《Ember》 EMBER - Prologue Prologue A blood orange sun was setting over Ruinstead, flirting with the distant horizon. Fat slabs of dense golden fog lay across a miscellany of shingled rooftops, spilling into the winding cobbled streets below. With the appearance of thick honey, it flowed through the streets funnelling into a large market square, at the heart of the sleepy town. The golden vapour drowned market yard and pressed heavily on the stained-glass windows of the Waymakers Rest. At first glance the Waymakers Rest was an inn just as any other. A rich scent of smouldering peat and fruity ale hung thick in the air. Shards of gold tinted light washed over the gentle bubble of activity. Tender plucks of a lute and the soft melody of a gentle song floated in the air, the heartbeat of the inn, unnoticed unless missing. The music complemented a chorus of hushed and excited chatter that rang around the inn. A grouping of people sat around heavy oak tables, discussing matters of no great import with various degrees of volume, hands wrapped eagerly around their tankards. Rosey-cheeked merchants lined the walnut bar, grumbling about the day¡¯s dealings, an assortment of richly dyed cloaks draped down their backs onto the smooth stone slabbed floor. Across from the merchants, Noria stood behind the bar, a concerned furrow in her brow. She was unusually tall for a human with sharp muscular features and an imposing presence. Her sandy complexion was framed by her dark, pearlescent hair, which shimmered in the coloured light. Thin lines of crimson, that resembled lightning in a closing twilight sky, ran as if webs through her hair. Around her neck, a pristine white apron hung, stark against her raven-black hair and ash-grey tunic. Her hands moved with practised ease as she idly polished a glass bottle. The bone-white ring on her right hand tapping with a rhythmic clink as her bright amber eyes flitted about the inn, with nervous tension. Her gaze wondered back to the large windows, still obscured by the thick sun-bleached fog, which she observed with growing unease. It lay unnatural against the glass, as if clay, moulded by unseen hands. She exhaled a steady breath, forcing her eyes away before to surveying the room once again. Ember, her little boy, sat at an empty corner table, head down, at the back of the room. A stack of fine papers and ink lay orderly in front his messy black hair pored over a thick book, a large quill flicking in his hand. He was completely lost in his own word, she thought, a faint smile tugging at her lips. But she didn¡¯t let her thoughts linger. With a mental shake, she shifted her focus on Fern, her lifelong father figure. He sat at the round table near the hearth, where flickering flames danced beneath a bulbous copper kettle. A freshly lit pipe hung from the corner of his mouth, protruding from a tidy greying beard and he was wrapped in an old but well-fitted robe, the deep purple of fresh plums. He really did look like your clich¨¦ storyteller, she mused, the irony not lost on her as she observed a crescent of eager listeners. They leaned over their forgotten drinks, entranced by Fern¡¯s sparkling blue eyes, hanging off every word. If they had paid closer attention to him, and not the story, they may have noticed the depth in his eyes¡ªa knowing that betrayed his middle-aged persona. Noria unable to keep her eyes away turned her attention back to the stained-glass windows at the front of the Waymakers Rest, and this cycle continued for some time. Window. Ember. Fern. Window. She froze, mid cycle as a familiar itching sensation brushed her right forefinger. It was as delicate as a feather, a feeling she had not felt in years. This was bad. Somebody close was using a Fracture, she realised, a chill creeping down her spine. In response, her eyes blazed, resembling the core of a furnace with a fluorescent amber hue. Then half a second later she regained her composure. But it was too late. The pock faced merchant in front of her blanched and quickly averted his eyes, returning his conversation with a nervous murmur. ¡°Stupid,¡± she thought, cursing her lapse in control. She forced a steady breath, as she took a reassuring glace at the straight silver blade resting discreetly beneath the bar¡ªcold, silent, waiting. For a fleeting moment, she considered drawing it out eager to feel the reassuring weight at her hip but thought better of it. Carrying a weapon was forbidden in Ruinstead, a law enforced with unrelenting vigilance. The two guards, leaning against the panelled wall by the door, might be merry, but they wouldn¡¯t miss an innkeep casually walking a scabbard swinging at her hip. No, I need to talk to Fern, she decided, with absolute certainty, horrified that her Fracture may be stirring, the decay creeping. Was it even possible, after all this time? Her mind raced, as she moved around the bar heading for the large central table determined to get Fern¡¯s attention. As she approached Fern¡¯s blue eyes met hers over the worn, dented tankard in his hand. His expression transformed from excitement to worry. His eyes suddenly flaring a brilliant sapphire. She tapped her ring, a silent request extended towards him. He would understand, she knew, as Fern¡¯s tanned hand instinctively went to his neck, then slid down to the band hidden beneath his robe, its coil snaking around his right forearm. ¡°Fool!¡± Fern hissed under his breath, his frustration barely contained. The tickle on her finger sharpened. It no longer felt like a gentle feather but a strand of thin sharp wire scoring her skin. From the shock in Fern¡¯s face, she realised he felt the same, biting sensation. ¡°Your sword, Noria!¡± Fern barked, his voice sharp with urgency, as he sprang to his feet, sending a chair crashing against the nearby wall. ¡°Now!¡± She pivoted just as the rhythmic strumming of the lute cut off, mid-note. She went rigid, every muscle locked in place. The inn fell silent, drained of life in an instant. The colour in the room seemed to bleed away. The sun-soaked fog had vanished, and the large windows were as black as a starless sky, reflecting the flickering oil lamps with an eerie monotone glow. Noria¡¯s attention snapped from the window to the front door, her eyes fixed as it swung open. A warm, dark fog oozed into the room and curled around her feet. Through the door stepped two tall, gaunt, skeletal figures garbed in sleek black leather armour. The Fractured symbol was etched in silver on their upper arms, while the gold crest of Tyrant King¡¯s private guard gleamed upon their chests. They were giddy, akin to rabid dogs anticipating a kill and two haunting voices began in unison, their eerie greeting filling the room like a cold wind. ¡°It¡¯s strange, isn¡¯t it? they echoed. ¡°How quickly the noise fades when you realise there¡¯s nowhere to go. And you realise going to die.¡± Morthal, the Sundered. Noria recognised them instantly, a pit of despair forming in her gut as she reflected on his fearsome reputation. The Tyrant King¡¯s right hand, he had the benefit of two bodies which were unnervingly identical in every detail and linked to one sadistic evil mind. Bright red hair, resembling flickering flames, cascaded down to their shoulders. Dark jet-black eyes hollow and soulless glowered from sullen sockets, and a cruel wicked smile, unnaturally wide, stretched from ear to ear on their pasty pale faces. It was a smile of pure hatred and bloodlust. Noria noted, a shudder running down her spine as the fiery-haired twins cackled, like two hungry hyenas, turning to face the two guards by the door. It was only now, in pure shock, that the guards seemed to notice the crest, then they looked down at Morthal¡¯s swords and realisation dawned on their faces. They dropped their drinks in a hurried clatter and reached fumbling for their swords which leant against the wall. ¡°No! Don¡¯t,¡± Noria screamed, but it was too late. They didn¡¯t stand a chance. In one fluid motion, the twins drew their dark, metallic blades and as a single entity, and with deadly precision they pressed the cold dark steel against the guards¡¯ throats. ¡°Ssshh¡­ssshh¡­sush,¡± they hissed as if a pair of vipers, hands at their lips in an identical shushing gesture. Without any hint of consideration, they drove their blades into the soft skin with a quick sharp thrust, both turning their heads with cold heartless smiles to lock eyes with Noria. The inn went deathly silent. The only sound a choking gurgle as the guards dropped to the floor with sickening thuds of finality. Noria was unable to hold their gaze and glanced sideways at Fern, studying his expression. His eyes glowed like burning sulphur, the only betraying sign of anger. The Sundered, scanned the room, with evil calculating eyes, searching for any sign of resistance¡ªany hint of an opportunity to strike again. Noria stiffened. She would not give them an excuse to kill everyone¡ªnot with her little boy so close. She reminded herself, with a quiet resolve, that she would sacrifice anything to keep Ember¡¯s identity hidden. Movement at the door drew her attention again, breaking her reflection. A large man stood at the threshold, his bulking figure pictured perfectly within the oak frame. He was taller than twins and dressed plainly. A dark emerald cloak was draped over his broad, square shoulders, the hem brushing the floor, and the same silver emblem was pinned to the cloth at his chest. I don¡¯t recognise him, Noria realised, watching as the strange man stepped into the room, his boots leaving prints of fresh blood. Tendrils of fog swept around him, coiling up his legs and collecting around his hands, obscuring them in a glowing haze. His aura expelled darkness and misery. It oozed from him, and Noria felt utter helplessness wash over her as it smothered the souls of everyone in the room. By the fire, a man began to weep. If you find this story on Amazon, be aware that it has been stolen. Please report the infringement. Noria suspected this was one of his gifts¡ªsuppression, the ability to crush to will of his opponents. Fighting the urge to curl up in the corner like a wounded animal and cry, she threw her will against the mysterious man keeping the suppression at bay slightly. The man raised his hand lazily, seeming to neither notice nor care about her resistance. The Sundered stopped their cackling, immediately falling silent with the appearance of scolded children, their bloodthirsty scanning the room. The tall man in the emerald cloak looked directly at Noria his cool blue eyes fixed on her with a calm, knowing smile. He was almost charming, she mused, as he proceeded to speak in a gentle, raspy voice, smooth yet unsettling. ¡°Good evening, Lady Noria,¡± he said, a knowing smile touching his lips, ¡°or should I call you Elira?¡± Not bothering to wait for a response, he turned his attention over her left shoulder. ¡°Good evening, Master Fernan.¡± The man¡¯s calm expression faltered slightly, a hint of agitation creasing his brow. ¡°You¡¯ve been very troublesome to find. Very troublesome indeed!¡± ¡°Very troublesome.¡± The Sundered hissed, both mouths moving in harmony, echoing the end of the greeting. If the mysterious man was agitated by the comment, he didn¡¯t show it. ¡°Evening, Noxan,¡± Distaste evident in Fern¡¯s unsettled voice as he spoke. ¡°this is¡­¡± he paused briefly as if to emphasize the insult. ¡°¡­problematic company you¡¯re keeping¡± One of Morthal¡¯s mouths spat on the floor in response to Fern¡¯s comment, their pales faces twisting as they took step forward, their hands moving to the hilt of their swords. Fern knows him, Noria realised, bouncing the name about in her mind, unsure, as the man called Noxan raised his hand in the same casual manner as before. The twins froze, a storm of hatred boiling up behind their dark, demonic eyes. Noxan¡¯s attention fell back onto Noria, ignoring Fern¡¯s response. The calm, knowing smile was back, his face once again an emotionless mask, and she felt renewed spiritual pressure on her will. She needed to get everyone out, she realised, panic settling in. Especially her little boy. Noxan spoke interrupting her thoughts, ¡°You must be his new¡­¡± he paused for half a heartbeat, seeming to consider his next word. ¡°¡­puppet!¡± he said, spitting the word out. ¡°You should be honoured, Fracturling!¡± He continued as he gave a mocking half-bow in Fern¡¯s direction, blue eyes dancing with barely controlled fury. Pulses of passionate anger swept through the inn, thick and heavy, seeping into her spirit, stoking the fire in her chest. Is he baiting us? Noria wondered, resisting the urge to lunge for her sword and drive it through Noxan¡¯s patronising smile. ¡°Did you think your little projects in the caves would go unnoticed¡± Noxen questioned. ¡°Did you think our Lord is blind and deaf? ¡°Your Lord¡± Fern scoffed. But Noxan continued unperturbed. Did you think his reach wouldn¡¯t stretch to this¡­ putrid town?¡± ¡°I have no idea what you¡¯re talking about,¡± Noria retorted, risking a glance at Fern. She was considering what say next when Morthal¡¯s impatience finally boiled over, like a vat of hot oil. ¡°Lets us kill these lying insects and be done. These scrum! Slaughter them! These insolent¡­ they dare¡­¡± ¡°Enough!¡± Noxan commanded turning on the screeching twins, cutting of their foul spiel with a tone of absolution. Followed by a surge of fury so overwhelming Noria struggled to remain on her feet, her mind fogging over. ¡°We will conduct ourselves with the dignity our station demands. Do you not agree, Fracturling?¡± Noxen said, his voice like ice. The Sundered looked down to the floor, and for the first time, their faces tightened into tight-lipped, fearful respect and for the first time she realised Morthal truly feared Noxan. What was he capable of? She thought, worried, shuddering slightly at the thought. She wouldn¡¯t stand a chance. Once Noxan had firmly asserted control over Morthal, he swept his gaze over the entire inn, as though truly seeing it for the first time. He analysed the cowering occupants with a cold, assessing gaze, then calmly addressed the room. ¡°I don¡¯t think we need an audience¡­¡± ¡°Run¡­ run¡­ run, little mice. We won¡¯t bite¡­not yet!¡± Morthal hissed in unison, testing Noxan¡¯s authority and poking at his patience like children pushing at their boundaries. If he heard them, he didn¡¯t acknowledge it and Noxan continued speaking over them, projecting his voice with increased authority. ¡°¡­I think you should close early tonight, Lady Noria. Don¡¯t you agree?¡± An overwhelming urge to obey washed over her, dread stirring within as her will faltered, leaving her unable to act but obey. ¡°Yes¡­ I think that¡¯s a good idea,¡± she mouthed quietly, subserviently as her mind fogged over. ¡°You heard her! The Inn is closing!¡± Fern roared, clapping his hands. ¡°Out! Out! Out!¡± The sudden shift from Noxan¡¯s tranquil tone snapped her partially out of her stupor. But she stood frozen, her limbs refusing to work, as the rush of frantic customers surged past her, fleeing into the dark market yard, her mind spun in a maze of short, fragmented thoughts, each more jumbled than the last. Don¡¯t... don¡¯t let them know about Ember. Morthal will kill him... make her watch. She couldn¡¯t... sword, the blade¡ªtoo far. No... no blood. Not yet. Not until he¡¯s safe¡­ She heard Fern shout again ¡°Boy! Have you got wool in your ears?¡± as he turned his boots stomping across the floor towards Ember. Fern seemed less fazed by Noxan¡¯s oppressive presence, she thought, was Noxan focusing on her? Why? Morthal hissed, startled by Fern¡¯s sudden movement, and without hesitation, drew their swords with a cool metallic swish. The noise sending a ripple of panic through the remaining customers, who rushed towards the door, bolting like startled deer. Fern closed the gap between himself and Ember in a heartbeat and Noria stole a glance to see him grab the Ember roughly by the back of his tunic. She felt a pang of guilt. It had to be done this way, she had to ignore him. Would he ever forgive her? She thought, fighting the urge to hug him to grab him and run. ¡°Get out of here, you nosy lout! Don¡¯t you have any sense?¡± Fern¡¯s tirade continued as he hauled the boy towards the front of the inn. ¡°You haven¡¯t even bought a drink you cheap, tight-fisted rat¡­¡± A sharp, intimately familiar sensation prickled at Noria¡¯s ring finger as they passed her. She had felt a thousand times before. Fern was using one of his Fractures, the ability to lock time. She met his blue eyes for a fleeting moment¡ªa calm, lazy wink that lingered just a second too long, so slight it could have been mistaken for a twitch. The wink was all she needed. A surge of relief swept through her, offering a brief respite from Noxan¡¯s suppressive touch. He had done it! He would have spoken to Ember. He would have told him¡­ ¡°Stop!¡± Noxan¡¯s voice radiated about the Waymaker¡¯s Rest, its sheer force vibrating with absolute authority. Noria saw Fern freeze by the door, his body tense in mid-action, just as he was about to hurl Ember out into the black swirling darkness. Morthal¡¯s closest body flicked his sword quickly, as fast as a whip, thrusting it across Fern¡¯s chest and impaling the blade into the opposite door frame, with a dull thud, blocking their exit. The other body stepped behind them, pressing his blade between Fern¡¯s shoulder blades. ¡°Ah, ah, ahhh, I think not. Our, Master!¡± The last word hissing from his lips, dripping with mock severity, ¡°¡­ isn¡¯t finished with you yet¡­ it seems¡± ¡°Fernan, I¡¯m disappointed. We were as brothers, you and I. Did you truly believe I wouldn¡¯t notice the essence of your Fracture?¡± Noxan questioned with a smooth and controlled tone. ¡°What did you tell the boy?¡± His eyes gleamed with amusement, savouring the question before continuing. ¡°Has Master Fernan possibly got himself another little Fracturling? Very young¡­ tut tut¡­ I¡¯m disappointed¡± ¡°I asked him to run to the town guard¡± Fern retorted, without turning around, defeat evident in his tone and displayed with sagging shoulders. ¡°Lies! Any one of those ungifted nobodies could have done that. The guards are most likely already on their way,¡± Noxan countered, clicking his fingers towards Morthal, ¡°bring the boy, he will answer me¡± ¡°No!¡± Noria wailed, ¡°he¡¯s only a child,¡± a sense of maternal dread and guilt welling up inside her gut. She berated herself, how did she let this happen, how was she so stupid! She cast her gaze to the bar again, but Fern had reacted almost instantly, throwing his body hard sideways into The Sundered whose body was barring the door with his sword. The bony hand slipped off his pommel, and without an anchor, the red-haired twin crumpled backwards onto the floor. ¡°Run!¡± Fern screamed at the boy, simultaneously throwing Ember beneath the stuck sword sending him toppling out into the swirling fog. Using the arching ting momentum, he swung a bare-handed fist at Morthal¡¯s other body narrowly missing his face. The sudden surge of activity distracted Noxan momentary, loosening the suppressive grip he had on her. Ember was free. She could fight! she screamed internally, the knot of anxiety unwinding in her gut. Siezing the opportunity, she lunged for the bar, rolled over, and landed with a heavy thud on the stone floor behind. A little dazed, she gripped the dark leather pommel of the silver sword and pushed herself to her feet, surveying the room alert and braced for an attack. It all ended before it even started. Fern was on his knees. His body frozen, a skeletal form loomed above him with a triumphant grin spread across his face. A dark blade pushed against Fern¡¯s throat, while The Sundered¡¯s twin stood in the doorway, leering out into the obscured market yard. He was heckling after her boy now lost in the swirling fog, clearly deciding it wasn¡¯t worth the effort to pursue. She felt sick. Ember was totally helpless out there, alone in the dark, she realised, as anger pouring into her fuelling her confidence as she made her way around the bar. Noria gripped her sword tightly in her hand, and she channelled energy into the blade, as it glowed a bright molten amber, matching the intensity of her eyes. ¡°Let me Master,¡± Morthal¡¯s free body hissed, turning away from the door and stepping forward, eagerly embracing any opportunity to fight. Noria stared him down, bolstered by the adrenaline pumping through her veins, and knowing that her son was out of harm¡¯s way, for now, she raised her sword into an attacking poise, ready for a fight. ¡°No,¡± Noxan stated calmly, ¡°Lady Noria will submit to me¡± ¡°But your blade¡­¡± Morthal hesitantly protested. ¡°¡­ will not be needed.¡± Noxan finished, cutting him off. Morthal jerked a chin upward in a sharp irritated gesture, stepping back, unwilling to press further. Noria faced Noxan, his shoulders sagging slightly, as though preparing to do something unpleasant. ¡°Such a shame¡± he muttered to himself, his face remaining impassive as he took a step forward. He stood directly in front of her, unconcerned by the sword inches from his chest. A renewed aura of explosive hopelessness and despair pushed heavier than ever. He was focused entirely on her now-she feel it. The white ring on her finger blazed with the heat of a hot poker, as she struggled to resist. Frozen under its crippling force, like and apple caught in a twisting press. ¡°You¡¯re mine!¡± Noxan whispered, a sinister smile curving across his lips for the first time. She felt her will crack then crumple¡ªas if glass¡ªshattering into a million pieces. It took all her concentration and willpower to retain some form of consciousness, and she heard the sword clatter to the floor before she realised her hand had opened. Noxan glanced down at the floor beside her with a small nod of approval. His expression quickly returning to its usual impassivity. A cold, paralysing fear gripped her, knowing she couldn¡¯t resist, she was lost completely to Noxan¡¯s will, and she was sure death was about to follow. ¡°Now can we get back to matter at hand¡± Noxan said, more to himself than to her. His cool blue eyes locked onto hers. ¡°Noria of Westfold, you are guilty of theft¡± His eyes flicked down to her hand, resting on her ring for the briefest moment before returning to meet hers once again. ¡°All Fractures are the property of our Lord, the King, and as such your punishment is death.¡± She heard Fern cry out before she saw the blade¡ªimpossibly quick. The barest flash of silver from beneath the emerald cloak. It struck her square in the chest. Oddly painless, she dropped to her knees without really knowing why, her vision blurring into a hazy, mottled darkness. Noxen casually followed her down, dropping to one knee as he took her pale, shaky hand. The ring gleamed¡ªa rich cream in the lamplight and with a fluid motion, he pulled the silver blade from her chest. Warm blood flowed out, running down the inside of her grey tunic. The blade flashed again and this time the pain was immense, it shook her to her core with a sense of finality. Slumping back onto her heels, she heaved and spluttered for breath, watching in horror as he pulled four severed fingers from her hand. He discarded the spare fingers, letting them drop one by one to the floor by her knees. Noxan slid the ring from the remaining finger, holding it up to examined it. Satisfied, as if he had found a penny on the street, he tucked it into his cloak and dropped the last finger. He stood once more, removing a brilliant white cloth from his pocket and wiped the blood from his hands, turning away without word. ¡°Burn it down and bring the spare,¡± he commanded, striding out the door and out into the swirling, angry darkness. The last thing she heard was The Sundered¡¯s delighted maniacal laughter and Fern¡¯s muffled roars before she crumpled to the ground, and it all faded into peaceful darkness. Chapter One: The Price of Bread Ember crouched low in the shaded ruins of the Waymaker¡¯s Rest, his body obscured within the gloom. Thick, rickety beams of scabbed timber stretched above him resembling a grasping hand, clawing at the dull grey clouds. The old wooden sign dangled from a rusty link, blistered beyond recognition, creaking softly in the light breeze, its sound a lonely whisper in the stillness of the forgotten inn. The acrid scent of burnt wood and wet ash lingered in the air, thick between the crumbling stone walls. He swept long, scraggly raven hair from his auburn eyes, but the matted strands fell back almost instantly, refusing to be manipulated. His gaze narrowed as he examined the usual activity within the dreary market yard. A patchwork of frayed cloths draped over the market stalls, their once-vibrant colours dulled by time. Rusted carts stood abandoned beside rib-thin horses, their hooves tapping against the cobbles. Voices hummed low, clashing with the slow, rhythmic clatter of cartwheels against the uneven cobbles. His stomach twisted with a dull ache, a constant, gnawing reminder of his most urgent need¡ªfood. Hunger, a primal pain, persistent and unforgiving, and it sharpened his focus on the market¡¯s offerings. But despite biting hunger, two long years on the streets of Ruinstead had taught Ember patience. One hasty move could earn him a heavy beating, or worse, cost him his life, a lesson well learned. He subconsciously reached for his left forearm, his fingers brushing the swollen lump beneath his tattered tunic, the touch sending a familiar numbing sensation through his fingers. A painful reminder. He shuddered involuntarily, the memory of bone snapping still vivid in his mind, the lingering pain¡ªstubborn, unforgiving and ever present. Beside him, Toby squatted, bouncing on his heels with restless energy, his bright eyes scanning the market eagerly anticipating an opportunity¡ªhis moment to pounce. His freckled face, and wild bright ginger hair which stuck out in every direction, seemed to glow with natural energy. Fruit merchant¡¯s chat¡¯n wit¡¯ that lass. His back¡¯s turned, good an proper. Why¡¯re we waitin¡¯, Embi?¡± Toby asked impatiently, a thick Frintish accent rushing out in a torrent of words. His wide brown eyes gleaming waiting for a response, reminding Ember of a puppy eager for attention. Ember smiled faintly. It had taken him nearly a year to untangle Toby¡¯s thick Frintish accent, even though they spoke the same common tongue. Almost another year to fully decipher the whirlwind speed of his words. But he understood Toby intimately now¡ªnot just through his words, but his rhythm, his tone, and even by the way he moved. Finding Ember starved, Toby had saved his life and had stuck by him through everything. Half beaten to death in a gutter, less than a week after the King¡¯s army had marched under the veil of fog into Ruinstead. The same night his mother was murdered. The memory burned in his mind¡¯s eye, as vivid as the night it was seared into his memory. The clattering of blades. The screams. The burning glow of flames illuminating the nights sky as his home burned. Fern¡¯s desperate advice still echoed in his head. He still remembered how time had frozen around them an odd and surreal stillness in the middle of an otherwise violent night. ¡°Hide by the oak that dances over a forgotten pool,¡± Fern had said. But he had never found the pool. Not that it mattered. They never made it. A single tear welled beneath his auburn eye, tracing a slow path down his cheek. It took Ember a long moment to realise he had been caught by the cold grip of memory. Shaking his head, he forced himself to cast away the lingering thoughts, focusing on the fruit stall and the wiry merchant behind it. The merchant¡¯s thin frame and sun weathered skin made him resemble a weathered prune and he wore a faded outfit that had once been fashionable, wrapped at the waist with a cracked, peeling leather belt, and topped with a large, ostentatious purple hat that looked too grand for the market. He was about to murmur in agreement to Toby¡¯s observation when a sharp rattle, followed by the glint of metal caught his eye¡ªshifting behind the array of market stools, their movement swift and purposeful, barely noticeable against the bustle of the square. Then they stopped and Ember¡¯s heart skipped a beat. ¡°Look Toby!¡± Ember whispered urgently, raising a hand to point out a patrol of soldiers. ¡°They were heading back to the barracks, but they stopped, why did they stop?¡± Ember looked between the barracks which loomed over the market square with a suffocating presence, and the stationary soldiers dispersing throughout the crowd. ¡°One mistake. One shout, and we¡¯ll have a score of `the King¡¯s soldiers on us¡­¡± Ember hissed his voice was low, full of urgency, his eyes locked on the soldiers as they patrolled through the square. Metal clanking in militaristic unison. Their emerald banners held high in defiance¡ªa warning, not a decoration. ¡°We¡¯re too fast for them, Embi! Never gonna catch us, not in all that clunkin¡¯ armour!¡± Toby replied his grin stretched wide, mischief dancing in his eyes, impossible to ignore. ¡°You¡¯re crazy, Toby! Let¡¯s just wait¡­¡± But it was too late. Toby slipped out from behind the crumpling wall that obscured them and melted into the fray, dodging and weaving his way toward the fruit stool with the grace of a hunting cat. Gritting his teeth, he thought about how Toby¡¯s instincts nearly always got them both into trouble, but he couldn¡¯t just leave him. Cursing Toby under his breath, Ember leaned towards the opening, took a hesitant glance in both directions, and then stepped out in pursuit. His heart raced as his eyes scanned the crowed, darting from one person to the next, searching for any sign of armoured soldiers. A knot of anxiety, heavy in his stomach, seemed to weigh him down as he shadowed Toby, getting him closer and closer to the fruit stall. The flash of red hair an easy marker in the crowd, like a thread leading him forwards. Toby never knew when to stop. He always thought he was too fast, too clever. But Ember knew better. One day, he¡¯d push too far. Ember caught up to him, and they fell into step side by side with their heads down, blending into the crowd careful not to attract attention. ¡°What are you thinking?¡± Ember hissed quietly, barely audible. ¡°The King¡¯s soldiers¡¯ won¡¯t just give us a good throttling like the town guard¡­ they¡¯ll hang, no trial. That¡¯s if they don¡¯t just kill us. We wouldn¡¯t stand a chance. Let¡¯s go back? Please!¡± The desperate tone in Ember¡¯s voice only seemed to stoke the fire in Toby eyes. He grinned, shaking his head, and pushed forward, faster now. ¡°Such a fussa¡¯ Embi.¡± Toby muttered, a hint of frustration evident in his voice. ¡°He¡¯s not gonna notice, I said. He¡¯s too busy chattin¡¯ to that lass. What¡¯s he gonna¡¯ have eyes at the back of his head? We¡¯ll long gone before he looks about our way.¡± At that moment, Toby grabbed Ember by the arm and pulled him into a narrow gap between two market stools, bringing them face to face. Feeling a bit cramped, Toby shook his shoulders with brotherly frustration, his voice sharp, his eyes flicking to Ember, full, with pleading intensity ¡°Look, Embi! Are you hungry or not? We need food, I can¡¯t wait any longer¡± Lost for words, Ember nodded glumly, his gaze dropping to the straw-ridden cobblestone beneath. He was hungry¡ªhe couldn¡¯t deny it. Just then, his stomach emitted a long, pitiful grumble, as if to reinforce Toby¡¯s plea. Ember flushed and nodded still refusing to look Toby in the eyes. Seeing the reluctant nod as a sign of agreement, to continue with the plan, Toby swung his arm around Embers back in a playful yet determined gesture. With a triumphant smile, he pulled them both forward to peer around the green-and-white striped market stool, eyes surveying the fruit stall for the next move. ¡°Look, you go first, there¡¯ll be less risk for you that way,¡± Toby suggested, his voice low but persistent. He gave Ember a light push out into the throng. Ember hesitantly shuffled towards the market stall, his eyes burning a hole on the back of the merchant, looking at every movement for any sign he might turn around. His pulse quickened and he felt his heart hammering in his chest. But despite his fears, the merchant and the lady seemed oblivious to everything around them, their eyes locked, akin to two long-lost lovers. As he edged closer, Ember¡¯s eyes shifted to the food. The produce, once fresh, now looked sad and neglected, the severity of the merchant¡¯s misfortune evident- scarred by the war in the south. Dark spots littered the fruit, and flies buzzed around withered apples and mottled bananas, bruised beyond use. Shrivelled pears and sun-kissed strawberries sat in dirty baskets, showing signs early rot. Even with his gut twisting in pain, the fruit hardly appealed to him. The sight of it so neglected and diseased. Rotting. Bruised. It was food¡ªbut barely. The narrative has been taken without permission. Report any sightings. Fighting the urge to vomit, he stood there, torn between his desire for food and the fear of getting caught. In the end, hunger won out over reason. He pocketed the best-looking apple he could see and hovered over another, thinking better of it, he turned and walked away, his heart threatening to rip free of his chest. There was no scream. No hand reached out to clasp around his wrist, no cry for the law. For a moment, Ember couldn¡¯t believe it. He had gotten away with it! Relief washed over him. His mouth salivating involuntarily at the thought of food as he checked the apple again. It had been too easy, he thought his eyes flicking between the fruit merchant and the soldiers, checking the market again. His nerves were still wound tight as he turned toward the narrow gap between two stalls. The cramped space seemed to close around him more than before, his breath coming in shallow gasps as he fought back the urge to vomit, yet again. ¡°See? Told ya! Easy as takin¡¯ a nap, Embi.¡± Toby said distracting him, a broad grin spreading across his freckled face, a twinkle in his mud-brown eyes. This excited him, Ember realised. He couldn¡¯t believe he was excited! It felt wrong they had spent so long running, hiding and surviving, to get a rush from stealing an apple. ¡°Your turn,¡± Ember muttered, his voice barely above a whisper, a flicker of unease in his voice at Toby¡¯s brashness. This had the potential to go drastically wrong, he thought, removing the apple from his tunic and taking a quick nervous bite. The taste was powdery, and the pungent sharp tang of fermented fruit lingered on his tongue. It was far from fresh, but it was also far better than nothing and he would take it as a small victory nether the less. If Toby thought little of him for such a poor effort he didn¡¯t show it. He nodded and turned, stepping out into the market. At that moment the smell of hot fresh bread wafted across the market street and Ember felt his stomach clench. Then he watched in horror as Toby veered slightly, heading in a different direction. The realisation hit him like a tonne weight. He was heading towards the bread stall. It was reckless and dangerous. ¡°Toby, no!¡° Ember shouted in a muted voice, barely audible against the busy crowd as he resisted the urge to draw too much attention and ruin everything But his friend didn¡¯t stop. Ember¡¯s helplessness clawing at him as he watched Toby move closer and closer to danger. By the time he made it to the bread stool, Ember¡¯s heart was thumping wildly, threatening to break free from his chest. With the guile of a seasoned thief Toby walked up to the fresh breads and pocketed one casually, as easily as plucking a grape from the vine. Ember held his breath. Again, there was no scream. The beady-eyed, stern-faced merchant behind the stall hadn¡¯t noticed, his gaze fixed elsewhere in the distance. The world seemed to slow as Ember watched him, every second stretching out looking for any sign he was going to look down and notice the bread missing. He was in the process of taking another bite out of his apple, his tense form slowly relaxing, drooling at the thought of tasting fresh bread. It had been so long, he thought, but his relief was short-lived. Toby was circling back like a vulture, returning to its prey to pick again, reaching out for another loaf. Toby was fast. Too eager. Ember had spent years learning patience, caution¡ªthe things that kept you alive on Ruinstead¡¯s streets. But Toby? He saw hunger, and he lunged. His pink hand was inches from a second loaf when wiry fingers clamped around his wrist with a vice like grip, the offending knuckles displaying white bone from the sudden force. ¡°Got you! You little shit!¡± the bread merchant screeched with an ear-splitting roar loud enough to cut through the markets monotony and wake it from its slumber. ¡°Call the guard!¡± he continued, ¡°I¡¯ve caught a thief!¡± Ember watched the market around Toby erupt, a wave of chaos and shouts filling the air leaving him feeling utterly helpless. Other merchants screamed in protest behind their stools, waving their hands in frantic gestures, their voices rising adding to the chorus of cries for the town guard. Nearby patrons flocked around them, drawn in by the disturbance, like a moth to a flame, eager for a glimpse of the drama unfolding. The metallic clang of drawn swords from startled soldiers rang out, cutting through the air causing a wave of panic. In response, the crowd dispersed in a flurry, rushing in all directions as the situation escalated. Toby seized the moment, hurling the second loaf of bread straight into the smirking merchants face. The soft bread tearing on impact as Toby twisted free in one swift motion. ¡°Get back here¡­¡± ¡°Run Embi!¡± Toby screamed, his voice frantic, cutting off the merchant¡¯s protest as he shoved towards him. Panic gripped Ember¡¯s chest as two soldiers, strapped in pristine leather armour, came thundering around the corner of a nearby stall, their heavy boots pounding with every bounding stride. Scouts, Ember realised, evidently faster than their armoured companions, whose heavy armour Ember could hear clanking in the distance as they struggled to keep up. He didn¡¯t think, his body moved out of instinct. He just ran. The market blurred¡ªcolour, movement, chaos. Shouts tangled with the pounding of boots, each step closing in. Too close. Too fast. The frantic cries all melted into the background. Hands reached out to grab him with hooked grasps. He dodged and weaved between them narrowly avoiding clutching fingers as they missing him by mere inches. Toby overtook him, knocking over baskets, as they raced into an alley leading into the centre of Ruinstead. They were going the wrong direction, he realised, just as a shadow lunged ¡ªsudden, brutal. The force sent him flying, slamming into the unforgiving stone with a bone-crunching impact. Ember felt a sickening crack ringing in his ears and pain exploded in his side. He struggled to breath, clutching his chest as pain radiated through his body. I¡¯m broken, he thought with a sickening realisation, the taste of copper in his mouth. He tried to stand and agonising pain radiating down his side as blood-tainted spittle drooled out of his mouth and collected on the floor. He tried to take a step further into the alley, but his legs gave way beneath him, and he stubbled, disorientated, clinging to the wall for support. His body screamed for a minute of rest, a minute he didn¡¯t have. He straightened himself with an agonising struggle. Slowly, he turned and saw, as if under murky water, the blurry outline of a towering figure blocking his way. Ember¡¯s eyes focused revealing a heavily armoured soldier, encased in a pristine bluish-grey plate, the colour of weathered lead. The royal symbol, gilded and gleaming, was emblazoned on his chest piece. A nightmare he could never seem to escape. A Juggernaut! Ember exclaimed in horror, inwardly, the mental shout echoing in his mind¡¯s eye. Horror flooded his emotions as the full weight of the situation hit him. One of the King¡¯s war titans, a living wall of metal and menace, his shadow swallowing the alley whole. The towering soldier¡¯s shoulders rose and fell with the rhythm of his laboured breathing, the effort of carrying such heavy armour. He displayed the appearance of a bull, ready to charge his body a wall of muscle covered steel. The man said nothing. Then, with a simple, fluid motion, he stepped forward and grasped Ember by the throat, lifting him off the floor with no visible effort, as if he were weightless. He felt his feet thrash helplessly, his head swelling with the pressure, and his vision began to blur at the edges. The waft of hot breath became suffocating as the man snarled, tightening his grip and increasing the pressure on his neck. He felt the cartilage in his neck, pressure mounting¡ªthen crack. I¡¯m going to die. The thought terrified him, so raw and absolute. He screamed inwardly, terror gripping him as warm urine ran down the side of his legs. Emotions cascaded through him, darkness sucked him in. Humiliation. Helplessness. Just as he was about to drift into a peaceful, painless sleep, a flash of motion darted across Ember¡¯s darkened vision. Something struck the armoured man with a hard with a metaling clunk, throwing him balance slightly just enough for him to release his grip around his throat. Obviously confused or surprised that somebody would attack him he looked around as Ember hit the ground hard. He gasped¡ªa sharp, jagged breath, desperate for air. His swollen throat made each breath like drinking fire. He managed to raise his head to see Toby standing defiantly, as confident as ever, a fist-size rock gripped tightly in his hand, facing off the armoured giant. ¡°Run Embi!¡± Toby¡¯s voice was sharp and demanding. Without hesitation, he pivoted and pushed Ember hard in the chest, desperately forcing him away. ¡°Run!¡± he repeated, his voice louder now, filled with raw emotion. Ember¡¯s mind screamed at him to stay and fight, to pull Toby with him, but his body was a broken mess, his mind shattered as he struggled to form any words. Still hesitating, Toby shoved him again, a mixture of fear and anger blended throughout his word. ¡°Go! Goddam you!¡± Ember looked up to see fresh tears flowing down Toby¡¯s face. The towering, armoured figure loomed behind him, while half a dozen soldiers entered the mouth of the alley akin to a hungry pack of wolves. ¡°Come with me¡± he beckoned, but in Toby¡¯s determined eyes, he saw the fiery intent to save the day He wasn¡¯t going to follow. ¡°Please¡­ Toby¡­¡± Ember pleaded, resorting to begging. Toby shoved him. Hard. Ember stumbled back¡ªjust as the Juggernaut¡¯s metal-clad arms coiled around Toby¡¯s wiry frame like a snake. ¡°Go!¡± The last words ripped from Toby¡¯s throat. Desperate. Raw. Ember¡¯s body lurched¡ªbut his legs didn¡¯t want to move. His heart twisted, and with no other choice, he ran. **** The world around him blurred as he used his remaining strength to run, run through the pain, through the emotion and out the town gates. Once again, he was swallowed by the lonely forest that wrapped around Ruinstead in a hugging crescent. His legs burned, each step heavier and heavier, but he couldn¡¯t stop. Not yet. Toby was caught or dead either way he was alone, again. He crushing realisation pressed on him, making every movement, every thought a struggle. He had to keep going a moment¡¯s hesitation could cost him his life. The day was closing, the night getting colder and darker as he hobbled through the forest, the towering trees whispering, casting shadows that followed him. In the silence the ponding of his struggling heart seemed to mingle with the echoes of his past. First his mother. Now Toby. How many more people would he have to lose, would he ever be safe? The thoughts of his past hurt. But that didn¡¯t stop him. He ran. Away from the town, away from the screams, away from Toby. But no matter how far he ran, Toby¡¯s final words chased him, haunting his dizzying thoughts. Chapter Two: Whispers in the Dark Hot tears flowed freely down Ember¡¯s cheeks, his eyes clamped tight, shutting out the world and the pain it caused him. In his mind¡¯s eye the days trauma mingled with the traumatic events of his past. Hideous spectres and haunting figures danced through his grief-ridden somnolence with dizzying speed and malice. Identical pale faces painted with venomous smiles and hair¡ªblazing flame red. A mysterious man draped in the dark emerald cloak, and the suffocating weight of helplessness and despair¡­ His mother¡¯s broken body, lifeless, cold and unyielding. Burned beyond recognition, her once-loving face blackened and cracked, like the bark of a lightning-struck tree¡­ The body of another, a twisted mask of agony, plum fabric stuck to the scabbed crackled skin¡­The swish of hard wood and the cracking of bone under soft flesh¡­ A monstrous, bull-like figure encased in platted steel, menacing and merciless¡­ Toby¡¯s last desperate plea echoing in the depth of his mind. Each memory plagued him with unrelenting clarity, a real of tormenting images. He could feel his mind breaking, as the visions played in a persistent loop within his waking nightmare. It would be so easy to just let go and let the madness consume him, envelope him, give in to the comfort of ignorant bliss. His body pleaded for release, anything to forget the phantoms of his past, anything to forget the pain that spread through his body. ¡°No!¡± he screamed internally, the faces of the twins flashing across his memory again, taunting him. Ember felt an anger swell inside him, an inferno of hatred stoked in his chest by the desire to extract his revenge. He would find them. He would kill them. He vowed with clenched fists, letting out a grating scream, pushing back the despair and Ember forced his eyes open. They burned from the tears as he tried to get his bearings the taste of blood and salt lingering on his lips. The forest shrouded him in complete darkness, the dense trees far overhead an inky black quilt obscuring the last drips of starlight. Rough bark pressed into his back, grounding him, the only sense of presence amid the ancient trees he knew surrounded him. He looked, blinking rapidly, struggling against the darkness, his chest heaving with heavy sobs, each breath drawing in the scent of damp moss and decaying foliage. Ember raised his hands to inspect them and saw only shadows-ghostlike shapes against the absolute darkness. His own mind playing tricks. How deep had he wondered into this forest? How long had he been running? He thought with dizzying confusion, a brief moment of panic threatening to well up inside of him. He was lost, totally blind and in excruciating pain, he needed to sleep, he needed to rest his broken body. Summoning his remaining tendrils of strength, he took a tentative awkward step, and his foot hooked a thick root sending him sprawling onto the cold damp mossy floor with dull thud. Pain radiated from his body, a fresh reminder intensifying with each haggard breath. The cold seeped through his clothing its chill immediately biting into his skin. Gritting his teeth, Ember pushed himself onto all fours, carefully removed his foot and continued forwards. I¡¯m like a wounded animal lost in the darkness he thought, fear truly cemented in his mind. Navigating the complex knot of twisted roots. Time became a blur as he pushed on, growing fatigue and pain making reality seem like waking nightmare. Without warning, his head struck something solid. Cautiously, he reached out, his fingers brushing the rough rugged bark of another tree. Grasping it with outstretched arms it¡¯s immense size defied comprehension- a colossal sentinel. He knew the forest was old, but never had he imagined it harboured such giants, he marvelled with a sense of awe as he continued his sightless exploration of the tree, shifting around until he thought he was halfway. Without warning Ember¡¯s fingers brushed against a fissure in the trees exterior- a jagged, uneven opening. Taking a steady breath, his heart started pounding loud in his ears a stark contrast to the eerie stillness, he leaned closer, allowing the scents within to wash over him. He expected something to growl announcing it presence to him or worse pounce out, instead all that hit him was a waft of humid, pungent decaying wood and an aroma of moist earth which filled his nostrils. The cents evoked memories of the forgotten cellar below the Waymakers Rest, his and Toby¡¯s home for the past two years. Just then, the scent of something else drew him in, ripping him from his brief homesick memories. A sharp, metallic smell tainted the air and taste of metal lingered on his tongue. There was something unnatural about the hollow opening, something emitting a peculiar odour. He felt uneasy, and despite his inner thoughts screaming at him to turn around the desire for a safe warm place to rest superseded caution and Ember hesitantly crawled inside the opening. If you discover this narrative on Amazon, be aware that it has been stolen. Please report the violation. We slow tentative movements he went deeper into the hollow an outstretch hand in front of him to other feeling the rough ground below. Slowly he began to relax his tense form settling when a faint rustling emanated from the hollow¡¯s depths. Instantly regretting his decision, Ember¡¯s breath caught in his throat, and he froze his body shaking with nervous anticipation. His ears tuned onto his surroundings listening for any other noise that may betray the presence of some other animal. At first, he thought his mind was playing a trick on him, the sound was hardly perceptible, like a whispering breeze throwing up leaves. Then it grew louder, the unmistakable sound of rustling feathers and the scraping of sharp talons scurrying across wood, drawing nearer with unsettling speed. A loud ear-splitting squawk erupted directly in front of his face, and he heard the snapping of a beak followed by a low guttural growl. His body tensed, his heart threatening to jump free from his chest with fear. Every muscle a coil of anticipation ready to spring or fight for his life. His mind conjured a reel of images, unseen creatures lurking in the darkness. All the monsters from his childhood story books coming back to haunt him in his mind¡¯s eye, their glowing eyes staring at him with malevolent intent. The sounds the creature painted a mental image of what lay before him and his imagination got the better of him. Large scaly muscly legs that resembled a rooster, a razor-sharp beak like a hawk dripping with blood, blood orange eyes glaring with the hatred of being disturbed. Course wiry feathers like drops of ink slick about its body¡­ Before he could react, a sudden flurry of movement erupted over him, ripping him from his thoughts as something large and impossibly fast brushed off him with surprisingly soft feathers, its form an imaginary purple blur in his mind as it rushed out the opening behind him. A rush of humid, sticky, metallic air followed its wake, causing Ember to shudder and recoil his heart pounding with renewed intensity, his body shaking violently. What was he thinking? Coming in here it was reckless. Stupid. He thought, berating himself with a loud mental cry. He turned to stare at the opening behind him, straining to see, but the darkness remained impenetrable. For what felt like an eternal age, he remained motionless, listening intently for the possible return of the creature. He heard nothing, no rustle of feathers, no cry from an angered beast. The forest had fallen into an eerie silence as if holding its breath alongside him. Then, driven by equal parts fear and the desire to sleep he inched forward, deeper into the hollow. A prickling sensation crawled up his spine, a silent warning, a natural desire to run while his trembling hands explored the warm damp interior, seeking a dry safe patch to coil up and sleep. The risk of that animal returning scared him, but the thought of wondering about the forest, blind scared him more. That thing, whatever it was hadn¡¯t attacked him it had fled, and he took that as good sign. Ember was deep in thought, when his fingers brushed against a cold, smooth metallic object. It felt like a coin. Large but still unnaturally heavy. Tracing its surface, he could just make out intricate engravings, patterns or symbols, impossible to comprehend in the darkness. His pulse quickened as the coin immediately vibrated. An abnormal energy warmed his fingers as he heard the same ear-splitting squawk echo through the forest outside. He froze again, listening intently in the darkness. A strange tingling feeling radiated through him, distracting him, and he felt a peculiar feeling, a bond or a promise had been formed. He was unsure how he knew but he felt the commitment weigh his spirit down. What was this doing here, concealed in this tree? He mused, turning it over in his hand, to metal returning to is cool natural form. Unable to examine it further he slipped the object into his pocket, it¡¯s natural and unnatural weight a constant reminder of the night¡¯s peculiarities. Exhaustion pressed down upon him like a tonne weight, both physically and emotionally, the day¡¯s events leaving him vulnerable and weary. Seeking peace and an escape, he curled into himself, nestling up against the first piece of trunk he found. His breaths gradually steadied, through the aches in his muscles remained. As his eyelids grew heavy, and the darkness began to embrace him he heard the alien voice, a regular companion in his drifting slumber, a gentle whispering in a peculiar ancient tongue. But the intent he understood, as brief hazy images flashed before him. He was in a strange far-off place, a dark hidden place, cold, the smell of damp rock and old magic, the loud noise of falling water, a hand of stone, an outstretched finger with a glistening bone white band. He was being called fulfil his destiny, he reached out¡­ ¡­but fatigue proved a relentless adversary and in the final stages of his waking dreams he heard the gentle patter of clawed feet followed by a sharp metallic smell and the tender touch of a large, soft feathered body wrapping around him heat radiating through him comforting his pain, pulling him into a dreamless peaceful abyss.