Young Writers Society

Chapter One

Liquid spears shot from the silver smudges in the dull, grey sky. The ground shook from the almighty booms, caused by the golden tridents of the Gods. Mountainous, lilac waves formed before shattering onto the yellow sand. A fierce battle between the sky and the earth. The earth, admitting defeat, surrendered, its white flag in the form of a tree engulfed in blood red flames.

Eventually, the sky accepting the surrender of the weak, defenceless earth, pulled back its attack, waiting for the next opportunity to fight. The savage ocean, an old ally of the sky, also saw the burning tree and accepted the fragile truce, slowly returning to its usual ways, small ripples licking at the shore and the old crumbling cliff face.

It was an ancient battle witnessed by everyone, but its shear destruction and strength still amazed most, especially Laynox. Laynox had been sat by his window overlooking Trinken Bay, gazing wide eyed at the storm, his mouth open in awe. The heavy pounding of the rain had woken him and the power of the war had hypnotised Laynox, holding his gaze until the very last drop of rain, the final crashing wave of destruction. He had watched many storms but none quite as dangerous as that.

The people of Trinken and the other villages on the island of Trind had feared storms for half a decade. It was the perfect time for the Zamshkan to attack, the thunder drowned out the drumming of the wings and the cries of the victims, whilst the heavy rain blurred out the glowing red eyes and the bright white scales. The Zamshkan had been attacking the island of Trind every time there was a storm, which was very often on what most people called The Stormy Isle. In total, over the five years of constant attacks, about 700 people had been taken. No one knew what happened to them, but everyone knew they would never be seen again.

As the dark clouds slowly blew to the east, over the ocean to the mainland, and the glowing moon briefly reappeared in the sky, Laynox stood, pulled on an old bearskin coat, and started for the door. He stepped into the cold of the night and was relieved to see that the Zamshkan hadn’t taken his older brother, Akkarn, during the storm. Laynox’s worst fear was that Akkarn would be abducted, the rest of his family already had been and he didn’t know how he would cope without Akkarn. “I’m glad you’re alright! I started to panic when you didn’t come home. I thought they had taken you,” Laynox said wearily.

“No, I was with Zizanda. I thought it would be safer to stay there than going out into the storm. Are you going to the village hall? I am on reception duty, as usual. I just came back to check on you and get a coat.”

“Yes, I was just going to the hall. It was a bad storm! I hope they didn’t take too many people.”

“Aye,” Akkarn said as he entered the house. He came back out with a bear skin coat similar to the one Laynox was wearing. “Let’s go.”

As the two fur clad brothers marched towards the centre of Trinken the drenched mud squelched beneath their old boots. Strong wind whipped at their ankles and ruffled Laynox’s already disheveled blonde hair. His eyes gleamed as the full moon peaked through the clouds. Laynox’s right eye was brown and his left blue, the same as Akkarn’s, and their fathers. No one knew why but all of the males in his family had one brown and one blue eye.

At the end of the short, silent walk into the village both of the young men went immediately to the busy village hall. Akkarn ran his hand through his short black hair, preparing himself for the mighty task ahead. He walked to the large solid oak table at the end of the long hall, set himself in the matching chair behind it and yelled, “Right, you all know the drill. Please register with me or Ajobé,” he gestured to the elderly man next to him, “And if you know for certain of any missing people, please tell us, it makes our lives so much easier.”

A young beautiful woman pushed her way to the table, tears streaming down her face. Loud sobs escaped her mouth and echoed throughout the room. “Akkarn, I – I can’t find – Aleba anywhere,” the woman cried out, “She was only nine months! Why would they – Why take her? They normally leave the young.” The desperation in her voice was obvious.

Laynox looked at his brother in a way that said, “I told you so!”

“I’m sorry for your loss,” Akkarn replied, scribbling down her name onto one register and her baby daughters name onto another register. “We actually received news from Ma-Chi after the last storm saying that two babied were taken. I truly am sorry for your loss, Minthy.”

* * *

As the sun rose, flooding the island in its orange light, the last of the villagers left the hall. Laynox, who had stayed to help Akkarn and Ajobé fill in the registers, added up the total of people stolen. “42.”

Ajobé’s grey eyebrows rose and he whistled. “Are you sure? 42? I think that must be the biggest snatching yet,” the elderly man commented.

“Well, I guess it’s time to tell the villagers and send word to the other villages,” Akkarn sighed, “I hate this job.”

“Nox, do us a favour. Can you find a couple of Runners, tell them the bad news, and send ‘em off?” Ajobé asked. “Make sure the one going to Ma-Chi mentions Aleba, the snatched baby,” he continued.

“Yes, I will,” replied Laynox.

By noon, news from most of the other small villages had arrived by Runner. They also had news from Ma-Chi, the only town on the island and the capital of Trind. A small man appeared at the door to the village hall. “Names Zephyr, Runner of Ma-Chi,” the little man said in a speedy blur of words. “Two babies, five toddlers and 73 adults stolen from Ma-Chi. King Citnal says tha’ it be the greatest ever,” Zephyr concluded, his words only gaining speed the more he talked. The man began to fidget.

“Thank you young Zephyr. You look restless, go, run,” Akkarn said kindly to Zephyr.

The Runner done a half bow as he turned around and ran.

Runners had ruled all of Trind many centuries ago but had been forced to live equally with man. At about waist height, most Runners appeared like children, but a lot more agile and restless. Akkarn had never known a Runner to stay still for more than a few minutes and had once been massively beaten by the oldest Runner on Trind in a race. He had always respected the little Runners more than most people did.

Akkarn watched the Runner shoot out of the hall, yawned and said, “I am going home. It has been a very long day and I hear my bed calling my name. Good nigh – “ he paused, “I should be saying good day, Ajobé.”

“The elderly man sighed. “Good day Akkarn. Thanks you for your help today.”

“It was no problem.”

It took Akkarn five minutes to walk home and he was greeted by Laynox’s loud snoring, it didn’t stop Akkarn from falling asleep though.

Similar to my last post but with some changes and a title. Please critique and give suggestions for a better title.

Just to let you know, I have used all of the British spellings of words, not American. Words like colour (color), grey (gray), centre (center) and a few others will be spelt differently.