Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
Chapter 4
Chapter 5
Chapter 6
Chapter 7
PG for frightening images and violence
Chapter 7! This one might be a bit slow posting; I'm taking a lot of time revising these scenes because they're important. Still, this is in a rather rough form. All comments and crits welcomed.
All 5 scenes have been posted.
Chapter 7: Black Chains
It was late and dim light from Kilandin’s dusty lampposts flooded the glimmering, black street, offering a begrudging kind of relief. Water from the early evening’s rain streamed through the grooves in the cobblestone road, the spacious market vacant save a few peasants lingering among the abandoned booths. All the traders had cleared their merchandise hours before to avoid the rain and the threat of robbers this late at night.
Strick scanned the street and listened to Creiha and Markus exchanging chuckles and admiring the tranquil town. Frankly, Strick did not see what was so peaceful about the wide, empty eyes, filled with longing, that peered out of the alleys. It began to rain hard, and Strick squinted up at the sky, calmed by the gentle rainfall. It was very dark – black almost, but not without the feathery clouds that resembled shadows and dragged across the sky like heavy, black chains. Markus’s booming voice startled Strick and he glanced at his friend irritably.
“There it is! There’s the inn!” Markus announced, pointing towards a large building standing at the corner of the street. Soft, dusty light greased the wooden steps leading up to the inn, and a fatigued peasant stood on near the steps, stretching to light the lamppost with his lantern on a long, metal hook.
Creiha’s mouth parted with excitement, and she drew nearer to Markus, gazing in the direction he pointed. “It looks nicer than most of the inns in Sray-Valom!” she exclaimed, her lips bending upwards in an excited smile. In the liquid lantern-light, her golden hair glistened and her skin blanched a shade paler.
“It is,” Markus assured her with a warm grin, grasping her elbow and leading her forward at a quicker pace. Strick followed them, a ghost in their shadow, taking care to remain silent and unnoticed.
“Oh, good! I’m exhausted,” Creiha remarked with a relieved sigh, allowing herself to be pulled forward by Markus. She laughed softly, her laugh resounding in the thick stillness that enveloped the town.
“I’m famished!” Markus gasped and leapt up the steps to the inn. Markus was always hungry. He knocked on the door obnoxiously loud. Strick shuffled up the steps behind him; he felt strangely lightheaded beneath the warm lantern light.
When the innkeeper opened the door, Markus burst into the inn with Creiha at his side and rushed toward the innkeeper’s desk. Strick slipped in a few moments afterwards and closed the door behind him. Markus slammed his palms on the innkeeper’s desk and awakened the sleeping man. Creiha shifted uncomfortably, embarrassed at Markus’s audacious gesture when the innkeeper awoke with a start. “Two rooms,” Markus said with a huge grin. He was drenched and a puddle of water had begun to pool at his feet; all eyes in the inn turned toward him.
The innkeeper opened his mouth to speak, but Markus was already leading Creiha farther into the inn and pointing out the nuances of the building. He was beaming.
The innkeeper sat behind his crude desk, staring after Markus, dumbfounded.
Strick sighed and approached the innkeeper, digging in his cloak for any coins. “I apologize in advance for any inconveniences.”
“Oh, no! He’s no… inconvenience!” The innkeeper stammered with a shake of his head.
Strick smiled. “Save your flattery. Trust me, he will be.” Strick dropped a few coins into the innkeeper’s hand. “Two rooms for tonight. We’ll be leaving at sunrise tomorrow.” He turned around, scanning the room for any sign of Markus who had disappeared into the first hall.
“Thank you very much. All the peasant rooms are down that hallway,” the innkeeper leaned over his desk and pointed, “The foyer is at the end and is open all night.”
Strick nodded and, without another word, he strode off in the direction Markus had gone. Markus was at the end of the hall, explaining to Creiha how old this inn was, why it was built and what he thought of the building. An affectionate smile lit Creiha’s face as she listened with shallow interest, nodding and grunting at all the appropriate times.
Strick approached them and listened to Markus’s raving for a few minutes before interrupting. “We must leave tomorrow at sunrise. Creiha, your room is at the end of the hallway. Markus, yours is beside hers.” He cocked his head toward the foyer.
Creiha turned to face him and frowned. “What about you?” she asked with surprising sincerity.
“I’m fine.” Strick managed a faint smile.
Before Creiha could protest, Markus grinned and led Creiha toward her room. He opened the door for her and told her to catch some sleep. Strick just stood there for a moment, watching Markus close the door behind Creiha. They should have reached Hiarnim tonight.
Markus exhaled in relief, striding toward Strick with a crooked smile. “We made it to Kilandin, and Creiha is still intact.” He stretched his arms behind his head and chuckled.
Strick glanced toward her door. “Very impressive,” he remarked in a voice hoarse with exhaustion.
Markus’s expression suddenly turned grim, and he regarded Strick with blatant concern. “You need to rest tonight. It’s been three days,” he observed sternly.
Strick shook his head.
“I’m serious, Strick. You could kill yourself, going on like this.” Markus frowned deeply and crossed his arms, mouth twisting in worry. “See! I can be just as stubborn as you!”
“Am I supposed to be impressed?”
“I know what you’re afraid of, Strick, but you can’t go on like this! I know it, and you know it,” Markus insisted, gazing at Strick with an acute understanding.
“I won’t risk frightening Creiha.”
“It won’t happen this time, Strick. The Jiastar curse is–” Markus began.
“I can’t, Markus.”
“Oh yes, you can!”
“No, I cannot. Besides, I need to be alert in case something happens.” Strick stared at the ground, tiring of this clash of wills very quickly.
“Strick, no one can hurt us in Kilandin.,” Markus argued, grimacing frustratedly. “Kilandin is safe!”
“You don’t know that,” Strick protested.
Markus groaned and rolled his eyes, throwing his hands up in the air. “Fine! I surrender. Do whatever you want, but I am going to catch some very anticipated and needed sleep! I’ll be in my room if anything happens and I will be asleep and unashamed of it.” Markus marched off to his room, muttering to himself under his breath. He didn’t reemerge.
Strick breathed deeply, running one hand through his damp hair, and trudged toward the foyer past Markus and Creiha’s rooms. It was almost empty, only a few commoners slumping along the walls or sprawled over the tables. Strick chose the farthest corner and sat against the wall, eyeing the doorway disinterestedly. Commoners leaked in and out of the foyer silently. Strick’s legs ached with fatigue, his eyelids heavy with exhaustion. It was very dark outside – darker and thicker than Strick remembered. For hours, only senseless commoners walked about and the heavy silence of the room weighed upon Strick’s consciousness. Before long, Strick resigned to his body and drifted off into a tormented sleep.
~
Notes: Is the action too forced? Do I need more description of the inn? Was the scene too sparse, or too lengthly in sentence structure? This is from Strick's POV, so it has a bit of a different feel to it, more melancholy, but was it overdone?
~
Darkness roiled deep from the wells of black glass that cut, ripped, tore into his body and mind; he could feel blood, trickling down his face and his hands and mixing with the water below. It was thick, dark and red, and he watched it with horror as he realized where he was. The stone floor was familiar and once again he was on his knees in the freezing water, cold as death. He was trembling uncontrollably. Terror torrenting through his mind, he fought the chains that held him to the stone floor, gasping for the air that had suddenly escaped his lungs. He couldn’t move his head and his eyes were fixed on the blood and the glass and the black chains below. He recognized this place. The Jiastar curse. Please no – in mercy’s name, no! Black chains wrapped around his arms, his neck, his waist and dragged him closer to the deathly cold stone floor; he couldn’t breathe.
Armor-clad soldiers emerged from the dark bushes and sloshed through the muddy forest floor toward them, blood-red eyes churning in their sockets; grins painted their faces a hideous shade as they approached. Jaistin shoved the child behind him and stepped back, terror crossing his eyes.
Suddenly the soldiers took on a human face and one of them regarded Jaistin suspiciously. “A strange to build a home now, isn’t it?” the captain sneered and watched Jaistin cower. Thirteen of King Hialdrin’s soldiers stood behind the captain. The captain wrinkled his nose and signaled to his soldiers. “Grab the child!”
“No!” the child shrieked when two soldiers lurched toward him and snatched him away from Jaistin, shoving him into the ground. Jaistin cast the child a warning glare, and the child remained silent, trembling fearfully.
“What do you want with us?” Jaistin asked breathlessly.
“The two of you seem suspicious, hiding out here. Why don’t you settle in a city?” the captain asked, circling Jaistin threateningly.
Jaistin didn’t answer.
“Is the child yours?” The captain cocked his head toward the child in disgust. “Is he your son?”
“No, he’s my nephew,” Jaistin answered hoarsely, his arms trembling at his sides when he spoke; his face was twisted with horror. He could not master it.
“Where’s his mother?” The captain eyed the child menacingly. The child cowered.
“Dead,” Jaistin answered.
“And his father?” the captain turned back to Jaistin.
“Also dead.” Jaistin swallowed hard and met the captain's gaze reluctantly.
“What’s his name?”
“Nobody knows.”
“What’s he called then?”
“I call him Strick.”
The captain froze and whirled to the child. “Really, now? What a strange name. Is that your name, child?” the captain crouched in front of the child.
The child nodded hesitantly, biting his lip hard in fear. Jaistin could only stare helplessly. The captain stood with a furious look on his face, glaring at Jaistin. “You are hiding something, man.” Jaistin winced.
“Captain Pierce?” one of the soldiers eyed the captain curiously. “What now?”
Captain Sinder Pierce stroked his beard for a moment before pointing at the child. The two soldiers that held the child tensed. “Restrain our humble little hermit for a moment.” Two other soldiers grabbed Jaistin. Captain Pierce stared at the child with a twisted smile. “Who was your father, child? Answer me and I will not hurt you.”
“Stop it!” Jaistin suddenly yelled, fighting the soldiers who restrained him desperately.
The child only stared at the captain in confusion. “I-I don’t know,” he told him.
Captain Pierce scowled and asked once more, “Tell me, child! Who was your father?”
“I don’t know.” The child answered again, voice shaking in fear.
Captain Pierce grabbed the child by the hair and jerked his head up to meet his gaze. “Who was your father?” he demanded angrily, “Tell me, you rat!”
“I don’t know!” the child shouted, “I don’t know!”
“Tell me!” Captain Pierce slapped the child hard and screamed in his face.
The child cringed at the blow and didn’t answer; he hunched his shoulders and stared at the ground. When the captain repeated his question and slapped the child again, the child lifted his head slowly and glared at the captain with sudden defiance, eyes darkening in a challenge.
“You rat, answer my question!” Captain Sinder Pierce roared.
“No,” the child whispered.
“Tell me who your father was!”
“No!”
Jaistin paled and stopped squirming in the soldier’s arms, his eyes wide with terror. When the captain raised his hand to strike again, Jaistin intervened. “He doesn’t know! He wasn’t told!”
The captain glared at Jaistin, “You didn’t tell him, you fool?” he whispered. Scowling, he pointed at the child. “Kill it!”
Jaistin cried out in protest and kicked the soldiers away from him; he elbowed one in the face, breaking his nose. “Strick, run!” he yelled frantically as the soldiers recovered from their shock and drew their swords.
The child bolted before Captain Pierce could grab him and darted through the trees. He heard Jaistin’s painful scream and ran faster, ran harder, frightened tears stinging his eyes. He heard Captain Pierce’s shouts behind him.
“I don’t care if you have to kill the brat; just find it!”
The child ran, the wind at his back; he heard Jaistin scream again and then silence - a deathly silence for a moment. His legs were like river reeds beneath him, ready to buckle at any moment when he heard the snarling of dogs. No! Strick could hear their paws behind him, angry snarls pursuing him. He couldn’t outrun them; they were catching up too quickly for a five year old’s small legs. Jaistin! He cried mentally, questing for Jaistin’s mind desperately, but he felt only a dark expanse, devoid of all life. A bark sounded behind him and Strick tripped over a root, twisting his ankle and striking his head on one of the jagged rocks. The dogs leapt on top of him, tearing at him with their claws. Strick screamed and suddenly felt a hand with a strange-smelling rag over his mouth and nose. Inhaling desperately, his world seemed to fade as the strange fume filled his lungs and he lost consciousness. In the darkness, Strick saw fire – a dark fire like the one in Sray-Valom, leaping up on all sides. He could hear his own screams, desperate cries for help and heard Hedjlon’s voice nearby.
“He will meet the same fate as his father.”
Strick screamed again as more flames licked up around him. Suddenly, he was kneeling on the stones again, glass shards digging into his skin, black chains holding him to the freezing ground; and despite the cold, he still burned, inhaling the fumes from the fire below and choking. The Jiastar curse, the Jiastar curse – whatever you see, it cannot be real, he tried to convince himself.
And then the voice of a woman, jeering, heartless–
“You thought you could defy me, but you will die at the hand of the one you seek.”
~
Notes: should be a bit confusing as it is a dream; however, all crits are welcomed. And the use of multiple verbs and adjectives for a single action/thing is intentional. It was meant to convey the frenetic tone of the scene.
, but if there's two you should say 'when an innkeeper opened...'
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