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Book I - The Magician's Boy (Chapter 1)

2005-11-02T21:44:00.000-08:00

The man’s chest bobbed up and down with each breath, mouth hanging open as his loud snores filled the space of the small tent. Erich lay opposite the man, watching him and counting the intervals between each. It was as good a way to pass the time as any, seeing as the boy was not one to sleep. Already he felt he’d been conscious for longer than those three years older than him, and he knew he was smarter. It didn’t take a genio to understand that just because a boy was schooled didn’t mean he had any more wit, or wisdom about things. Things bored him after a while, though, and he found that counting the spaces between the master’s snores made him want to continue forever, in that obsessive way that Erich knew was bad. Count a hundred snores, you’ll want to count a hundred more. For what purpose? So he got up, quietly as he could, pulled on a pair of trousers and a shirt, moved aside the leather that held the entrance, and stepped out into the cool night.

Their camp was on a hill, in the midst of a hundred others. The hills were subtle and rolling, and the wind whistled along the taller grasses making them jump and dance and flow in waves. Erich had never seen the Western Ocean, though he thought that maybe when the clouds rolled over and the storms came it would look something like this. It was beautiful, even in its simplicity, and Erich sighed and sat down, crossing his legs behind one another. From here he could see quite a few other tents, all perched on other hills, little white bulges that housed other merchants and sellers of antiques. All here for the same reason, and if he squinted Erich could see the city walls they would go beyond in the morning. The gate was a speck, and to him the distance only meant he’d have to do more work when the time came. Pulling the cart with his master inside, along with every other prop and trinket the man had in his possession.

Going away had always been a thought he’d tucked away in the back of his mind for when he needed it. He could just start walking, or maybe a slight jog. The master wouldn’t know for hours, and by then Erich would be so far away that recovery would be near impossible. He could leave right now-

“Boy.”

Erich’s body twitched. It was the master. He turned. The man was sticking his head out of the tent hole and staring at him.

“Yes, master?”

“You ain’t been thinking about running away now, ha’you? Sitting out there all alone, plotting your escape?”

Erich’s lip quivered. How’d he know? I'd only just been thinking about it.

“No master.”

“If it weren’t for the fear in your voice I might believe you. Let me tell you again, boy. You leave, I hunt you down. I find you, you gone. You dead. And there ain’t no mistake, I will find you. You try to get a job, they spot the brand on your cheek. They recognize it, I come to get you. You dead. Ain’t no place you can hide from me, I got magic on my side. You belongs to me, boy. Krutt the magician – most respected in all of Meil. I find out you still planning your run, I cut your legs off. Then let’s see you try it.”

Even in the black Erich could see the way his master’s face molded into a mask of twisted happiness. Glee, almost. There was no doubt the man was serious, and for as long as they’d been together Erich knew Krutt was a man who prided himself on his word, and his keeping it.

“No master, I wasn’t going to run, not now not later. I’m yours, I know it. I seen the brand on my face. I just been sitting out here watching the wind go over the grass, and thinking about tomorrow. Master.”

Krutt’s face changed again, this time into something resembling thoughtfulness.

“Aye, boy. Tomorrow’s a gret big day. Lots of money to be found, more of it to be taken. Market Fair’s always good for that. You’ll earn some, providing you work for it. And you working for me means you’d better.”

“I will, master. No mistake, that.” He was glad to have the conversation coming to a close. Rarely could he appease Krutt this quickly, the man was a taskmaster if the boy was his horse. Most likely Erich would earn two or three silvers, enough to buy himself some new clothes or a loaf of finer bread. Krutt always let him keep what he bought, it was one of the few things about the man the boy respected.

“Good. Now get in here and get to sleep. Work’s going to be breaking your back in the morning.”

Though he knew sleep wasn’t going to come, had never come, not for him, Erich followed his master’s head back into the tent and lay down, closing his eyes. After a while he began counting the spaces between his master’s snores again, and had reached two thousand before the sun’s glow told him to rise.

The Market Fair was the most important event in Hatha every year, and it lasted a week. Travelers and merchants from every kingdom came with their skills, services, and goods to camp outside the Hathan gates before being let in, in a great parade of colors, smells, and shouts. Peasantry and royalty alike stood on the sides of the Road, the widest and longest of any in the Kingdom, and watched as the strange people carting their strange capital went by. Those at the front of the parade marched right up to the castle gates and set up their booths right there, while those behind them set up their booths all down the length of the Road.

Erich, pulling the cart his master sat in, forgot all about his work and stared down the line at those ahead of him, unable to see where they came to an end. Someone was playing music, loud and exciting, and the boy smiled wider than he had in months. Smells of pastries and sugar, bright reds and yellows flying on flags high above him. Erich had never been to Hatha in his life, he’d been born in a smaller kingdom, Tojo to the East, and everything here amazed him. The buildings rose so tall, and the people spilling from them clapped their hands in unison with such speed and vigor Erich knew they’d practiced this many times before. Was each Market Fair as exciting for them as the last? The strange sights seemed to last forever, and Erich savored every moment even though to him it felt as if he’d been walking forever as well.

They’d just passed a man who was having his dog perform on a rolling barrel, and the booth in front of them (a man and his wife selling a melon of some sort) stopped. Looking up the line, beyond all the settling booths and showcases, Erich could see the very top of a great building. It was the castle, center of the Kingdom of Hatha. He was sure that if he were closer, it would be magnificent. The largest thing he’d ever seen, and probably ever would. If he could only just break away from Krutt for a couple hours he’d be able to run up there…no, it was better to just not think of it. The master would never let him go, not for an instant. He was too valuable a helper, and he’d be apt to run away, get swept into a side alley and disappear forever. Something about that didn’t strike true, though. Krutt was not an old man yet, he could run his business (if it could be called a business) just fine without Erich. So why did the man keep such a tight leash on him?

“Quit standing there like an idiot, boy, and put this thing down. We haven’t got all day to set up, you know. Crowd’ll be at us in a few minutes, we gotta greet ‘em with all we got.”

Erich set down the cart and Krutt hopped out of it. The man took a few appraising looks around, then glanced at the boy.

“Yep. This is the spot.” His voice was filled with so much recognition that Erich was confused.

“The spot, master?”

“A good a spot as any, is what I mean. A good place to do good business,” Krutt sighed, “now let’s get a move on!”

“Yes master.”

Out of all the merchants and tradesmen in the Market Fair, magicians either had the most stock or the least. The ones in it for the money sold petty things, witch fingers and animal tails, skulls of dead warriors and necklaces that held jewels (and a black curse, the magician would add). The other type of magician, instead of trying to sell a “magical” item, instead tried to sell the magic itself. The concept was strange for many newcomers to the Market Fair, and yet for those who’d bought the magic in prior years it was a familiar thing.

The magician would set up his shop, which was really just a backdrop with a deep blue color to soothe any patron who would be passing, and then sit in front of it, staring ahead and not saying a word. Anyone with a wish on their mind or a need in their hearts would step up to the magician and look into his eyes. They would state their purpose, and the magician would stop them with a hand on the shoulder. “I know what you seek,” he would say, his voice low. And then he would do a little bit of trickery with his hands, moving them about the way no man schooled in a regular skill could follow. His eyes would close and his mouth would open and from it would issue a series of phrases not familiar to any man in Meil. He’d open his eyes and the buyer would open his money pouch and the transaction would be complete.

No one knew if the magic really worked, and truth to tell no one whose relatives weren’t dying really cared that much anyway. The magic was in the experience, and the excitement of seeing magic be performed in front of them. At least, that’s what they thought. Erich knew, as Krutt had told him, that a real magician has knowledge about the manipulation of the human mind. While he’s doing all of his special magic dance, he’s putting a calmness into their mind. And for a good magician, no one ever complained.

Krutt was a good magician. Erich knew this because the man who had branded his face with a one side of a smoking hot coin could hold groups of people steady at a time. He’d do his magic for them all, all at the same time and each man who witnessed it was absolutely sure it had been performed for him and him alone. Besides the ability to do group magic, Krutt also had a face people were drawn to. Erich didn’t much understand this part of it (to him, Krutt was uglier than a one-eyed wolf) but he figured that if the man could reach into a person’s mind to persuade them that what they were seeing was true magic, maybe he could change his own face in that person’s head as well. Make himself beautiful.

If Erich had been like other people, easily manipulated like that, he supposed he wouldn’t have to be put on a leash at all, he just wouldn’t ever feel like disobeying. The thought of that made the boy uneasy, and yet he still wished in his heart that he was the same as everyone else, slept like everyone else. If he was like that, Krutt would have never found him, never picked him up like he did. Never burned the scar into his cheek.

The two had the cart turned on its side and backdrop pulled down as quick as any other man could have done it, and Krutt pulled on his tall hat. Erich brought out the stool and placed it in front of the upturned cart. Krutt sat down on it, and pulled out a fabric bag and gave it to Erich.

“That’s for the payment. Make sure each puts it in.” The command wasn’t really necessary, because Krutt took care of that as well when he was touching the people’s minds whose eyes met his. “All it takes is a little reminder, and they’ll pay. Not many can resist my will,” Krutt had told him once, after they’d set up in Nahim, a fair sized kingdom to the Northwest. But I can, master. And you treat me like a dog with hair a-falling off, but maybe you’re just a little frightened as well. It pleased him that Krutt couldn’t touch his mind, and the thought that his own master might be afraid of him as well put a smile on his face that didn’t drop off soon after.

Soon enough, people started showing up, and Krutt began his magic.

The bag in Erich’s hands grew heavier with every golden clink. The boy knew it wasn’t good to look into the faces of the people whose money he was collecting, (they ignored him anyway, what with the scar on his face, so what was the point?) but he couldn’t help himself. He’d never seen so many folk from such a big place before, and he was interested in the way they dressed, many in bright colors that showed they had money, ears long with the weight of gold and silver, and he smiled at each one. One, a pretty woman wearing a golden scarf and red robes, caught him smiling at her and turned her eye mean. Erich gulped, and did his best to wipe the stupid grin from his face. It was hard to remember what he was to these people. They didn’t see a boy who’d lived nine summers without a night of sleep, they saw a rich magician’s slave. And that made him dirt. It was lucky he’d stopped smiling, he knew, because any big man he looked at that way was apt to knock him down, and then tell Krutt to keep his reins tighter around his little slave boy’s neck. Master would starve him and ignore him, after he had the boy tied to the cart like an ox.

Erich knew his master was capable of much, much worse. Better to keep the man happy. And so he held to a few simple rules. Don’t make eye contact with the men, don’t smile at the women. Hold the bag, keep your head down and nod slightly every time you hear a clink. And yet, ever so often he’d forget himself and once again stare longingly at the jewelry and the dress, until someone gave him a look and he remembered again. He got through until closing without anyone complaining, and with the sun setting he was happy to be able to sit.

“Boy, give me that.” Krutt snatched the bag of money from his hands and shoved it into his robes. He was off the stool now and tossed it at Erich, who was nimble enough to catch it even with the light going down.

“Put that away and make us up a fire. You’re cooking my dinner tonight.”

Well, he’d get to sit eventually.

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Prologue

2005-11-01T08:14:00.000-08:00

From the Memrecord of Mikkol Bandy, taken Chicago of the year 2532

Back when my granda was young, and one of my gret gret grandas was an old man, nearly to his end-time, he told my granda of the way things had been when the world began. He told him of the great fertilization, a thing he’d never seen, it had happened too long ago. No one could remember that far back, and everything they knew had been passed down to them from their grandparents. By measuring in years it had been more than four hundred since the fertilization, and my grandfather was seventeenth generation. What his grandfather told him, he passed on to me, since my father was selfstart man who didn’t take to religions.

The story was ancient, and my grandfather told me with great pride that our line of men, the Bandys, had kept every word the same as that which they’d heard from their ancestors. The tellings differed, he told me, on the skirts, where men raised families in isolation, cut off from the rest of the kingdom by distance and mountains. He told me that our version was the most pure, and that I would learn it well to pass on to my children and grandies as well. Then he set me down and said, Mikkol Bandy, you are about to hear the music of truth.

There was, in the beginning, a land. It was filled with a people with skin dark and scaly, whose whi’balls were covered in glass. They lived in needles that poked at the sky. They rode giant beasts that flew and breathed fire. They worshipped the god in the box. And it was, that one day the god in the box told them to build it a shrine. The land was dying, fire from the flying beasts was poisoning the air. Without the shrine, it told them, there was no hope for the land. The building began, and went on for fifty years before the shrine was completed. Its space was mammoth, and on the inside every thing from the world as they’d had it was removed. Grass grew clean, trees rose up and streams flowed clear as they’d never done before. The god in the box told the people to fill the shrine with beast, those that did not lay dead forever from the way the land had begun to rot. Horsas entered the shrine, along with dogs and catos, and soon after the god in the box made another request. It would allow seventy men and women to enter through its walls, and make a life in its paradise. It is said there was a great war over who should have such privilege, and in the end great metal beasts with immortal minds would choose randomly from all the dark-skinners to find the ones it would allow to enter. Thirty-five of the woman side and the same number of men walked through the gates beyond the skirts and began the fertilization.

There was more, and I listened to remember, you can be sure. But to tell a body every word my granda told me would take days, as the history of whom got on with whom and made child with and such is quite full. I like to squeeze it down smaller, so I tell the main points and not all that maybe doesn’t matter so much.

Like what’s important is the god in the box came with the chosen ones for a time, and spoke to them of the things they needed to do. Building a town was one, and the seventy began and when they finished they’d added a dozen babas to the population. The god in the box made them crown a king and his name was Lawrence Jehrooz. Soon the eighty-two had risen to more than a hundred, and those whose babas had reached their second and third years started making more. The god in the box watched all this and told the people what they should do next and they did it. They made tools of the metal they found in the ground, and learned to smith it into many shapes. The god in the box taught them all a manner of tradeskill, and soon the king had a castle of stone cut by the masons. The hundred became fifty more, and those who had been babas began to marry. The first of the fertilizers began to die some short years after. Then, one day, the god in the box was no longer there. It refused to speak, and from inside the box there was no sound. King Jehrooz died and his first son Hatha seated himself at the throne. Hatha dubbed the clear land Meil, and chose three of the kingdom’s strongest men and mounted them on horsas, then had them ride out in exploration.

The kingdom grew, and as the second and third generations built the surrounding wall, smaller groups of people left to pursue their lives somewhere else. In this way the nearby trading town of Mercha was founded, and also saw the attempt at creating a rival kingdom across the big river, one they called Bretha after their king, Bretha Smith.

King Hatha was an old man by then, and he let Bretha grow, as Smith had been one of Hatha’s playmates as a child, and he harbored no ill will against him. And so the kingdom of Bretha grew, at least until old King Hatha died, and his heir Marka took the throne. And after not too long it became apparent that Marka was a bad king.

He sent two hundred men trained in combat to Bretha, ordering them to destroy the kingdom and kill all those they found there, including the King.

Four days later they returned, signaling success. They’d burned Bretha to the ground, and had taken no prisoners. Many of the men who’d been sent were tried for treason as they’d refused to murder women and children as the others had. Marka had all of the men beheaded, and displayed his trophies with pride on the castle gates. It’s how Marka began his reign of fear.

Like I said before, none of this really has much to do with life now, but I always thought old Marka was a rather interesting fellow. Filled with a sense of power so strong he couldn’t help himself but to use it.

All you really need to know is that Hatha is the largest kingdom in Meil. There are others, fourteen other kingdoms whose kings pay Hatha fealty. Far out, beyond the mountains to the south and on the skirts, men have turned away from Hatha and have created their own regional kingdoms. Distance keeps any Hathan from doing much about any of them, and for the most part that’s all right, but in the south, where the Agrotian kingdom prides its warriors for their killing efficiency. Hathan scouts have come back from the Agrotian plains reporting the vision of an army so large and so organized the talk among the peasantry is that they’d be able to take Hatha down. Our King, Regynold, is a nervous man who likes the power he’s got, and isn’t very keen on losing it. It won’t take but a few more years, though, and I s’pose he might.

Is that enough? What more can I tell you?

Oh. Tomorrow, then.

And after that I can leave?

Good.

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