Young Writers Society

Khor heaved back the massive stables doors and took several steps to reach an open room littered with straw. Winterblaze lay amongst the hay and darkness and moved his head so his mane was out of his rich brown eyes.

Khor approached his friend and fell into the straw next to him. Winterblaze gave a soft sound and nudged the boy with his nose. “Life will always be strange, won’t it?” he asked. Still without an answer, Khor fell to sleep.

Snow fell from a darkened sky silently and without warning. White blanketed nearly everything in a pleasant stillness that night. Coming along with the snow was a thin sheet of white clouds that seemed to spread and filter the sun’s light.

Frost covered the forest floor and held each leaf in place as snow gathered in the canopy so much further away. The stream nearly froze over but had become unbearably cold for compensation.

“My toes are numb.” Khor said into the vast and eerie silence. He stood ankle deep in the freezing stream in his black boots. Despite the leather’s thickness, he was still feeling quite cold.

He had his black cloak balled into his fists as it was draped over his shoulders. He did this in part to keep the material away from the water and partially to keep himself from shaking. Snow was very slightly beginning to gather in his hair.

The cold dried his eyes of moisture as they gazed down into the chasm. Khor cautiously stole a step toward the sudden drop and stiffly planted his foot there before moving his entire body forward.

The boy suddenly inhaled deeply, tasting salt in the air. A smile slid its way onto Khor’s face and planted itself there firmly. Memories of that day filled his mind. The soft sand, the gentle sun, the calming waves. Everything about that day was perfect. That’s when his father was around… They were a family then…

A soft, nearly unnoticeable crunch came from behind Khor. He slowly turned, expecting Jasel or Kason but saw something that surprised him. His father was slowly walking toward him. An unshaven face smiled at Khor, partially hidden beneath unruly black hair.

Khor’s father was fully armored even a shield hanging from one shoulder. The polished and slightly battered armor was colored blue with black letters across the chest plate. RA, an abbreviation for Royal Army.

There was time when Khor would have instantly stopped no matter what he was doing and rushed to embrace his father. As of late he was visiting less and for shorter time.

Khor turned back to the abyss, smile vanishing. When his father did finally reach Khor, he dropped his circular shield onto the ground and sat upon it, actually able to turn his head and meet Khor’s eye.

“Feet cold?” his father asked. He didn’t respond.

“Your mother told me about yesterday…” he began again, “Sounds like you have the hide of a golem. Wonder how you’ll do in an arena match.” His father smiled at Khor but he kept his eyes fixed on the rift.

“Listen, I know I haven’t been around very much but-“

“No, you haven’t.” Khor stopped him. His father opened his mouth to say something in return but closed it soon afterward. The tired soldier stood and retrieved his shield, now walking back down the stream and to his home.

Khor met with both of his parents that night for dinner. The food was exceptional as usual but the company was unusual. Not a word was spoken the entire meal, Khor’s father had changed out of his armor and into a simple brown tunic and matching trousers.

He had bathed and shaved and now looked much more like the man Khor should have grown up knowing. Khor had barely touched his vegetables and only taken a few bites out of his salted pork when he was excused from the table. Night had fallen not long ago and the cold of the winter was beginning to intensify.

Khor retreated to his room, the pathway lit by several candles hung along the narrow hallway; each had pools of hot wax gathering in the circular tray at the base of each candle.

As Khor threw open the door to his room, he moved immediately to his drawer, ignoring his bed, his desk and the numerous silver trinkets littered all around the floor. He retrieved his black cloak and pulled on his boots. He had to go back. Something drew him to the chasm and it enthralled him. This is a mystery that must be solved.

As Khor took his first step out of his room he stopped with his hand on the door, prepared to slam it shut. He quickly turned and stepped up to his desk were he wrenched open the center drawer. He easily found a small black box and opened it. He hastily retrieved the object resting on the black velvet there and thrust it deep into his pocket.

Though he wished to avoid the company of his father, he had to cross through the dining room where his parents where undoubtedly still eating. As he approached the room he heard a voice speaking angrily.

“Now he’s not eating! He’s still drawn to that place, Rill, and you’re not making matters better.”

“What am I suppose to do Bressa?” his father replied, “I just got home, I’m due to leave tomorrow morning, I don’t want my son to remember his father as a tyrant.”

“I don’t think he cares about remembering you, Rill!” Khor was now crouched just outside the door, pressing his ear against the polished wood, listening intently.

“Shall thinks he should send for a, a conjurer! To see if he’s fit to be a magician!” his mother said.

“Because he fell off a cliff and survived? And what if they do send a recruiter? Why would it be a bad thing if Khoralie were to become a sorcerer?” his father argued.

“The other village boys beat him because he’s different; think of what will happen if he goes off to a school where he’ll be even more outcasted?”

Khor heard a soft, almost unheard creak behind him and knew he was discovered. Khor stood and turned to face Trannil, the family overseer. He cared for the horses in the stables, prepared the meals, and cleaned and managed the house.

Trannil was six feet and nearly five inches tall, his skin was as pale as Khor’s, veiny and paper white. He was muscular and had long straight blonde hair that fell to his shoulders and was pulled out of his face.

He looked down at Khor with his nearly white blue eyes and opened his mouth. “I think we’ve heard enough, master Khoralie.” Without a word, Khor followed Trannil back down the hall, in the dim candlelight, his skin seemed translucent, nearly transparent.

When the two had reached Khor’s room the manservant pushed opened his door and Khor stepped inside and sat at his desk. He hung his head and let his black hair fall into his face. “Your parents love and care about you. Though it may be none of my business, they’ve done much for you and only care about you’re well being. I believe they deserve more respect.”

Khor knew it was true and felt as if he had been caught doing something devious. Trannil crossed the room and placed a white gloved hand on Khor’s shoulder. “You’ve had much to think about these past few days. You should rest and regain you’re strength.”

Khor still didn’t respond as he left the room and firmly closed the door behind him. The boy sat alone in the dark and counted his breaths five times. Afterward, he stood and climbed onto his bed and opened the already cold window. He slipped out and closed the glass behind him. The snow made a calming crunching sound as his boots fell into it, carrying Khor across the plains, back to the forest.