King of Shards

Well... as my "family" has come through a rather circuitous route to get here, and this being the forum to share such things, please allow me to introduce "myself", those I bring with me, and the worlds we have walked to get here... (note, the title is NOT any kind of claim *grins*, just something that came to me yesterrday). I will add more as I have time to, and update the post following this with "the rest of the story" as more chapters work their way out of my head.

 

Slumbering deep within the embrace of its adopted mother, the entity dreamed. Flashes of flame and blood, of steel and screams skittered across the landscape of that dream in a nightmarish jumble, causing the thing to shift fitfully, sending tremors through the walls of its stony creche. Very recently, as the ancient being measured time, its creator had called it, drawn it across the inky depths of the ether, led it to this new home, and promised that, at long last, it would be able to find fulfillment.

During the long journey, crossing uncountable leagues, the being bore witness to many wonders and tragedies, glories and oddities, but to these it paid no heed. Its creator had called… nothing else mattered. It knew, in the way a child trusts, that all was as it should be, and that all would proceed as necessary. Its creator had called… and had not failed to uphold the promise.

Its arrival had devastated the world it now nestled within, and calamity was left in its wake. When the new host moved against this intruder, in the form of the varied creatures living on and connected to it, the entity felt the hand of its creator in the already weakened state of the host’s defenders. The battle was fierce, but brief… none that came against it possessed the power to uproot, much less destroy, it. In the end, despite the pain and death and destruction wrought, all that was gained was the obliteration of the shell that had protected the creature. Upon finding the shell empty, the defenders believed themselves victorious, believed they had eliminated the foul infestation.

It was all a part of the process however, a process that was nearing its end.

The dreamtime was over. The healing and generative sleep was ending.

“It is time, my child”, called the Voice.

The creature allowed the elation it felt to surge, pulsing along the innumerable tendrils of its being…

…and the whole world shuddered.

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Part one: Wind and Water

Chapter One: Shudders

It isn’t right, the sailor thought, noting the sudden shift in the wind. Looking down to the waves, capping in a direction directly opposed to the wind, only reinforced his fears. These occurrences, on their own, would normally be nothing more than a passing oddity to the wiry, sea-wise captain. Stranger things, he knew, existed within the darkling depths of the ocean… things he had fought on more than one occasion. No, these alone would not have bothered him, but then there was the issue of the fish.

There weren’t any.

There had been nothing to catch today… nothing since the War, for that matter, as if all the fish had disappeared from the ocean overnight. Then again, nothing had been right at all since the War… not just on the ocean, but everywhere. Strange winds and un-following seas was just the beginning, he knew. His brothers, one a master craftsman, the other an alchemist of no small repute, had reported similar strangeness in their daily routines.

The forests around their ancestral home teemed with life, but Markham, in his weekly trips to acquire deadfall for working and keeping warm, had spied not a single creature. Birds, deer, small rodents… all gone, not even the occasional grumpy bear awakening from its winter slumber.

Alphonse, having relocated his alchemical and magical practice to the struggling village of N’Yew to further his self-assigned restitution for the misdeeds of his past, had reported strange results to rather ordinary brews and castings. So strange, in fact, that he rarely attempted any magicks higher than the occasional recall any more, for fear of what the result might mean to life and limb.

A sudden shock rippled up through him from the deck of the ship, tearing him from his reverie. Rushing to the rail, the sailor peered into the depths, searching for any sign of the cause of such an event, but noticed movement out of the corner of his eye, and looked out sharply to the horizon. A shockwave passed through the water in a noticeable arc, and a deep and abiding dread grew in the man as he realized all indications pointed to an origin that lay to the aft of his modest fishing vessel. The distant sound of rushing, roaring water impinged on his awareness then, the sailor turned slowly around to confront what he feared to see: a distant tidal wave, no doubt created by the shock, growing in the distance as it drew near to him, and thus, closer to the shore.

As quick as his stout legs would move him, he dashed about the deck of the ship, securing all that he could ahead of the coming calamity, and turning the small vessel into the approaching wave. Feeling the angle of the deck incline ever so slightly as the first vestiges of the tidal surge swelled beneath the ship, the sailor worked to lock the rudder in place, hoping beyond hope what he did might save the craft, and therefore, himself. The swell increased, the angle quickly becoming untenable, and the man had a choice: abandon the craft, or attempt to ride through the coming catastrophe. True to his nature, and knowing it to be no choice at all, he lashed himself to the tiller and waited.

A sudden gust, again nearly directly opposed to the coming wave, filled the sail, and urged the ship up, up, up the rolling mass of water. Hope grew in his breast that some sea god he had never acknowledged had, perhaps, come to him in this moment of dire need, and would give his craft the impetus needed to surmount the wave, and avoid the fate that loomed over him. The gust grew in strength, and the ship moved further up the swell.

Then the wave began to crest.

Grimly aware of what was to come, Tachys al’Fahn closed his eyes, and felt the ship slip, then roll backwards, the whole world going topsy-turvy for a few enduring moments, before crashing down around him, into a roaring, rending blackness.

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Today, as with every other day for some time, the woods were quiet. Not in the sense that it lacked the sound of travelers, or that the local animals, sensing his presence, had gone to ground and hushed to avoid being located, but a eerie stillness that lacked even the wind rushing through the leaves. Markham could understand nearby animals going still, but this went far beyond that, and the complete and utter emptiness of the forest unnerved him. Game had become extremely scarce, with the animals disappearing in waves... first the smallest of them all, then the next smallest, and so on. It was as if the animals had heard a call no human could discern, and fled towards it, never to be seen again. This was ridiculous, he knew, but the absurdity of it changed nothing. Markham had tracked down a fair number of larger animals over the past few weeks, but even these we becoming more rare as time progressed. Worse still, as the smaller game became scarce, the competition for it from larger predators grew, making the woods, already dangerous enough for the unwary and ignorant, even deadlier as these predators started hunting each other.

Something else the seasoned hunter had noticed since the War had ended, was the trees themselves. It was the middle of spring, yet nothing bloomed, not flower or tree, and leaves were beginning to cover the forest floor. Each day, that blanket grew thicker, and the canopy above began to wear thin, the hazy blue sky peeking through in places where no sunlight should show directly through for months yet to come. The ranger walked up to the trunk of one of the mighty oaks that proliferated in this section of the wood, and ran his hand across the rough bark. The tree looked diseased, the bark that should be thick, dark and whole was instead mottled and crumbling, and as he slid his hand further, a large portion of it came off the tree. Looking up, he saw some areas completely stripped bare to show the graying wood underneath.

It was not winter, so animals could not be to blame for the missing covering, he knew... Besides, what would be eating it anyway? he asked silently, knowing the deer had long since vacated this area. A glance at the ground showed where the bark had gone, large sections of it just laying about the base of the trunk. Kneeling down, he picked up a piece of the shed bark, the papery texture reminiscent of dead, sloughed skin. Another look around the area showed the same thing was happening to many other trees, as if they had been afflicted with some kind of infestation, yet there were not even insects upon which to lay blame.

As he stood to leave, Markham caught something at the very edge of perception... a small thing, as if he had heard the very last echo of a word spoken at the dawn of creation. Nervously, he cast about, searching for the source, but before he could find it, something else made itself known. This time, the source-less sound blasted up through the ground, reverberating in his bones, and the world seemed to turn sideways several times at once. Then as quickly as it had happened, it was gone, leaving the forest looking like a public house for giants the morning after a party. Everywhere around him, the trees, already weak, had fallen to the ground in random directions. If the lack of animals had made the forest eerie, the utter emptiness that surrounded him in the wake of this miniature cataclysm made Markham itch right between his shoulders. No longer desiring anything he might find here, and knowing, deep in his belly, that something was truly and deeply wrong, Markham turned and began to make his way back home, alone in this dying forest with only his troubled thoughts for company.

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Roland strode though the dusty streets of N'Yew with determination, seeking this day a certain loud and obnoxiously prideful mage. Once, there had been much more to Yew... the Court, the Abbey and its vinyards, the town itself, but now it was all but gone. The people were industrious and dedicated, but too few, with too little time, to make much of a dent in the rubble that was Yew after the Time of the Comet. Their perseverance brought a slight grin to his face, and a twinkle to his deep, slightly wide-set brown eyes.

"By all that is Virtuous, they will make it happen!" he thought, the pride in him swelling beyond the doubts for the first time in a long while. Things had truly been terrible at the outset, but the drive and spirit of the people of old Yew were ever up to the task. Though the town had been reduced to less than a husk of its former self, and the land still did not yield nearly as well as in times past, the Citizens had banded together to remake this home in the image of their newfound will, a place of iron with the soul of the forest. At first, dread things had continued to roam free through the shadows of night, and some stalked even into the daylight hours, but most of these had been pushed back into the nightmare realms from which they hailed. Now, the day was for the living, and even the twilight times were safe... well, safer, anyway.

He continued to scan the town for the head of long, straight blond hair he sought, still having no luck. Knowing the man he sought, Roland began to widen his search to include the occasional alleyway. "He always did like skulking when he was up to something." The wry thought brought a different grin to Roland's face.

Movement far down the alley he was passing caught his eye. Halfway out of the shadows, a tall, slender man in red silken robes stood menacingly before a child, hands chopping and slashing about in the throws of spellcasting. The child appeared frozen, though the reason was lost to Roland, given the distance and the fact the child was facing away from him. Knowing he was too far away to intervene, still Roland began a charge, hoping to get close enough to perhaps throw a weapon and interrupt the spell.

He saw the reagents come out, recognized the Mandrake, and felt the color drain from his face. The caster's downturned face, still mostly covered in shadow, was a barely discernible mask of utter concentration, the long strands of flaxen hair beginning to mat about his brow, absorbing the sweat from the effort needed to control any flows of ether these days. Considering the danger involved, and the presence of the Mandrake, Roland feared something truly diabolical, but could not even muster a shout to try and dislodge the child from its fearful paralysis.

Then the hands came up, the reagents glittering with fitful bursts of light as the ether infused and powered them, waiting for the incantation that would light the tinder, and Roland knew it was too late.

"IN MANI YLEM!!!" the caster cried exultantly, in a voice that rang pure as a perfect silver bell, yet at the same time sounding as though ripped from the very depths of the man's soul, echoing with variations of all that he was or ever could be. As the words melted from memory in the fashion of mist clearing before the morning sun, and Roland's eyes adjusted to the shadowy alley once more, he was gifted with a peculiar vision: A very exhausted, very sweaty, Alphonse al'Fahn squatting before the grinning child, extended hand holding a shiny red apple.

Shaking his head ruefully as he sheathed his sword, Roland stepped towards Alphonse, hand extended to help the shaky mage to his feet. "You really should cease with the cloak and dagger routine, it does not become you!" he said, chuckling.

"What, and take away the mystery for my adoring fans?" Alphonse quipped sarcastically. "Really, Roland, if I did this more openly, or more often, I could not handle the stress from the demand! "

Looking askance at his friend, Roland asked, "Is it really so difficult? I know and trust your assessment, but by your own past admission, this is not such a difficult spell to cast."

"That much is true, creating the occasional apple or wedge of stinky cheese is not staggeringly difficult. In times past, I would have barely given it a second thought for all the strength and ability required. The challenge now is the Ether." Alphonse clarified, "When I first learned the art, accessing it was much like selecting the appropriate sized container, and scooping it up as you might scoop water. Since the Comet, it is as if the Ether were no calm stream or pond, but a violent maelstrom centered around the caster. You must simultaneously root yourself in the center, and reach out to wrest what you need from the twisting currents of energy. One mis-step, and you could find yourself less a limb rather than holding handful of food... if you are extremely lucky!"

Roland allowed himself a low whistle of astonishment at the idea. "Is there any way to find the cause, and mayhap correct it?"

Alphonse appeared to consider the possibility, but then shook his head. "I've tried to divine the source of the disruption, but as the divination is to creating food as running a mile through broken terrain is to walking, my attempts have been few and dangerously unsuccessful."

"Certainly you could form a circle and link powers and abilities, making the working of higher magicks less strenuous?" Roland reasoned.

Alphonse shook his head again, "Even should I find any of like strength and ability, this would not be possible... Once, maybe, but the state of the Ether and how it must be handled disrupts any attempts to join efforts. Then, there is the feel to consider."

"Feel?" Roland asked skeptically, "What do you mean, feel"

"Exactly what it implies, Roland!" Alphonse snapped savagely, "There have been writings of times of similar distress... You've heard of them, certainly! The author usually bears an honorific such as "the Mad" or "the Gibberer"! I, for one, do not wish to sacrifice what remains of my mind and ability on the slim chance that I will miraculously repair what damage has been done!"

Roland, while expecting the outburst, was taken aback at the vitriol in his friend's voice.

 

Sorry to anyone who may be reading this for the delay, I've been under the weather for the past few days.
I'll wrap up with Mark here and move on to Brother the Third when I get a chance!

Also... this is really my second foray into the writing arena.... Likes, dislikes, and CC's appreciated

 

Hi Tachys, great story. Its incredibly difficult to write ocean scenes but you did a terrific job.

 

Thanks Hemlock!

I appreciate the feedback immensely!

Tweaked out the end of Markham's intro, and preparing to say hello to the Mage

 

All righty people! Markham is on his way home empty handed, and Al has filled in a tiny bit more "history"

 

There!!!! Sorry for the delay again... pneumonia and the passing of someone I held very dear kind of threw me out of whack for a while...

I know this doesn't count as a true addition, but I feel better about it! More to come!