Hello, hello. Back again, after a very busy time of a writing high. Yep, completed five chapters of my story. Yay yay!! Actually, on the subject of the story, I decided to change it to an allegory. So, I kept the plot, but I changed the names and some of the other things. Characters are all the same, but I did add three more side villains. Just needed more. :D So, enjoy chapter one. (Yes, pinch yourself, it's finally ready. :D) Oh, and any comments or suggestions would be awesome! :)
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Chapter One
Seeing the sun rise is beautiful. The colors paint so many stories; the sky welcomes them with open arms. The grass even sparkles. Seeing the sunrise over a mountain, with the embers of a fire burning out, waking up with nothing over your head, is astounding. It’s as if the world is waking up just for you.
I sit up, rubbing my head, enjoying the view. Nash is already up, stirring the flames back to life. His pack is neatly packed up, ready to go. He is fully dressed, and looks as if he has already done his morning excercise.
“Morning,” he says gruffly.
“Good morning.”
“Here, do your exercises. We still have fifteen minutes before breakfast.”
I stand, shaking out the leaves. I’m already dressed, so all I have to do is strap on my swords, which I do. Carefully, I make my way over the rocks slick with dew to a flat ledge, with room enough to move.
For less than five minutes I practice, making exaggerated movements, working on footwork, and hacking down imaginary foes. Suddenly, a voice behind me pipes up.
“You ain’t never going to beat no one with moves like that, heh.”
Nash sits behind me, imitating the speech of the mountain men. He has his dagger in his hand. I suppose he’s been watching me the whole time. He moves quieter than night, and has a skill at blending in in plain sight.
He stands up, moving quickly and calculated. Before I know it, he has his knife pressed to my throat. I don’t struggle, knowing from past experiences that it’s useless to do so. So instead I stand, slowly getting my elbow into position.
Nash may be stronger than me, but he leaves too many weak spots, and underestimates his enemies. Quickly, I use my elbow to hit his nose. He recoils, clutching his bleeding nose. He curses.
We circle each other, like two cats waiting to attack. Finally, I leap forward, wielding my sword. I swing, he dodges. Quickly he attacks from behind, jumping on my back. It is all I can do to stay up. But by twisting and writhing I slip out of his grip.
For a rousing twenty minutes we continue in this way, me darting, him attacking. It only ended when he has both my swords pointed at me.
We eat our breakfast quickly, then hoist our packs and move out. I look back as we leave our little camp. It has been our camp for a week, which is longer than most of our other camps. But Nash has been getting antsy, or so he told me. I think he is just nervous. He’s always nervous.
This time, we take a trail going towards the White Rider’s palace. Cant is the dictator, or the Electorate, as he refers to himself, of Pangea. Of course, this is disputed. The other three Riders are in control of most other places in Pangea. But, the four Riders seem to have a system worked out over who was in charge.
Before I realize it, we are in sight of Tyranel, the town surrounding Cant’s fortress. I pause, wondering why we are going to a city. We never go to cities. It’s too dangerous, Nash says, too easy to get lost, to die in. Even though that’s true, we both know that’s not the reason we stay away. We’ve dealt with worse things in the small villages we go to than the city has to offer. But both of us have secrets. Sad, dark, painful secrets.
But Nash doesn’t stop, he just waves me on. Sucking up my courage, I follow.
The city hasn’t changed much since I’ve last been in it, some two years ago. It stil isl a rough mix of glass, concrete, and stone. The trains rattle the older structures. People rush past, heads down. Smells of fragrant spices mingle with the smell of blood and raw meat from the butchers. Rith stand at every corner, and several hooded characters eye us.
“Spys.” Nash whispers.
Venders shove used wares in our faces, and merchants shout and wave glittering gold. Large screens hang off most walls, every hundred meters or so. The logo of Tyranel is plastered on them. Flags decorated in the deep red and white, depicting a bow and a crown, hang everywhere. People even wear them in their hair.
Nash leads the way through the thick crowd to a clearing. A cluster of people are gathered round a street performer. A sword fighter. Nash signals me closer.
“I’m gonna, you know, do what we do.”
“Excuse me? Do what we do? Walk?”
He sighs and pinches his nose.
“No, pebble brain, not walk. Fight him!”
“Ohhhh. Right.”
“Yeah, right. Right, you know the drill, heh?”
“Yeah, uh, I go steal things and you fight. Yep.”
“Right. Meet you at the gates.”
Nash steps through the crowd. He looks small. The swordfighter turns when Nash yells at him.
He looks him over for a minute, then seems to lose interest.
“Hey! I challenge you to a fight!”
This gets his attention.
“You miniscule dwarf! Storge not fight dwarf!” A few in the crowd laugh. Nash huffs impatiently.
“I’m not a dwarf. In fact, I bet I could beat you, too.”
“Storge not be beaten by dwarf! Storge get angry! Storge accept challenge!”
With a loud bellow, the fight was on.
Several shopkeepers left their stalls and crowded around to watch. Acting natural, I began taking anything that looked valuable.
In the background, I could hear Nash taunting Storge.
“How’s that feel?” He asked after he landed a good blow on his chin.
“Storge not feel anything! Storge not feel!”
“Ah, you need a manual to put this fight back together?”
“Storge doesn’t need manual!”
I had finished. I am just about to head to the gate, when suddenly I see a shop full of books. Books are not printed anymore. The only books you can get are at licensed book shops, of which there are none too many.
Someone had once let me read a book. Everyone could read, but mostly it was notices, documents on wars, royal proclamations. I had loved the book. All my life I hadn’t forgotten that book. It was about a boy genius, an outcast, who saves the world. Aliens were attacking, and through clever deception, the military trick him into leading a war, which in the process kills the whole of the alien population. But he finds one queen alien egg, and searches the star to find a home for them to live in.
So I stepped into the book store. It smelled strange, like mold and water. The shopkeeper is in the back, so I quickly begin searching for a book. I am about to leave with a book about becoming fearless, but I dislodge another book when I grab it. It falls to the floor, it’s title just like the book I read.
Without a moments hesitation I grab it, then rush out of the store, hearing a shout behind me. Suddenly Rith are beginning to get to close. I dash into an alley, and skid to a halt. Rith block the exit and the entrance. The only way out is through the Rith. Or up. I decide that since I can’t very well jump twenty feet in the air, and I can’t push through 100 pounds of metal, I should sweet talk my way out. I don’t really know if that’ll work, but it’s my only hope.
“Uh, hello. Can I help you?” They don’t do anything. “You see, I was just on my way out. I’m leaving to go live with my, er, fiance. Yup, my fiance, because I have one. And he’s my fiance.” I realize too late I sound like I am either dumb or just plain weird. Or lying. I choose to hope that the Rith have no concept of lying. They must not because they don’t move or react in any way.
Then they charge. I’m going to be sandwiched between 200 pounds of metal if I don’t do anything. And that’s when I see a rope hanging off a building.
Not waiting to question if the rope will hold me, I pull myself up on it. It falls limp to the ground, me on it. Stunned, I feel the Rith circle me. In their monotone voice, one orders me to my feet.
“Felon, you must stand up and follow us to Cant’s palace.”
“Okay, okay. Just give me a minute.”
“The Rith do not give minutes to felons.”
“Right, all right. I did just fall of a rope.”
“Correction: The rope fell off.”
“Uh-huh. The rope fell off. Alright, blame it on whoever you want. Fine by me.”
“We are not fine by you.”
“Excuse me?” I am beginning to enjoy myself.
“We are not fine by you.”
“You got that right.”
The Rith stare at me. One finally responds.
“We are confused by your words.”
“Yep. Me too.”
“Do you mean you are too confused by your words.”
“Maybe.”
“Maybe we are too.”
“Okay, then. Good to know.”
“We know good.”
This time, I’m confused. It might be because of the stupidity of the Rith or the falling off the rope.
“Uh-huh. Sure. I’m gonna, uh, I’m gonna go now.”
I stand up. The Rith don’t try to stop me. I try to calmly walk away, but I still walk faster than normal. Holding my breath, I walk down another road, but no Rith come for me. Did I just talk my way out of an arrest?
*************
We meet back at the gate, like arranged. Apparently, Nash won.
“As you can imagine, Storge wasn’t so happy. I think he’s trying to get me arrested, but none of the Rith will listen.” We both laughed.
“So then, whad’ya get?”
“Three engraved daggers - I figure we can get at least enough money to buy us some sword polish - a gold ring, some bread and fruit, three cases of wine - I figure Mr. Siltson will be interested - and two pairs of glasses.”
“Let me see!” We both put them on. Instead of just seeing the world, we see information about the world.
“Alright, we keep one pair, we sell the other.” He instructs.
“And,” I continue, “best for last.”
I hold up to sets of clothes, one black, one forest green.
We both look down at our clothes. Dusty, worn, too small, and worst of all, white. White like the Rith’s dress. White like Cant. White like Tyranel.
Hastily we pull them on, even putting our weapons on. For Nash it’s a dagger. For me it’s two swords, crossed in an “X” on my back.
“Now,” Nash says, “We make camp. You were right, we’re practically in the city limits. So, I think we might as well just make useful out of the city and sleep in a bed for a change. Come on then, don’t lag.”
Shocked, I stand up, hoisting on my pack, and follow Nash.
**************
Myron decided that she loved what she did. It wasn't a perfect job, it didn't have instant rewards, but it gave her pleasure. The thrill, the satisfaction, the strange repulsion that resulted in an understanding of it. At first she had hated it. The bloody gore and moral dilemma had been enough to make Myron wish she had never gotten into the industry. But soon, partly coaxed by Gad, she fell in a disgusting love with it. But just as she had been enjoying her job, they had had to stopped.
The saying "secrets can kill" had never meant much to Myron. Everyone in her life had never wanted to hide anything from her. Myron, the good, sweet, little girl, who no one wanted to hurt. But Myron wasn't sure those words still described her.
Secrets can kill. They can bring pain and suffering and heartbreak. And she and Gad had found secrets that could and would kill.
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It started off as a normal work day. She and Gad had marched into the "Capitol" wearing the white and blue outfit of their position. Commander Hyram had been waiting, drumming his hands on the table.
"543 and 7-1, you're late. Unacceptable." He paused, but he wasn't finished. "We watch houses night and day, but even our extensive research cannot fortell everything. However, we can get some details. Our methods...They don't matter in the big scheme of things. The ends justify the means, neh?"
"Yes sir." They muttered.
"Now where was I...Ah yes! The ends justify the means. But we cannot justify the means if there is no end. You following, pebble brains? I cannot afford to have employees like you who risk throwing of the whole balance. One grain of rice can tip the scales. Now, by being late, you could have let Mr. 7776890 slip through our fingers. He could have finally gotten an audience with Mr. Evil, our dearest ruler. He could have gone for a pint, gone for a picnic, gone forever. Most of our jobs have an hour window. You miss that...you have an angry client. So, next time, banana butts, you will be cut. Oh, in every sense of the word."
Slowly he moved away from them. Mal handed them a file.
"Sorry ‘bout the chew out. You know C. Hyram, gets worked up over the littlest of things. A client has complained about the time crunch. Weapons on the wall!"
Gad moved slower today than normal, but Myron decided today's job was a quick one. She herself had gone over the prep files, she knew a little about 7776890. She knew that his name was Sid Santerel and he was in his sixties. He owned a press company pushing for religious freedom, among other shockingly rebellious views. Apparently he had an enemy. Myron suspected it was Cant himself.
They each selected three weapons, hiding them in their clothes. Sid's house was in the richer part of town, apparently his newspaper sold well. They had to hop on a train, illegally of course. They stood out on the train; it was mostly rich people. They didn't really have much of a ride, the train traveled fifty miles in less than five minutes. Santerel's house was a short walk from the station.
His house had once been magnificent, Myron could tell. It was made of stone, like most houses, but had intricate carvings. She noted with a chill they were of Rith fighting humans. Vines had long since claimed the house as their own. Windows, doors, everything was overgrown with weeds. The rusted gates creaked when Gad pushed them open. They didn't bother to sneak up the drive. They stood, unsure of what to do, on the parapet. Suddenly the door flew open. A small old man stood hunched over, peering through strong round glasses at them, a frog like expression on his face.
“Hello, there!” He smiled.
“Er, hello, sir.” Gad said.
“Ah, British, I see.”
“Just him. Uh, we’re here with a newspaper.”
His face turned sour.
“No, I will not sell the newspaper, I will not come work for you, and I will not give you my tricks of the trade.”
“Uh, actually,” Gad spoke up, “we are just going to do an article about your home life. Don’t worry, we won’t pry!”
They both put on a peppy interviewer face. Gad looked like he was in pain.
“Ah, shucks. We did they have to send kids over? How could I say no? Alright come on in. Don’t get mud on the carpet!”
The inside suited a normal life, contradicting the outside. They were led to a warm cozy looking sitting room. He pointed to a sofa for them, and settled himself into overstuffed faded chair near a fireplace.
"Ah, I would sit in the parlour, but I need a fire. Getting old is no fun in winter." He smiled a toothless smile. “So what would you like to know about Wormwood?”
"Wormwood?" Gad asked.
"Aye, Wormwood. This great hall is Wormwood! It was my grandfather's for generations, and now mine. This is were I think! This is my lab, my printing press, my love!"
"Who names their "love" Wormwood?" Gad asked.
"Ah, well that is something you British would never understand, love. It's far too complex for minds as single minded as yours." He cackled.
"Wormwood isn't the name of your newspaper though, is it?" Myron asked.
"Nah. The Herald of Hope. I wanted it to be Wormwood, but would you buy a paper named that?"
Myron found herself laughing. She quickly silenced herself.
"But you never answered my question: what brings you here?"
"Well, we were..." She started, then was interrupted by Gad.
"But why Wormwood?"
"Why not, neh?"
"But it doesn't really inspire love, or positive feelings. Sort of...disgust."
"Not for me it doesn't. Wormwood is my life's work. It had made up who I am all my life."
"I thought that press was your life." Myron asked. Sid looked from Gad to Myron.
"Well, I hope you have a long time and need a great story for your newspaper, kiddies. I've been wanting to tell this story for a long time, and now here is an audience! So, you want a story. This is a fantastic tale of treachery, deceit, revenge, and love. This is the story of my life."
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"I remember going to live with me old grandpop. I don't remember me old man dying, or my mum dying, me sister. But I do remember walking up the drive to Wormwood, then of course known as Humble Park. Well, that was it's official and proper name, but most just called it Hummy Park. Don't ask me why, it just was. Probably some street boys misread the sign and the name stuck. Well, anyhow, I was a lanky boy of 12, young and ready for the world. But me old grandpop wasn't exactly a loving Mrs, if you know what I mean. Of course, I was scared for, received all the attention in the world from the servants, but not from pops. I adored him, that old coot. He did nothing great, but he made me think. I began imitating him, experimenting with chemicals and the likes. I even went past the line and experimented on animals, but I soon stopped that. Anyway, at age fifteen, my pop finally paid attention to me, after a particularly successful experiment. He took me into his confidence. He was working on something, something he said would change Hummy Park for the better. Now, it was around this time, neh, that Cant came into power, along with the other Riders.
"One day, after me old pops and me had been working on the experiment for, oh...about a month or two by then, his ambiguousness called on us. Of course it was about the experiment. It became known as Experiment 56.
"So anyhow, now the real story begins.
"Pops passed away two years later, when I was but 19. Instead of running to college, I kept working on old 56. Meanwhile, one of my pop's spies, Sadie Lankurd, was her name. Well, never mind that, she reported to me, now old pappy was gone in the grave. She said that pop's death wasn't normal.
"Naturally I put effort into finding out what happened. Then, I did find out. Sadie had been leading this effort, and she found out what happened. Experiment 56 had failed, flopped, reacted. It was what killed me pops.
"Well now anyways, I was insistent on destroying 56. Luckily, Sadie managed to stop me. At this point, I decided to change everything I could that reminded me of pops, since I had grown fond of him, and the pain was still there.
"So I changed this old place to Wormwood, you know, from the Bible. I even changed my name to Sid Santerel from Cal Foster.
"I continued the experiment. Over time, Cant lost interest. So I had to find my own financier. None were interested, so I created a newspaper to get money. No one could guess I would become famous, rich, popular.
"Once more, 56 flopped. This time altogether Cant forbid me from working on it. I started to in secret and became a strict hater of Cant."
_____________________
When he had finished his monologue, Gad and Myron exchanged looks. Experiment 56? Myron was about to ask what Experiment 56 was, when Gad asked:
"Wormwood from the Bible? You a Christian? You do know that's forbidden, to be a Christian?" "Hell, yes I know that. But still that doesn't stop me. How do you expect to go through life just serving yourself? Sooner or later you'll realize that you need something more in life, something bigger than you. Someone powerful. I found that out the hard way. Don't follow down my path." He paused. "But of course you're thinking I'm just a stranger and that I am a crazy old coot. Well, do as you please."
There was an uncomfortable silence.
"Um, Mr. Foster, er, Santerel?"
"Please, Cal."
"Alright, uh, Cal. What, what is Experiment 56, exactly?"
"Ah."
Cal seemed to grow remorseful, sad. With a breaking voice, he answered. "Uh, Experiment 56? It...it...Well, it's easier to explain if you see it. Come along then!"
He quickly hopped out of his chair and beckoned us to follow. This man seemed as attracted to mood swings as a bee is to flowers. They followed, but Gad pulled Myron aside. "Ahem, we're here to, uh, do the do, not learn about some kooky experiment!"
"Think of it as fulfilling this man's dying wish, neh? Now, we can't very well just do the do on him without showing a little respect. Come on. For me, at least."
Gad sighed. "Yeah. Whatever, love."
***********
For the first time in two years, Nash and I sleep in warm beds, no bugs, no wild animals, no elements to wake us up. Nothing to run from, nothing to shiver at, nothing to fear.
Nothing to fear, just like the legendary Azaria. I like thinking that I have nothing to fear. Nothing to fear.
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So that's that. Let me know what you think!!
Happy Writing!
Scarlet
