The Fallen-Book the First-Chapter Two

Of Wraiths and Wraths

It was cold, and it was dark, and he was alone. Oh, he’d been cold before, and he had traversed many dark landscapes, but this, this was different. The pervading black clawed at his very soul it seemed, threatening to tear it from his body. His form shook uncontrollably, not for lack of warmth, but for lack of...understanding. He feared what he did not know, and though he had seen and heard much in his few short years, this was something new, far more terrible.

Out across the dunes, something moved, drawing closer. The rolling sands hid well whatever it was, a shadow amongst the shadows. It did not move very fast, yet, his endless stamina had not allowed him to achieve even the slightest lead.

How?

What was this monstrosity?

Ducking behind a small, misshapen tree, through a dry wash, and over a few large boulders he expertly wiped away his tracks. No trace that anything had been past was left behind. But, it was all futile, he had realized. He could easily lose a pack of the Emperor’s best hounds, but whatever was following him this time had never veered from his course. It seemed to be human, but no human could do such a thing.

Phantom?

Wraith?

It was beside the point, all he knew was that he must lose it.

He made some tracks, light, but visible, down into the bottom of a small river. Uprooting its bed he allowed the water to cloud and run downstream. Then, doubling back on his own tracks, he was very careful to step directly in each track, walking backwards all the way. It was a trick he had learned, when escaping from…his mind snapped back to the task at hand.

Retracing his previous route, he walked a good distance down into the lower lying lands before he found the right place. Digging out the den a little more, he crawled inside and drew himself underneath the lip of the rock. All but the whites of his eyes was artfully concealed in the dark, and these, too, would be covered over.

His heart was pounding in his chest, threatening to break free. His own breath betrayed him, and he feared that he would be heard out in the night. Shutting his eyes tightly, he began to force himself to calm down. For a few tense moments it only rose in ferocity, fear clawed at his mind and question flashed across it. But his clenched fists began to loosen as he gained control of himself. There was little chance that the…creature…could find him here. Everything had gone just right, he would have to be a magic man in order to find him out now.

Magic.

The fear came back. What if? No, it couldn’t be, but then…. Whatever it was, this was it. He could not run much longer from it, and it seemed that there was no end to its resilience. If it found him now, then it would have found him later anyways. All he could do was wait.

The sounds of the night returned as the insects resumed their songs. Somewhere, a victim of the food chain screeched as it was caught in the jaws of death. Was this to be his end? To be found and crushed without any chance to escape? No, this beast was not seeking for flesh, it was not mortal hunger that drove it onward. What then? He had no valuables, nothing to offer it. He knew nothing that would concern anyone of high ranking. There was no reason why he should be followed, yet, he was, and by something human in nature, but alien in thought.

If, when, he made it through this, he vowed that he would travel to the north and escape all of this, the madness of the Emperor stretched far, but not that far. Even such as he had their limitations. Yes, that is what he would do. It would be good to get away from this blasted desert.

His thoughts were interrupted by a slight noise. To the untrained ear it would have been only the wind, perhaps, or the movement of some small creature that upset a pebble. The boy knew what it was, though, and it sent pangs of fear into his heart. So, it had not been fooled. Holding his breath, he shut his eyes again and began to pray. To whom, to what? He did not know, but he wished only to survive.

To survive?

What for? It dawned on him, there was nothing for him, anywhere. What did he have to live for? No family, no home, he was a criminal, a vagabond, a nobody. It came, then, a muffled shuffle, as of some partially asleep wife going out to the well, but not wishing to wake her husband. But oh, he was awake.

Very, very much awake.

“Ssho, you think that you can out sshmart me? Boy!” The voice was harsh and raspy, like a chair being drug across the floor. It bespoke of much pain, and agony. But it was quite far out in the sands. Perhaps…. A trickle of sand fell down over the edge of the rock and rolled into the opening. The boy cringed, and quickly drew a short blade from his belt. “Yessh, yessh, you hid your trackssh well, child. All to well. For one assh…brilliant, assh you, I would think that you would have known that sshomething sshuch assh I would not fall for sshuch trickssh. But, it issh no matter, I have found you now.” The voice trailed off into the night, fading into the dark. “Haven’t I!”

A cold and clammy hand shot down into the den and clamped on the boys foot. It’s grip was extremely powerful, and held on tightly as the kicked and stabbed as he was drug from the hole. He succeeded in sinking the four inch blade through the crusty skin and the vile being yelped in pain, flinging the boy with surprising might. A trickle of dark blood ran down his hand and dripped onto the brown sand, sizzling and burning a crater into the ground.

“I under esshtimated you, child, I sshupposed that you would not be ssho foolhardy assh to do sshuch a thing.”

The boy did not listen to any of it and scrambled across the dune, his ankle burning where the man had held on to him. Run, to run was his only choice. Then a debilitating pain shot into him, right between his shoulder blades, and he collapsed on the ground, writhing in pain. He could not pull himself out of the stupor, every time he moved to stretch out his limbs a new surge of agony raced across his body.

He felt himself being picked up by the throat and his body fell limp. Before him the figure stood, cloaked in a ragged and torn material that shrouded his face. The flesh of his hands was cold and gray, worn from many years of hard use. He stood slightly lopsided, as if one leg was shorter than the other. A damp and rank smell emanated from every pore of his wretched body.

“Ah, my boy, my boy, why do you run ssho? Have you no faith in my ability? Ssho young, ssho naive. You sshee, you cannot esshcape from me, I can and will find you, wherever you go.” His grip tightened and the boy found it hard to breath. “Yessh, you think that you can masshk your sshcent from me, but you reek of fear, my boy. It esshcapessh you, and feedssh my sshensshessh.” He inhaled deeply and sighed. Silence for a moment, then he began again.

“Oh, but where are my mannerssh. You sshee, I know who you are, yessh, very much, but you have not the sshlightessht clue of my identity, do you?” Once again his iron claw closed tighter. The boy’s air supply was now completely cut off. “Allow me to sshed sshome light on the sshubject.” With his free hand, the man flicked back the hood of his cloak, only to reveal a masked face. Almost masked face. The man wore a covering made of bleached bone that hid everything except is right eye, and his lower left jaw.

He removed the mask.

His face was once human, but some extreme trauma had rendered it a disgusting mass of twisted flesh. His mouth lay crooked and widened on one side, revealing black and rotting teeth, dark, cavernous gaps stretching where some were missing. The left eye was missing, leaving behind a sunken socket, dark and ominous. His nose was bent to the side at a terrible angle, and his skin was knotted and mashed, built up in thick scars where it had been mutilated. His one good eye was blue, a bright, shining blue. Out of place in the barren and desolate landscape, this brilliant oasis was perhaps the most frightening part, a hint of what might once have been, but has long been forgotten.

The boy shut his eyes to the terrible sight, but the man shook him.

“Look on, boy, look and behold what your kind have done. Thissh issh the work of your people. You know of what I sshpeak.”

Air, he needed air.

He began to struggle against the man, but his grip was unbreakable, his knife was lying in the sand somewhere. There was no way to scream, he needed air for that. But then, who was out here to hear him? His vision began to cloud as he struggled for life. He had nothing to live for, but in the moment when death was coming to claim him, he wished only to survive, to get away.

Air.

Air.

The man laughed violently.

“You will sshtruggle lessh when you are dead, no?”

His blood pounded in his ears. He was going to die out here, with no one to care. Why? Why was life so cruel?

A whizzing noise shattered the quiet night as a bright flash shot through the air, and something thin and pointed embedded itself in the man’s shoulder. A long shaft sprouted from his flesh, flanked by three yellow feathers. In pain, the man was forced to release his grip. From an unseen place another arrow was released. The man caught it in his hand this time, with a quickness that was beyond human ability.

The boy lay on the ground, gasping for life and sucking in the sand. From out in the dunes rang a beautiful note, the calling of an angel. So sweet and crisp was the noise, it brought pleasant feelings to the boy.

From the darkness came a brilliant being that descended on silken wings. Yes, it could be nothing more than an angel, come to carry him away into the halls of the kings. He closed his eyes in rapture, and fainted.