Young Writers Society

Favian knew he didn't have time to mourn. He knew he didn't have time to grab the children's bodies and clutch them to his chest and tell their lifeless forms how much he loved them. He wanted to stay there with them. To lie down next to them, hug them so very close and cry his soul out. Tears dripped from his eyes as he stared at their small motionless bodies.

Unable to bear the weight of their deaths any more and his knees gave way and his body shuddered with remorse. Small dots of ash sprinkled down from the sky like a sign of death from the Gods. Favian let loose the control he had on his emotions as his entire being cried out in pain. He emmited such an emotional outburst that he felt a reaction from a Magus far away, who tried to mentally contact him.

Favian reached a hand over to Bobby's face to close his pained, yet lifeless eyes. Then he bent over, sobbing uncontrollably and kissed Bobby, then Cretin on their foreheads. Blood from Bobby's wounds stuck on his dry cracked lips.

As Favian kneeled in the falling ash, staring at the bodies of the children who hadn't even blossomed into full beings, red painted over their bodies slowly being covered by a thin pile of charcoal, something inside him snapped.

A scream of anguish ripped out of his lungs and he jumped into action. Ignoring his physical limits he pumped magic into his movements, not at all caring if he died at this moment. Favian strode, his steps angry, jittery and fast. His hands whooshed by his sides as he walked.

As he walked he tried to ignore all the death around him, tried to regain control. Then he came across a Cruciot soldier who was pilfering from a dead man, muttering to himself, "Got nothing good to take. Waste of space, the lot of them."

Favian's eyes narrowed, his blue eyes as cold as ice as he threw pure, unadultered magic at the soldier. The man was thrown to the ground and pinned by the invisible force.

Favian barely even noticed the tears streaming down his face as he yelled at the man, "Why!? Why did you kill everyone!? Why did you kill the children? MY CHILDREN! WHY!?!?"

As he spoke he grew louder, angrier, the magic holding the man to the floor grew as well. As Favian spoke the last word a crack resounded from the soldier's body. Favian didn't even register the man falling limp, his muscles loosening, didn't see the man stop struggling. He kept on yelling, he kept on forcing magic and he completely lost himself in his anger.

"You murderer! You despicable, dirty, disgusting, murderer!" Favian closed his eyes, sobbing, and was now just screaming as loud as he could, though it was just a whisper.

When he had finally nothing left to scream, all his anger transformed into physical magic, he opened his eyes and looked at the soldier. It took only a moment to recognise his criminal actions. His eyes widened in horror. There was only a pile of crimson mush left. Favian had crushed him into a human fluid with his anger.

Favian swallowed loudly and glanced around to see if anyone was watching. Then he began to run. He didn't know where he was running, he didn't care. The image of his dead potentials popped into his head as he fled.

As he ran he passed buildings in rubbles, on fire, pulled apart and countless dead bodies. They became decorational monuments to him. To him he saw so much he didn't need to see anymore. He closed his eyes and ran and let what was left of his magic to guide him. Unfortunately, Favian didn't have a good sense of direction at the best of times. He ran straight into soldier on a horse.

With a scream Favian forced him off and smirked bitterly as the man fell, derservingly, prostrate on his own sword. The man's death almost made him feel better about his potentials. As memories of them crept back into his mind he shrieked and almost scared the horse off. This wouldn't be enough.

He needed real vengeance. He needed... Something of more importance. The real cause of his children's death. As Favian gripped the reins of the thorough-bred horse he noticed it was wearing the Cruciot crest on its saddle. His eyes paused on the crest and then the object of his vengeance became as clear as crystal. The King's life. He would kill the King, if he ever wanted to pay back what he had lost to the one who was responsible. He straddled the black mare marked with a white star on her head and dug his heels into her ribs. Favian began plotting as the horse began to gallop off.

---

Andonis grimaced as he felt his heart scream out in anger and pain, "Village is entirely on fire. We'll need to search for surviv-"

"SIR! Soldiers are still here. They're attacking. Orders?" asked one of the other Captains.

Andonis resisted the urge to punch the man, and fought the need to cry in frustration and injustice. He hastily replied, "Fight back! Kill them! Destroy them! You know how much they deserve to be incinerated from this world."

"Aye-aye, Sir. Roundhill movement. Everyone move!" the Captain yelled and signalled the men. Jaak raised an eyebrow and shook his head, in mock disappointment, at the Prince.

Andonis sighed, gripping at his chest trying to figure out the emotions he was feeling, "Sometimes... I just..."

Jaak grinned, "Don't worry. We all get that sometimes. Happens to the best of us. Not me though. I'm too good."

Andonis began to swat at Jaak's head, but saw something in the distance. A horse riding off. Andonis frowned, "Is that a Cruciot horse?"

Jaak squinted, raised a hand to his brow to cut off the harsh light from the sun, stared and then grunted back, "As sure as you're the Prince."

Andonis nodded, finally glad to find a good way to somehow get rid of this feeling which made him sick, and grabbed his reins, about to chase the fleeing man down, when a yell sounded, "There are too many! We need more men!"

The prince growled, gritted his teeth, torn between his duty and his need to hunt the deserter down that he knew would somehow delete this pain from his heart. Andonis took a deep breath and then with a stomach riling of regret he steered his horse back to the group and began giving orders.

Jaak watched the horse and rider draped on it, almost looking like he was asleep, disappear over the hills. A chill ran up his back and he swallowed. Something was eerily... strange that Jaak couldn't seem to place, but ever the optimist he shrugged it off and screaming war cries, joined the battle.

Andonis reined in his mare and all but galloped with his men flanking him, into the village, hacking at any soldiers that were unlucky enough to be on the outskirts. The new captain dismounted near an enemy soldier and swung wide with his sword. The Cruciot soldier raised his shield up in time to block the otherwise killing blow. Andonis thrust his sword forward, and the man parried. A sudden sweat struck the prince's brow as he realized that this was a real fight, and that the swords that they were using were not blunted, or wooden, but made out of real steel with a serrated edge. He could very well die in this battle.

The captain tightened his grasp on the sword and let his training take hold of his movements. The enemy made the next move, and Andonis parried the upwards strike effectively. Unseen to the soldier, Jaak came up behind him and cleanly loped off the man's head. The two calvary of the Bayzteen army watched the body fall to the ground, both in a daze. Their eyes met and Andonis nodded in thanks. Jaak winked and spun away, already back into the battle.

As the Cruciot men were caught by surprise, it didn't take long for the patrolling party to round up and slaughter the remaining soldiers. Once all the footmen were dead, the search for survivors begun, and slowly the people of the village emerged from their burning houses, or the nearby trees.

Andonis approached a man whose trade was undeniably a blacksmith, and who had been one of the few in the village trying to fight the attacking force. The man sat with his head in his hands, the fireplace poker he had been using as a weapon lying on the ground in front of him where he had dropped it when the fighting stopped.

"Blacksmith," Andonis said gently, "Do you know why the Cruciot army raised your village to the ground?"

The man looked up slowly, and Andonis blanched to see the man's ruined face. The left side of his face was ravenged by a deep cut, and some of his forehead skin and hairline was missing.

He spoke haltingly, "They came just as the innkeeper tolled the bell for breakfast. The screaming alerted most of us to their attack. We are a small village. Everyone knew everyone. Molly was dead on the ground, and Everlyn with her." Here his eyes glazed over, "Before I killed one, I shook him, demanding to know why us. Why my village." The blacksmith turned his bleeding face up at Andonis, "It's because we are a border town. We are part of Cruciot, and part of Bazynteen, and our village doesn't pay tax to either. And if Cruciot's king couldn't have us in entirety, or at all, then no one could."

Andonis blanched, momentary disbelief and then utter and complete belief swirling through his thoughts, but quickly put up a brave face, "Are you able bodied?"

The blacksmith nodded listlessly, the movement drawing a trickle of blood from the man's face injury, "I am."

This man looked ready to give up on life, but the prince could see a spark of hope hiding within the man's eyes. Inwardly, Andonis knew if he didn't strike that spark into a flame this man would kill himself. Andonis swallowed silently and pointed to his few too many medics who were aiding and trying to heal the injured, "Help my men find more survivors and instruct other non-fatally wounded to do so as well."

The blacksmith who had been feeling lost, a void where his heart should be, ever since he'd seen his daughter succumb to a soldier of Cruciot forced a smile to show his appreciation of having something to do to get his mind off this image. As he began to turn away, his shoulders slumped in defeat, Andonis laid a land on one, "You will rebuild. Their lives are not in vain. We will do all we can."

The only reply he got a weak shake of the blacksmith's head, but Andonis felt the man partially straighten his back, widen his shoulders and saw the blacksmith lift his chin. As the man walked away, Andonis let out a sigh of relief, the man had new purpose now, the flame had rekindled. He looked around at the carnage left of the town and realised what false hopes he had just fed the man and the prince wondered momentarily if he had just in advertently given the man purpose to have him crushed, re-lit the flame just to watch helplessly as it burnt itself out completely.

The town was gone. Burning buildings were now just ash, people laughing at the inn were now just carcasses, food for carrion and as Andonis looked around he saw something which made him grit his teeth as tears formed in the corners of his eyes.

Children. Dead children. A boy and a girl, sitting in a well. The boy had died from an arrow shot, and was covering the girl with his body as if to save her life. He could tell neither were breathing. They were just still objects. The pain he felt at the start of the battle rekindled and he began to weep openly.

"Only children... Jaak!" He screech, uncaring what his batallion thought of his outburst.

Jaak appeared at his side, glancing concernedly at his Captain, "Yes?"

"We are making a mass grave. I want all villagers and children to be burned together," he took a breath to talk through his tears, "I want the soldier's of Cruciot heads piked on stakes and shown at the border of our country, of this town."

Jaak sighed, "That would invoke war," he blinked in confusion, "What do you mean "this town"?"

Andonis smiled weakly, his eyes having no more tears to cry, "This is our village now. When we go back to the castle, I'm leaving a hundred of our soldiers here to rebuild this village and to protect it. Carolt is ours."

Jaak nodded sagely and replied, "But no head pikes. We might as well throw a brick at the King of Cruciot announcing war. No we have to be more subtle."

Andonis had lost the need to dismemember the bodies, but an idea popped into mind, he smiled at Jaak, "I think I have an idea."

Jaak let out a sigh and let his face fall into his hands, "Oi."

As the Prince gave his orders, the dead villagers and children were burnt in a proper god honouring ritual letting their spirits be accepted into Utopia. The captain grinned as he watched his own soldiers finishing their other job.

Jaak blanched, "Not entirely subtle, but it will not invoke war. Artistic, if I might add."

Andonis looked at the sight and forced himself not to feel. These were but objects with no life left in them. The dead Cruciot soldiers had all been placed lying along the border line, just inside Cruciot country. As instructed all had their hands pointing accusing fingers towards the general direction of the Capital, where the King was.

The Prince took a deep breath and reeled his horse back. Jaak watched him impassively, "Home, sire?"

He smiled and was filled with sudden longing to be back in his castle, "Home."

----

It took Favian three days to return to the monastery. He did not stop for food, or water, he did not stop when his horse no longer could run, he walked, tugging the reins weakly after him. He needed to get back to something familiar, where his emotions no longer mattered.

As he travelled he planned. By the time he arrived at the magus monastery, he was all but dead from exhaustion, but his brain had not stopped. He had everything in mind. Every single thing to the tiniest detail.

As he fell to the floor in front of the monastery doors he knew what he wouldn't die until he accomplished. Ultimately at the end he would get vengeance. He would be the one to claim his deeds and actions were the cause of the the death of the King of Cruciot - even if he had to kill the man himself.

The Lady knelt on the cool marble tiles of the mosque, the followers of her cult kneeling with her in prayer, their heads hooded and in shadow, dressed in loose black garb. The lead priest spoke in a tongue no one really understood, and the Lady allowed a small smile as she too mouthed the nonsense syllables by rote, like a child reciting the alphabet; j-k-l-m-eno-p.

The island she had been born on had worshipped the destructive forces of the ocean and the wind, revelling in the way the community patched together to fix the city damaged from the persistent storm, bringing the citizens together. There was a smaller sect of people, as there always were, who delved deeper into the mythology and religion that created the Thunder God, Dieu Tonnerre and the Sea Mistress, Meri Emäntä. Behind these gods were the beings who could defy them.

The Lady could trace her ancestors back to the founders of the split-path religion and the original settlers on Mavok island; renowned for the fat and juicy grapes grown on the fertile volcanic soil that made the most sought-after dark wine in the know world. Her lineage was so pure that on her sixteenth birthday, she was gifted the small familiar known as a Messenger, a being that could cross the thin skin between her universe and that of the Great Dark Ones, relaying back the tasks that she needed to complete to remain the most beautiful and desirable woman on Mavok. And the one with the most power.

As the only daughter of the King of Mavok, she was given anything she wished for, and when the daemons over the rift gave word to her via a whispered message from the Messenger, Eruo Viator, that her next task would be to sire a new god, she immediately became withdrawn. While she enjoyed the power of her status, and pined for more, she knew that if her son became a god, she would be siring the one being that would hold power over her. The Lady soon came to realise that if she played her cards right, she'd be able to control him and make him King of all the Gods.

She kept this plan to herself and sent Eruo Viator back with her acknowledgement of the task and a note detailing her fear of being pregnant without a man by her side to make it publicly acceptable, preferably a man whose status rivalled her own.

The night her consent was given, just as she was about to enter the land of dreams, a shadowy creature appeared at the foot of her bed and violently tore the covers off her body. A strange sense of cloudiness overcome her mind and through the haze of fog, she watched as the daemon ravaged her pale skin. She felt no pain, only the biting cold of the creature's presence, creating condensation from the heat of her body, and a fine mist.

When the daemon was done, spent and satisfied, it dissipated into the air, leaving behind only the sweet smell cooking meat. The Lady had sat up and immediately vomited the contents of her dinner onto the carpeted floor of her bed, dry wretched when there was nothing left to heave.

The Messenger appeared in front of her, its leathery wings motionless, "I have a. . . messsssage for my Lady." The daemon hissed.

Tiama Mavok wiped spittle from her mouth and met the creature's red eyes, "I am listening."

The lizard puffed smoke out of its tiny nostrils and its tongue darted out to taste the air, "There has been a prophesssy, newly created." Its eyes rolled back into its head, and the Lady was left staring at the red capillaries, left listening to a voice that was deep and authoritative, without the customary lisp of the Messenger, "I see two fates for your child." The head cocked slowly to one side, "In one he dies," the Messenger slowly started to disappear into scentless smoke, "in the other, he lives."

The Lady snapped out of this memory and returned to the present, finding herself the sole remaining person in the mosque; her knees ached from the duration of her stay. She rose to her feet, the veils surrounding her face as fine as spidersilk. Walking back to the Palace would have to wait. The Lady had overstayed, and was due an appointment with a very nasty man.

The daemon, Eruo Viator, curled on her shoulder, its tail coiled around her right arm like a snake, "Missstresss, I do believe it'ssss your move now."

The Lady smiled slightly, her thin pink lips tight and eyes sharp as she ran a pale finger down the scaled creature's smoky grey back, "Oh contraire, my little slave, I've already begun."

Her cobalt eyes, sparkling with a treasure trove of secrets best left undiscovered, clouded momentarily and she took in an abrupt intake of breath as the thin colourless hairs on her arms stood up on end. The Lady's eyes locked onto something at the corner of the room. Her head snapped around to follow her gaze and immediately Eruo, as if sensing her feelings, dissipated into a puff of smoke, leaving the fragrance of rotted flesh.

The Lady licked her teeth and spoke scathingly, "You should hide your feelings more effectively, magus scum."

The air in front of her shimmered and slowly a figure came into existence. Tall, lanky, standing in a stance which one would assume belonged to a dancer and had dusty brown hair with hazelnut eyes. His lips curled up into a smile which did not reach his eyes, definitely not a warm smile, more of a promise of all the horrible things he could do, "Oh, dear Tiama, I've tried so hard to mask my want to kill you every time I see you, but trying sometimes, it seems, is not enough."

The Lady resisted the urge to sneer at him and instead leaned back into her chair, "What is it you want?"

Viginti Duos tilted his head curiously, pressed a hand to his chest as if suffering heart burn and pouted, "You wound me, my lady. Why is it you assume whenever I see you I want something?"

Tiama narrowed her eyes at him, "Because you always do. Now, stop this idle chatter and get on with business."

Viginti let his hand fall to his side and approached her, his voice now flat and serious, "I need more money. You know I don't spy for nothing. And you haven't paid me for a week."

The Lady's hand dipped to the floor and under her chair. Viginti waited, eyes carefully examining her every movement. As her hand receded it tinkled. In a graceful movement befitting the queen that she was she threw them at Duos's faux leather boots, "There. Now, leave!"

Viginti bowed low and one by one, picked the gold coin from the floor. When he was finished he counted them up and they floated off his hand clinking into his pocket. He smiled wanly at her, his hazel eyes twinkling, and commented cheerfully, "Since you threw in an extra gold bow, I'll ignore that filth of demon spawn which you were patting before and I won't kill it. Also, I'd like to say I can't stand your unGodly tainted gold, but you know what they say gold is gold is gold. I'll exchange it in the market. Good day to you."

As he dissipated into thin air the Lady shrieked her annoyance.

----

Favin leaned over suddenly and violently vomited into a bucket by his bedside. It had taken weeks before he had been able to do even that. His weak body had all but died from his crazy endeavor and so it had almost killed him to heal as well. His fellow magus looked after him as they could, even going so far as to giving him a separate room, but mostly the magus were of warrior type learning.

He moaned weakly as he wiped away a bit of regurgitated porridge off his unshaven chin. Favian fell back into bed, his body throbbing with pure pain. He swallowed and closed his eyes. The image burned to the eyelids returned and instantly his eyes, now watering, flashed open.

Even after this long, every time he closed his eyes, they were still there. His children. In the well. Burnt alive. Dead. Gone. He wouldn't cry. He promised himself he wouldn't cry. Crying didn't do anything. He would get vengeance. He would kill the King of Cruciot.

A smile crept onto his face as he thought of the expressions of his fellow Magus is they happened to eaves-drop on his thoughts. With a effort of will he pulled himself up and trudged to his new private privy. Favian let out a shocked lung of air as he gazed forward.

In front of him stood the most gaunt and unhealthy, almost deathly looking man he had ever seen with twigs for limbs, with black hair matted together looking quite like a birds nest and a wild bushy beard. It took him a while to realise he was looking in a mirror. Favian stagger backward and used the wall to lean against.

His breath finally returned and he shook his head sadly. The young magus looked at the razor nearby, thought deeply for a moment and then put into motion his plan. It would be a long and hard road. And he wasn't sure he'd survive. Just thinking it made his connected writhe with concern. But,he thought while seeing the bodies of his kids piling up behind him in the mirror, it'll be worth it in the end.

When he was finished in the privy he walked out a new man. His raven hair had been combed, parted down the middle and tied up with a string, his clothes had been replaced with new magus clean robes and his unruly beard had all but disappeared from his face. All apart from a small almost invisible goatee on his chin.

Even his eyes had changed. They were no longer the eyes of a young magus. They were the harsh eyes of someone on a road of self destruction which they themselves had chosen. And there was a smile on his face.

----

Andonis shook his head sporadically as tears ran down his face, "FATHER! No!"

The General Bane's eyes widened as he spotted the young warrior. Instinctively his arm shot out, tugging the prince back and pressing him harshly against the stone wall, "Leave, Andonis. Leave now!"

The prince babbled inconsistencies, "I can't leave him. Look at him, he'll be killed!"

General Bane's eyes went soft for a moment, all his life's hardness disappearing for a moment, as he laid a hand on his shoulder and let Andonis's eyes, "You're not really here, my Prince. You don't need to see it."

Andonis frowned and blinked wildly as a scream shot out through the castle.

"ARGHHH!" Andonis woke up screaming, his heart racing a mile a minute and his body slick with sweat. As he took in reassuring breaths of air he thought out his dream.

It couldn't be true. The castle was guarded by more than half their army. Andonis swallowed back his fears and closed his eyes. The voice which had forever been at the back of his mind said something which Andonis lost in the haze of sleep coming over him. However, even as he drifted off he couldn't completely rid himself of that small niggling doubt that the dream had not been more than that.

----

Prince Xavier grinned wildly. He loved to kill people who were not Gods. Who were not him. As he stamped over their dead remains, covered in their blood, he stepped towards the man he knew he had to kill. The man the Queen had told him to kill to become his father's faithful son.

His white hair now crimson red, his teeth of the same colour and his brown eyes reflecting the colour of life and death, he smiled. Our move, mother.