This is just part of chapter one, i didn't know if it was too long, and people alway complain and don't review if it's long, so i just made it like this:) Any-who, enjoy.
Chapter I
Claramae Lockert was running for her life. Bare feet carried her over the many tree roots that reached upward, daring her to trip. Night had fallen hours ago which made the Alaha Forest support its nickname, the Dark Forest. The moon shined slivers of light down through small openings on the tree tops. The young woman tried to avoid them in hope it would better her chances in escaping her pursuer, but her pursuer was a Wicked. It occurred to her many times she should just give up and let the Wicked kill her, he would catch up to her anyway.
“Clara,” the Wicked’s voice seemed to be coming from every direction. “Clara you should not have deceived me like you did.”
Clara tried ignoring the Wicked’s taunting, but his voice became louder and more ominous.
“I will catch you my darling,” the Wicked’s voice bounced off every tree.
“I will kill myself before I let you touch me again,” Clara shouted to the sky.
“Correction Clara, I will kill you.” Clara suddenly slammed into a tall man, falling backwards to the ground.
The man bore a malevolent smile that made Clara grimace whenever he showed it. With great force, the Wicked picked Clara up with his magic. Clara was five feet in the air when she felt the Wicked’s magic tighten around her throat, suffocating her. Gasping, she began savagely kicking while her hands tried to pry away the invisible force clamping down on her larynx.
“You damned child,” the Wicked said, throwing her hard against a tree. “Where is the Divinity of Life?”
Clara struggled but managed a few words between gasps.
“I…I told…you…I don’t…don’t… know…what you…you’re talking…about…”
The Wicked released Clara from his magic’s grasp. Clara took in ragged breaths. As she began to stand, the Wicked kicked hard into her ribs. She began to cry.
“Stop crying,” the Wicked snapped, kicking her again. “Tell me where the Divinity of Life is?”
“I don’t know,” she said between sobs. “I don’t know what the Divinity of Life is.”
Clara closed her eyes as the Wicked drew his gun, pointing it at her.
“Get up,” he barked.
Shaking, Clara stood on wobbling legs. All her life she had been taught by the elders that the Wicked were ruthless. She convinced herself she hadn’t seen anything yet.
“Get over here,” the Wicked said, his gun unwavering from her. “Where are you hiding it?”
Clara watched his eyes move up and down her body. His mouth twitched as it pulled into the smile she hated so much.
“Start undressing,” the Wicked said, stilling grinning. “Or I’ll do it for you.”
Clara frowned.
“I will not,” she snapped.
With great agility, Clara reached up and knocked the gun from the Wicked’s hand and made a run for it.
“Get back,” the Wicked called. “I said get BACK!”
Clara ran back towards her village, figuring she knew that route better than the one to Arlynn. Up ahead, the sound of rushing water alerted Clara. It was the waterfall. She was getting closer to Rune. Her feet carried her, faster than anyone from her village. Her agility jumping over the roots of the monumental trees grew as the familiarity of the path guided her. It was going to be alright, everything would be fine and she would make it back to Rune, that’s what she told herself as she made it into the clearing.
Her heart was in her throat. Her eyes were wide as she tried to look through night’s thick blanket. There was a strong gust of wind, knocking her vengefully to the ground. The gleam of a sword was the only warning as it was thrown at her from the side. With a metallic clang, the sword caught in large rock between Clara’s legs.
Looking at the significant markings, Clara smiled. She had recognized instantly the Runian craftsmanship of the scrolling symbols on the blade, and a sapphire encrusted hilt. The mere sight of the blade made her feel safe and protected from anything. As all Noradians were taught as younglings, a Runian’s blade was just as strong in magic as an Adilyte’s blade, and just as deadly.
“Clara,” a cloaked man had stepped out from the shadows of the forest. His pace quickened as he realized whom he had nearly killed. With a steady hand, he reached down.
With her right, Clara grasped her brother’s arm and his sword with her left. She was then carefully pulled her to her feet, followed by her brother’s warm embrace.
“Clara I thought you were the Wicked,” he said softly. “Please forgive me.”
Clara didn’t say anything, just kept her arms wrapped tight around her brother’s waist.
“Luan,” Clara said, breaking the peaceful silence. “The Wicked chased me to-”
Luan tensed at the word, pulling away from Clara, holding her in the moonlight. His eyes widened in fear as he saw the battle scars she had recently received.
“That son-of-a-bitch,” Luan growled.
Clara shrank from the intimidation and fierce anger her brother suddenly possessed. He was easily tempered.
“Luan,” Clara said, tugging at his shirt. “Luan, we must leave…the Spirits of the Alaha will find us soon.”
Luan quickly snapped from his anger.
“You’re right,” he said, watching for the signs of the spirits. “We need to hurry.”
With a rushed pace, Luan and Clara made their way back to the village. Every once in a while Clara would look behind her, fear of the Wicked following her. Every time the wind moaned or a branch swayed in agony Clara would cling even closer to Luan.
“You don’t need to be scared Han’uae,” Luan would coo. “I will keep you safe.”
~
The Village of Rune was set afire. Screams filled with horror and dread filled the streets. Clara found herself running, but she wasn’t getting anywhere. Her legs suddenly felt like led. Looking down she realized she was covered in thick iron chains. The sound of a curse flew by her left ear, making her turn. More people were covered in chains like her, from their hands down. She was slapped suddenly, an unseen hand. Looking, trying to find who had hit her, her eyes fell upon the form of a Wicked. There was no face. Instead it was filled with black space. But the wardrobe of the Wicked remained true. Behind the Wicked, more fell into place, their hands glowing. Clara screamed as one of the curses hit Luan. He fell to the ground, his flesh retreating from where the magic had impaled him.
Something made Clara move past her brother even though she wanted to stay by his side, to help him. She was kicked forward. There was a loud battle call and they came. More of them. Wicked surrounded the people of Rune. Clara watched as a Wicked fired at a woman and her child. There were more screams. Clara looked away from the heap that had once been the woman holding her child, and stopped in fear. The Wicked were at the sea cliff, throwing people off into the serrated rocks below. Clara screamed as she was yanked from her stance and over to the edge by a Wicked. She struggled with the Wicked, but was pushed off. Clara fell forward, into nothing. A black abyss. Then everything turned to light.
~
News of the King Taranis’s death had traveled fast throughout the small Village of Rune. Tales of a new king had surfaced as well. Clara had learned most of it from the local gossip Madame Kierianna, but the other half came from her boss at the local bar Jasper’s Tavern. Jasper was a veteran Adilyte from the Wars of Aseroth and the War of Sloan. Clara always had stayed after hours listening to his stories when she was younger until her father would come to get her for the night.
Luan had once taken a liking to those stories, but Clara had noticed when she was ten and Luan fifteen, he had stopped listening altogether. It had broken Jasper’s heart along with her father’s, but Luan had begun to grow into a young man, obsessed with the idea of killing all Wicked. Clara had often feared for Luan and his obsession. It was the same obsession that had drove their father mad in the first place. It was no wonder the Lockert family was shunned by most in the Village of Rune. Especially with their strange, head-in-the-clouds daughter.
Clara peered outside her bedroom window. The Village of Rune seemed to carry on the same humdrum life every day throughout the dull gray days of winter. Luan had yet to ask her what she was doing out there so late. It had been three moons since Clara’s encounter in the Dark Forest, sleep eluding her through her terrifying nightmares that caused her to wake in the dead of night with blood-curdling screams. Dark circles had formed under Clara’s eyes. She looked dead.
“Clara,” Clara jumped at the sound of Luan’s voice, pure guilt. “Are you alright? You haven’t come out of your room for days-have you even eaten anything?”
“I’m fine,” Clara voice cracked. She hadn’t used it in the three days she had kept up in her room.
“No you’re not,” Luan said, stepping into the room. Warily, he stepped over to the bed where his sister sat looking out the window.
“Leave me alone,” Clara said hoarsely. “Get away from me!”
“You did it again,” Luan said, laying a tender hand on her shoulder. “Do you want to tell me what happened?”
Clara turned her head slowly from the window, not sure if she could stand looking into Luan’s eyes without crying. When she met his gaze she burst into an outfit of tears. Luan leaned close to comfort his little sister.
“Come now Clara,” he said softly. “It’s just me, you can tell me anything- remember?” Clara buried her head deeper into her brother’s chest and let out a wail. Luan let out a small, low chuckle. She was coming out of her guilt.
When Clara had calmed, Luan took her outside. She let him lead her out into the back garden their parents had slaved over when they were still alive. Now it was overgrown with ivy that stretched its long limbs to the sides of the house and around the fountain. Clara was led to her favorite spot under the large chaslei tree, its lavender blossoms in full bloom. Luan pulled her down so that they sat on a small lift in the ground that looked over the rest of the garden.
“I was trying to get money-” Clara was stopped by a wave of Luan’s hand.
“I already know,” he said. “Jasper told me.”
Clara looked up from her thumb-twiddling hands, into Luan’s dark face. When Luan gave her his grave face, Clara always imagined herself being pinned in a corner, not able to move. The power of Luan’s stare would send chills down her spine and make her heart ache at the thought of him being mad at her. Mad, she began to realize, was an understatement.
“I’ve really don’t it this time,” she said quietly, more to herself than aloud.
“Clara, I thought I warned you about gambling,” Luan said, his hazel eyes glowing with something fierce.
“Luan,” Clara said, quickly trying to think of a good excuse. “Luan, I was only trying to help us-”
“I don’t want to hear excuses,” he said, cutting in. “Gambling is no game for a young woman. Madam Kierianna is probably spreading the word already. Don’t you value any of this family’s dignity?”
“What dignity,” Clara snapped. “We have nothing ever since Father died.”
Luan’s anger dissolved, and whatever grudge he held was safely hidden from what Clara could see. Now all she saw was a sad and stressed Luan, trying to make ends meet.
“I understand your reasoning,” he said calmly. “But I don’t want to see you back there again.”
Clara nodded in agreement. It wasn’t like she would miss the game. She had lost several times and felt it wasn’t worth it anyhow. It was impossible to think straight with the smell of liquor covered men smoking their pipes.
“I’ll tell you my dream,” Clara said, quite suddenly. Luan inched closer to her.
“Go ahead,” he said.
Clara unraveled the horrifying accounts she had endured within her dreams. She let every detail spill out, capturing the evil the dream possessed with enough quality it made her shudder. Luan sat there quietly the entire time, listening, taking every detail Clara gave him and processed it. When Clara finished, Luan remained silent.
“What do you think causes my dreams,” Clara asked.
Luan still remained silent. Clara suddenly became frightened. Had she finally driven her brother mad with all her appalling dreams? Maybe he thought he should send her away like their Father, for acting like a madwoman.
“Luan please speak,” Clara said, urging him with a soft shove in his side.
Luan looked Clara square in the eyes.
“Clara,” he said. His tone was low and thoughtful, but serious at the same time. “Do you think your dreams show what might happen in the future?”
Clara’s thin brows furrowed, showing her confusion. “What do you mean?”
“I mean, what if you’re like Madame Alaxia,” Luan said. “What if you possess the power to look into the future?”
“I don’t think so,” Clara said. “My other dreams haven’t been like this.”
“Yes they have,” Luan said, smiling. “Don’t deny it either. You remember on Eve of the Lords when you had one of your attacks? You were seven. And you had just gotten home with Mother from picking the sanyaberries-”
“I passed out,” Clara said. “When you woke me up I didn’t remember anything…”
“But while you were out, that’s when you had your attack. You said that Jasper would fall ill the day after Eve of Lords and remember, the next day he had a fever of one o’ seven.”
“I was seven,” Clara said meekly.
Luan was getting frustrated.
“You deny that you saved my life then,” he said at last.
Clara let out a long sigh. Luan was right. It had been very late. She remembered dreaming of her brother being followed home from the seminary. He ran, trying to escape the grasps of the evil looking man, but the man grasped him and pulled him into the shadows. Clara had woken from the screams of her dying brother. Clara had warned Luan to bring their father’s pocket knife with him today. She had thanked the Lords he had taken her advice.
Her heart fell backwards, it seemed, every time she would think about that night. Luan noticed she had become silent and recognized the signs of her remembrance and leaned forward to give her a reassuring embrace. Letting go from his sister, Luan stood up. Luan was shorter than most men in the village, but he made up for it with his muscle. His thick black hair fell in shag around his ears and above his eyes. Clara had always thought Luan like a wolf, fierce and unpredictable.
“I think we should go see Madame Alaxia,” Luan said. “I think she might be able to help us.”
“Go to the witch?” Clara said in disbelief. “Luan, you can’t be serious?”
“I am,” he said smiling. “I think she can maybe explain your dreams better than anyone else we’ve gone to. Face it Clara, you’ve only told me about your dreams, not Father, not Mother. They were the ones who had arranged those rituals with the Wakaiyalei.”
The Wakaiyalei, a Noradian’s term for a sorcerer who wielded the power to deal with one’s mind had become a common subject with the Village of Rune ever since news that the Lockert family had a demonic, schizophrenic daughter. Clara had come to despise any Wakaiyalei that crossed her path.
“Alright,” Clara said, finally giving in to her brother’s pestering. “I’ll go, but on one condition…I want to go to Arlynn City.”
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