Tuesday, January 22, 2013

Writing: "Darkness Rising" Chapter Four (unfinished)

Better then chapter three, but I'm only doing this for feedback. No copying, lest ye die.



        Chapter Four

Rayolin sped down the ID-2 at ninety miles an hour, listening to his music in silence. Everyone else in the car had fallen asleep almost an hour ago. His thoughts wandered until he started thinking about the Martyrist at the gas station that had tried to kill him. I wonder if he had a family. Rayolin thought. He shook his head and dismissed any thoughts about the man’s humanity. He had been on the run from the church for ten years before finally settling in Valhark. He’d changed his name and identity and waited to move until he was sure that the Martyrists thought he was dead.
And they had. He had remained safe for almost three years, convincing Asenath and Liriel to join him in hiding. Handellen was the only one the church knew was still alive, and it had cost him. Now he was on the run again, and he had reason to believe that the Martyrists knew he was alive. He had been seen in Vorshig, and a few of the attackers might have recognized him.
He began to change lanes, but the sound of a car horn rang out and he saw that there had been a car sitting in his blind spot. He sped up and changed lanes without any more trouble. ID-2 went directly from Kittim to Vorshig, so he didn’t have to change roadways at all. Rayolin forced himself to stay awake. There was still another hour and a half of driving to do before they got to the city, and it wouldn’t help if Rayolin fell asleep at the wheel. After ten more minutes Itham woke up and groaned as he rubbed his eyes.
“How long have I been asleep?” He asked tiredly.
“About an hour ago,” Rayolin said. “There’s another hour and a half until we reach Kittim.” Itham nodded and leaned back again, falling asleep quickly. Rayolin continued driving, thinking again about the seven years he had spent on the run. Caladon had been quick to send men after him after he had left the church, planning to tell a large group of people about Caladon’s mobilization plans. Even after Caladon died, his successor had still sent people to bring them in. Nothing would be more embarrassing for the church than an exposed plan to attack the Creed.
Suddenly the car in front of Rayolin slowed down. Rayolin hit the brakes hard, stopping just in time. It looked like there had been an accident ahead, and traffic had slowed dramatically. Rayolin tapped the wheel impatiently, waiting for the cars ahead of him to move. They sat there for five minutes before the car in front of him started moving at a snail’s pace. Rayolin yelled in exasperation and changed lanes, ignoring the car he had butted in front of. He accelerated quickly, changing lanes again so he could go faster. Finally he got through the slow traffic and started going the speed he had gone before. The car in front of him was going slower than the speed limit, so Rayolin put on his signal to change lanes again.
As he checked his mirror to make sure he was clear, he noticed that the car right behind him was the same car he had changed lanes in front of a few minutes ago. Suspicious, he changed lanes. The car behind him did as well. Rayolin smiled. At least they’re obvious about following me, Rayolin thought. He sped up until he was going a hundred and six miles per hour and changed lanes several times. He slowed back down and noticed that the car was still following him. Rayolin swore and started weaving between cars, careful to avoid speeding too much so that he wouldn’t get pulled over.
The car followed him the entire way, pulling next to him in the opposite lane. Rayolin noticed that there was another traffic jam ahead, so he sped up. He missed the congestion barely, and the car that had been following him didn’t make it at all. He shouted in relief as he continued down the interdistrict.
They were almost at Kittim when Itham woke up again.
“Twenty more minutes, and we’re there.” Rayolin told him before he could say anything. Itham nodded and yawned, but did not go back to sleep this time.
He heard a gunning car engine behind him, and a car pulled next to him, matching Rayolin’s speed. Rayolin sped up before another car pulled into the other lane next to him, both cars rolling down their windows and shooting. The bullets hit the windows, but they were bulletproof. Rayolin swore again as he felt a pull on the ring on his finger. The ring had a quartz gemstone in the center, a counterstone against people trying to Arcanically attack him with any form of Procurial magic.
He figured that since they were chasing him, they were probably going to try to take his will so he would pull to the side and stop. They probably also had a couple of Houndsmen in their, men with Arcanically enhanced smell who could follow a trail across long distances. He reached out with his own Arcanic power and tried to wear down several things, including the tires. But the church had outfitted the car with counterstones, so Rayolin could not break down any part of the car.
Itham sat wide-eyed in the backseat, terrified that the two cars would kill them. Asenath had woken up as soon as the gunfire had started, and was loading her own weapon now. Liriel was the only one still asleep.
“Rayolin, there aren’t any counterstones on this road!” Asenath shouted. He looked at the road and saw that she was right. He concentrated, mentally breaking the world down into the tiny building blocks he envisioned whenever he destroyed something Arcanically. He tore up as much of the road as he could and sighed as one of the cars hit the hole at ninety miles an hour. He continued driving, and winced as he heard several cars behind him crash as a result of what he had done. Can’t do that anymore, he thought.
Instead he concentrated on the gasoline burning in the engine of his car while Asenath held the wheel. He broke down the gas, making it react more violently. He was pushed back in his seat as the car accelerated to a speed faster than most vehicles could go. He heard horns honk as he passed them, knowing that he would be reported to the police. He would have to worry about that after he got to Kittim.
He continued increasing the combustion reaction to keep the car at its current speed. As the gasoline reserves dwindled, he took a break to take the wheel and let Asenath build up more. It wouldn’t be the same as actual gas, but it would work well enough to get them where they needed to go. They had lost the car several miles back, but Rayolin wasn’t going to take any chances. He didn’t want them catching up again.
His grip on the steering wheel relaxed as they entered the city of Kittim. He turned onto an old cobblestone street and pulled up to the Hall of Miracles. He got out of the car and looked around. There were ten cars parked right in front of the Hall and on the adjacent street. There was a middle-aged man talking to several policemen near the front door, and an ambulance was driving away.
“What happened here?” Itham asked.
“Don’t know. Probably something to do with the Martyrists.” He walked over to the man who was talking and addressed the policemen.
“What happened?” He said.
“There’s been an attack at this building. Several injured, but none killed thankfully.”
“Who was responsible?”
“Several Heriamite men without any form of I.D. They haven’t been identified yet.” He said.
“Are they related in any way?”
“Ah, there you are Rayolin.” Said another man who had just come out of the Hall. 

And just for kicks and giggles, I'll include a brief outline of the chapter that I wrote a while back.


The chapter starts from Rayolin’s point of view. He is the only person awake in the car. He drives for several minutes before noticing that a car is following him. He grows suspicious, and tries to lose it in the interdistrict. He finally loses the car, but two more cars start shooting at him. An Arcanist in one of the cars tries to take away Rayolin’s will, but he has a countershield ring on, so their attempts to control him fail. He tries to knock one of the cars out of the chase by wearing down the tires, but their tires have countershields on as well. So instead he wears down the road, causing the car to hit a newly formed pothole and crash at freeway speeds. The culture is heavily influenced by the competition between magic and nonmagic, so theoretically the road should be implemented with gemstones, but this particular road has not because the cost of setting gems in every road in the kingdom is monumentally expensive. Rayolin outdistances the other car by using his power to cause the reactions in the car’s engines to happen faster, thus enabling the car to speed up for a short time. At this point he wakes up Asenath, who replenishes the depleted gasoline by building a replacement that isn’t as effective as actual gasoline but gets the job done until they can get more gas. They finally get to Kittim, and stop at the Miracle center (change name to something cooler) that is there (miracle center is kittim equivalent for hall of miracles.) the chapter ends when they find out that the miracle center in Kittim has been attacked as well, but almost everyone survived the attack. The city had received warning after Vorshig and prepared for a possible attack. Despite tight security the attack still got through but the assailants were quickly captured after a brief firefight.
 

Writing: "Darkness Rising" Chapter Three

Before you read this one, I have to warn you that it is complete and utter crap. I am embarrassed to have written such horribly done characters, but I need to know how to do better with characters, so I'm mainly posting this because I need a little feedback. This is 100% my idea, and if anyone copies any of this stuff then I will get after them. Don't even try to enjoy this one, because it's so bad. Don't even talk to me about Lareth, okay? He is easily the worst of the bunch.



       Chapter Three

            A whip snapped through the air as the struggled in the taskmaster’s grip. It hit his exposed back with a loud crack, and he screamed in pain. He whimpered as the whip came up for another hit, screaming louder when it hit the second time.
            Javan turned away, unable to watch any longer. Nathan had once been a member of the Nathalael middle class, but had been caught in the act of robbing a priest. The punishment had been slavery. He was being whipped because he had been caught trying to escape, a crime usually punished by death. But Nathan had been put on the lists of those who would be sacrificed in the Temple of the Sun at the end of the harvest season, and Nathan had tried to run.
            Javan went back to work as the screaming continued. He blocked the sounds from his mind, focusing only on the task at hand. He gathered more wheat, putting it in a container several feet away. After several more minutes, the screaming stopped. Javan turned back for a minute, watching the taskmasters carry Nathan’s unconscious form into Rathanel’s house, the door shutting behind them. Several Salashien took advantage of this opportunity to rest, but Javan shook his head and continued working.
            The taskmasters came back out again. They yelled at the slaves that had not returned to their positions quickly enough, and praised those that were working. The taskmasters were only cruel to those who disobeyed their will. He felt a hand clap his shoulder, and looked behind him. Inithi was a taskmaster, but for some reason he had taken a liking to Javan. He was more lenient towards him, and for that most of the other slaves hated him.
            “Good job, Javan.” Inithi said. “I didn’t think I’d have to tell you to get back to work, and you didn’t surprise me.”
            Javan noticed that many of the taskmasters were shepherding the slaves into the house. “What’s going on, Inithi?” He asked.
            “The city priest has ordered an evacuation.”
            “An evacuation? Why?” Javan said.
            “A group of Kalathi soldiers are headed toward Nod.”
            The King’s men must have made it back to the first group and continued fighting, Javan thought. He had assumed that the ambushing forces had wiped them out. He thought fast, reaching conclusions quickly. If I can avoid the evacuation, than I’ll be reunited with the King’s Men and escape slavery. He nodded to Inithi and walked into the house. He walked up a flight of stairs to an oak door and knocked before entering.
            “Rathanel, its Javan.” He said.
            “Come in, Javan.” Rathanel said. Javan entered the room to see Rathanel standing next to the window, loading a gun. “The city is going to be attacked, and I will be aiding its defense.” He put the gun on the bed and loaded another one. “I’m going to be supplying many of Nod’s defenders with firearms.”
            “Are we going out of the city?” Javan said.
            “Yes. I can’t trust most of your fellow Salashien with a shovel, let alone a gun.”
            Javan nodded. “I trust I’ll be in charge of them?”
            “No, you won’t.” Rathanel said, shaking his head. “You’re going to be leaving the city by yourself.”
            Javan frowned. “But why?” He said cautiously. Most slaves that were sent out of the city alone were killed or sold to another captor. Thoughts of escape surfaced to the forefront of his mind, but he brushed those aside.
            “Because I’m going to be releasing you, Javan,” He said. “You will be given back to the Kalathi soldiers when the Priest goes to parlay. You will be leaving with them.”
            Javan ignored the tears welling up in his eyes. “So I’ll be free?” He said.
            “As much as I hate to say it, yes. You will be free.” The tears slid down Javan’s cheeks, but he didn’t wipe them off. “You were one of the best slaves I have had, Javan. I will be missing your work.” He said. Javan nodded, and left the room. He went to his quarters and let loose his welled up emotions. He had made friends in Nod, but now he would be going back to his wife and grandchildren, who likely thought he was dead. He came back to the main hall after several minutes. He was walking toward the door when Inithi’s hand clapped his shoulder again.
            “Where you going, Javan?” He said.
            “Inithi, if you would be so kind as to escort Javan to the Priest’s home.” Rathanel said as he entered the hall. “He will be released to his fellow soldiers at parlay.” Inithi nodded, and together they walked to his car. They did not speak on the way to the Priest. The drive was short, and Inithi waved briefly as Javan walked toward the Priest’s house. He kicked the door, the Nathalael equivalent of knocking. At Rathanel’s farm he had knocked because he was informal most of the time, but here he would follow the Nathalael customs. The door opened, revealing a tall, fat man.
            “Are you Rathanel’s soldier?” The man asked him, looking down.
            “Yes,” Javan said.
            “You’re a lot older than I expected.” He said. “Come in, and I will bring you to the Priest.” The Priests home was humble, being only one floor. The only servant the Priest had was the man who had answered the door. They walked into a room with a small bed in one corner and a small bookshelf in the other corner. A man, presumably the Priest, was meditating on the floor.
            “Priest, I have the soldier you requested for the parlay.” The servant said.
            The man looked up. “Good.” He looked Javan up and down. “Leave the room, Nardeth. I would like to speak to the veteran alone for a minute.” The Priest got up as Nardeth left the room. “You are older than I expected you to be.” He said.
            “That’s what your servant said, as well.” Javan said politely, trying to avoid offending the priest in any way.
            “Have you fought in any wars other than the one we fight now?” The Priest asked.
            “I served for six years in the Kalathi military forty years ago, Priest.” Javan said.
            “I presume you fought in the last war against my nation as well, or are my assumptions incorrect?” The Priest said calmly.
            “You presume correctly.” Javan said carefully. “I was twenty-one when I joined, a young man who wanted to fight for his King.”
            “And the wars then didn’t give you your fill of battle?” The Priest said. “Why did you join the military again, thirty-eight years later?”
            Javan paused. “I don’t know, Priest.” The Priest nodded, and sat back down.
            “You may rest until we are ready to leave, which will be at Highsun. He closed his eyes, and Javan left the room. He searched for Nardeth, and asked him for some food. He ate and went to sleep on the floor in the small hallway near the front door. He woke up and checked the clock in the kitchen. It was five minutes to Highsun. He went back into the Priest’s room. He stopped as he entered, his joints aching. He had aged well, but it was finally beginning to get to him. The Priest got up, opening his eyes and putting on a pair of glasses that had been resting on the bookshelf. “Very well,” He said, “We will go.” They left the house, walking toward the edge of the small city. They approached the Kalathi army and saw them firing at a large group of Nathalael troops that were taking cover behind a barricade of cars. The Priest paused for a moment and ran to the group of Nathalael soldiers.
            “What’s going on?” The Priest said to one of the men taking cover.
            “Several of our men started to fire at the Kalathi, sir.” He said. “They fired back.”
            “Who fired?” The soldier pointed to four men who were firing above the bullet-ridden cars. The Priest walked over to them and shot all four of them in the head. “Ceasefire!” The Priest yelled. The Nathalael stopped firing and looked at him, awaiting commands. A couple of the soldiers protested but were silenced by the others. He walked around the cars toward the Kalathi, his hands held above his head. Javan followed him, noticing several of the King’s Men reloading their weapons. Javan was shocked to see Reuel Eleazar at the front of the army, his face dirty and flecked with blood.
            “I believe I called for a parlay.” The Priest said.
            Reuel clenched his fists tightly. “We were ready to answer it, Priest,” He spat, “But your men started shooting at us. We only returned fire.” He said.
            “I know what my men have done.” The Priest said. “I have killed the four men that violated this meeting and your trust.”
            Reuel nodded and looked at Javan, making eye contact. “Javan? Is that you?” He asked. Most of the soldiers at the front gasped when they recognized him from the beginning of the campaign five years ago
            “He was Salashien to a man in the city.” The Priest said. “He has been released from servitude to be given back to the group he once belonged to.” Reuel nodded in shock as Javan walked over, clasping the King’s brother in a brief embrace before standing next to him.
            “We would like to stop this conflict here, without any further bloodshed.” The Priest said. “The gods have told us at our last meeting in the summer to end this war as soon as possible, or our nation will fall.”
            Reuel nodded again. “We would like that as well, as soon as my men and I know why you initiated the conflict in the first place.”
            The Priest paused for a moment, gathering his thoughts before he spoke. “Will you talk to me in private?”
            Reuel went with the Priest to a nearby building. As they talked, Javan looked back at the men that were assembled behind him. He spotted a familiar face near the front, making eye contact briefly before Lareth Eleazar turned away from him. Javan turned his eyes away from Lareth to talk to the soldiers that were questioning him. He recognized about a third of the faces in the company, but the rest were all new to him. Either the King’s Men had been reinforced over the past five years, or Javan’s memory was failing, probably both. He turned to where he had last seen Lareth, but he had left. His attention shifted as Reuel came back to the company.
            “What’s going to happen, Commander?” One of the men asked. It seemed that Lareth was no longer commander over the company. With the way that he and Elan had been treated, it was probably a good thing.
            “We’re going to negotiate a treaty as soon as the High Priest comes from The Temple of the Sun.” The men cheered as Reuel said this. “If the negotiations work out, we’ll be going home.” The entire company cheered. “But for now,” Reuel said, “We need to set up camp.”
            The soldiers scattered and began setting up tents. Javan walked through the crowd, looking for the Crown Prince. He bumped into someone as he was walking past.
            “Javan!” A voice exclaimed.
            “Wiren? What are you doing here?” Javan asked as the man shook his hand with vigor. “I thought you were going to leave the company!”
            Wiren was one of the quartermasters whose tour had ended just before the ambush that ended with Javan as a slave. He was a medium sized, stocky man with long hair and a clean-shaven face. He broke into a smile.
“I was,” He replied, but a large group of new men came in right before I was scheduled to leave. We already had a shortage of competent quartermasters, so I was asked to stay for another year.”
            “Then you should have left four years ago!” Javan said. “You didn’t upset the Crown Prince, did you?”
            The man shook his head. “Even if I had, he wouldn’t have been able to do a thing about it. He was released from command by his uncle a couple of months after the ambush.”
            “What for?” Javan said.
            “The way he treated you and Elan, he was doing that with everybody after the ambush. During meetings he would lash out without warning. Rumor went around that being saved by Elan after treating him so badly and then watching the kid die messed him up. But I’m not sure if I believe that. You’d have to ask him yourself.”
            “Take care, Wiren.” Javan said as they parted.
            He wandered around the camp for almost two hours before he saw Reuel Eleazar talking to someone who Javan didn’t recognize. He could tell from the markings on his uniform that the man was a general. Javan waited for the two men to finish talking before he addressed Reuel.
            “Commander, I’ve been looking for your nephew.” Javan told him.
            “He’s in the tent over there with the gold emblem on it.” Reuel said. Javan nodded and went to the tent. He announced his presence and entered when a voice gruffly replied to come in.
            Lareth Eleazar had grown a lot since Javan had seen him. The boy had to be at least twenty-two now, because he had been seventeen when the ambush had happened. He sat on the chair that had been set up in the corner of the room and waited for Lareth to speak. For ten minutes the room was silent. Finally Javan cleared his throat, looking at the clock hanging on the wall.
            “You’ve grown a lot, Lareth.” Javan said.
            “I don’t think that’s all you have to say, grandfather.” Lareth said with a poisonous tone. “Are you going to insult me, or tell me how badly I led the company?”
            Javan paused for a moment before speaking. “You were a terrible leader,”
Javan began,
            “Exactly! What did the soldiers tell you? That I was released from command from my uncle because I was doing such a terrible job?! Is that what they told you?” Lareth shouted. Javan nodded slowly.
            “They were lying! I wasn’t released from command, I gave up command. I quit! Those rumors were another attempt to slander me!”
            “Why are you telling me this?” Javan asked him.
            “Because you’re the one that started it!” Lareth yelled. “You’re the one that started the ridicule in the first place! I gave up my position because I’m not fit for command. I watched the man I had been cruel to die after saving me, not because he thought I was important, but because I was the Crown Prince!”
            “Don’t talk to me about Elan!” Javan yelled back. “He didn’t die because you were the Crown Prince, he died because he didn’t have time to get out of the way.” Javan slowed his breathing to a more normal pace, struggling to keep his temper.
            “Get out,” Lareth said. Javan did nothing, but continued to sit. “GET OUT!” Lareth screamed. Javan got up, saluting to the Prince before leaving the tent. He walked around for a few minutes until he found Wiren again, and asked him where he could get new equipment. After being issued new equipment, he set up his gear and retired without eating. He sat late into the night, thinking about the events of the past five years before falling asleep without interruption for the first time in five years.

Writing: "Darkness Rising" Chapter Two

This chapter was better than the first one, but I still have to scrap it. The only savageable things at this point honestly are the character's names and the names of the countries. The storyline is going under massive changes as well as the magic system. Enjoy, because I still winced when I read it.



Chapter Two

                                                  Five Years Later
It was midnight in the city of Vorshig, one of the more prominent stops for those traveling to Kittim or the northern kingdoms. Most traders from the south came through this city on their way to other lands or other cities in Kalathek. The city was quiet, as most of the citizens had gone to sleep hours ago. Even the inns were starting to close for the night, now that most of the heavy drinkers had staggered out. Three shadows darted across the city unseen, heading for a destination known only to them. They passed several alehouses that were still open, and paused when they saw a Guard Patrol run past them to break up a fight between two drunk men. They continued to the middle of the city and a destination known only to them and their master, the one who had set them to this task. They were Ashare; brilliant tacticians devoted only to the Martyrists. They had spent the first twenty years of their lives studying and training. Mazrim’s request had almost been too outrageous to accept; Ashare were never used to attack people.
The Ashare were all dressed the same way: red robes with symbols on them representing the Martyrs. They were hooded, and they had covered their faces this night. They stopped for a minute as they reached their destination near the center of the city; The Hall of Miracles. The Hall in Vorshig was the second largest in the country, outranking all others except the Kingseat Hall in size and grandeur. The windows in the higher rooms of the Hall were dark. Any other place would have guards posted in the higher rooms and around the ground perimeter of the building, but the Creed didn’t like using guards for their halls, even for protection. They were a group of healers, not some mercenary group, they had said multiple times. That was their mistake.
It sat silently at the top of Rathen’s Hill, enveloped in shadow. The hall was a large, majestic building, standing more than two hundred feet tall. There were skypiercers in the city that dwarfed it easily, but the Hall had been built more than nine hundred years ago. It was ornamented with gilded statues and grandiose pillars, a reminder of a time when the Creed had not been as humble as it was now. There were few lights shining through the windows of the large building.
The three figures walked carefully up to the door, and tried the lock. The arrogant fools didn’t even keep the doors locked! Algran knew that many soldiers would mock them for trying the main entrance, but Ashare were pretty straightforward when it came to attacking people, none of that sneaking around. Robbery was not a problem for the Creed; people who robbed the Hall of Miracles were given severe punishment, and they could never be healed by one of the Creed again for the rest of their lives. Offenders often regretted stealing from the hall. Algran opened the door, and they entered a long, spacious hall.
The interior of the building was even more lavishly decorated than the outside. The floor was covered with tiles made of marble; an extremely rare stone in this area of the kingdom. There were over a hundred rooms on the first floor alone. These were used by patients and the severely afflicted that had to stay more than one night. They were almost to the stairs when a woman came out of one of the recuperating areas and paused, staring at them in startled terror.
She did not even have time to scream before the three men attacked. A single gunshot rang out into the air, and she fell without ever making that scream. Algran heard someone come out into the main room, but they ignored him. They climbed up the stairs quickly, and came to a long hallway with rooms on each side. Algran was the only one with Arcanic ability, so they had to take the stairs. The fifth floor of the building housed both the temporary healers there only for study and some of the more permanent residents of the hall.
They came to one of the rooms near the edge of the hall and burst in with their fingers on the triggers of their guns. They looked around the room, anticipating gunfire from an area hidden to them, but there wasn’t anyone in the front room of the apartment. They left the room untouched and continued to the next one, where they found a man asleep in a small bed in the corner of the room. He was in his thirties or forties, and he wore clothes suited for colder weather. They stepped over an open pack and began walking toward the bed to identify him when the man suddenly spoke.
“Have they found out my intentions so soon? I was going to inform the lord Seldeien of your plans in the morning, but it seems you have already arrived. Are you three alone?” He sat up and examined them briefly before speaking again. “Not willing to talk to me? I didn’t think Mizram had access to the Ashare already.”
“He is the leader of the church now,” one of the men said. The other two turned to him in surprise. They had been told not to speak to their quarry. He ignored them and spoke again. “Are you the one called Handellen?”
“How can you be sure?” The man chuckled. “I might lie to you, knowing now that Handellen is the one you seek.”
“But you have already given yourself away, with this talk of the church’s plans.” The leader of the group, a man named Alathir, now spoke. Algran, turned to both of them in shock. Ashare were never supposed to disobey orders, and these two had just done so, talking to the man as if he were an old friend.
“I guess I have, haven’t I?” Handellen chuckled again. “You have come too late, I think. I have already alerted the Curator of the Hall, and he told me he would prepare the hall for an attack.”
The Ashare exchanged glances upon hearing this, and both of them fired their weapons when Alathir fell. Handellen had shot the man, with a small handgun concealed in his hand. They would have hit him if he was still in the bed, but he had moved to the side of the room. He tossed the handgun behind him and pulled two pistols out of holsters at his hip. Both remaining Ashare fired again, this time hitting his left arm. He shot Natin, the man who had spoken earlier, and Algran’s third shot missed him. They had both expected Handellen to drop the gun in his left hand when his arm was shot, but he had kept his grip on it. Natin got up, cocking his weapon. Handellen’s eyes widened in surprise; he had expected Natin to be dead from the bullet he had taken to the gut. Natin smiled at him and fired.
The gun clicked, but nothing came out. Natin cursed, remembering that he had only put two bullets in his silenced weapon. Handellen smiled grimly at them and shot both of his guns. Natin fell to his knees with another bullet hole in his throat, red blood dripping to the ground as he fell. Algran was hit in the gut by Handellen’s pistol. He grunted in pain, but the wound was closed before he could feel any real agony. He was a Creator, one of those who could heal themselves and others. The wound closed itself, new layers of skin forming over the new ones. Algran cursed for the lost time, but he had to be in perfect shape if he was to face the man. He turned back to where he had last seen Handellen to see the door to the room close. The man had run. Algran left Natinred to his demise and dashed into the front room.
He came into the front room and heard a sharp wind wiz past his hear. The bullet ricocheted off the stone of the door frame. Algran shot again, but he didn’t know if he hit him, because at that instant Handellen jumped out of the fifth-story window.
____________________________________________________

There was a loud thumping sound as something landed right outside the window of a room on the first story. A man that had been pacing the room for several minutes jumped, than began pacing once more. He was Itham Thrakarde, a guest at the Hall of Miracles. He was the main supplier of cotton for several weavers and tailors in the cities of Vorshig and Kittim, and was as prosperous as one could get without being a member of the Kalathek nobility. He had fallen ill in one of the small villages he had stopped at on his way to Vorshig, and had come to the Hall to be healed after delivering his cargo.
He stopped pacing for a minute, and looked around. He was in an ornately furnished room, with rugs bought from Feselar, all the way across the Galamel Sea. They were hand-made rugs, rare and extremely expensive. Machines were efficient, but the value of the finished product was always lower. The electric lights burning near the doors and windows were gilded and carved in the shape of Kallindras, large amphibious birds. Legends said that the birds had once lived in the land that eventually became Kalathek, but none lived here now.
He stopped again when he heard shouting and gunfire in the rooms above. He left the room to see what was going on. He saw several healers loading Jarafin assault rifles, the best in the market.
“What’s going on?” he said to a passing healer.
“I don’t know. The Curator has ordered us to the fifth floor. Some kind of security breach, I think.” He left without saying anything else, running to catch up with the other healers. Itham heard a clatter in his room and went back in. A man was climbing in through his window. He was about to call for those healers that had been loading weapons when the man climbed the rest of the way through.
“Don’t say anything.” The man said. “If you do, the Ashare might hear you and come to kill both of us.” Itham shut the door.
“Who are you?” He said.
“You do not need to know my name.” The man said. “You only need to know that I am a target of the Church of Martyrs, and that they are the ones behind the security breach.” More gunfire erupted outside, and the man swore under his breath. “Come with me. I am a member of this university. We need to join the main group of healers before the Martyrists take us down while we’re alone.”
More gunfire sounded, and the window in the room shattered. The man swore again and grabbed Itham’s arm, pulling him into the main hall. There were strange men in black uniforms coming in through the main door, and they yelled when they saw Itham and the man. They started firing at them, but the man fired back before pulling Itham into a doorway. He jumped out from his cover twice, firing his pistol into the group of men. He ducked back into the doorway, bullets bouncing off the wall to the side.
“We have to get out of here before the men decide to overwhelm us with sheer numbers.” He said. He handed Itham a pistol. “My name is Handellen.” He said “Now, follow me.”
They ran out of the doorway and into another one before they could be hit by any Martyrists. Itham had heard of the group before; they were almost as old as the Creed itself, maybe even older. They hadn’t been in the press recently, but he remembered back in school when he learned about the Martyrs and the collapse of the Allashist church. Amidst heavy gunfire, they reached the hall where the Elevators were located.
“Do you have any Arcanic abilities?” Handellen asked him.
“Not that I know of.” Itham said.
The man swore again; Itham could see that he had colorful language when stressed, and ignored it. He normally didn’t approve of such harsh words, but he had seen worse ways of dealing with stress in situations lighter than this.
“We’re going to have to backtrack, try to get to the stairs.” Handellen said. “Or we could—“
His voice was cut off as he fell to the ground, blood leaking out of his eye. Itham looked behind him to see another man dressed in black with a strange metal badge on his belt. The Ashere came to get him, just like he said he would. Itham thought. He heard another gunshot and felt pain in his chest as his lung was punctured by the bullet. Without thinking, he lifted the pistol the man had given to him and took the Ashere with a bullet directly to the heart. The Ashere’s eyes widened and he crumpled to the ground without saying anything.
He looked up and saw a woman kneel down beside him. At first he thought it was a Martyrist, but she wasn’t wearing a uniform. Instead she was wearing the white shirt and pants commonly worn by healers, except this one was splattered in blood.
“Is your companion dead?” She asked him. He shook his head, unable to say anything. “Is he?”
“He’s wounded, Asenath.” A man behind her said. “Punctured lung, it looks like. Heal him before you ask him anything.”
The man walked down the hallway that Itham and Handellen had come in through, there weapons ready to fire. Asenath tore his shirt away and closed her eyes in concentration. The fluids that had begun to leak into his punctured lung from his stomach slowly went away, and he could feel the lung heal. After about ten minutes, Asenath let out a sigh and opened her eyes, standing up.
“Handellen is dead.” Itham told her.
“I can see that.” She said dryly. “I’m a healer. I should be able to tell when a man has a bullet hole in his eye.”
The men that had left came back. Where there had been ten or fifteen, there were only two. The others had been killed in the gunfight.
“Are they all dead?” Asenath asked the man that had talked to her earlier.
“We are the only survivors.” He said. “There’s still a large group of Martyrists coming this way.”
Asenath aimed her gun, and fired. The man swore as the bullet whizzed past his head and hit the window behind him. She shot four more times and the glass shattered.
“Then we’d better get out of here.” She said. “We don’t have time to look for more survivors, Rayolin, so don’t complain.” Together they ran, jumping out of the window and landing on the soft grass outside. Itham got up, amazed that only a few minutes ago he had been on the verge of death. He followed them out the window and looked up, noticing that most of the sixth floor was on fire.
“We don’t have time to stare at the building, man!” Shouted Rayolin. “We have to get to my car quickly, before they can give chase!”
Itham jogged to catch up with them, keeping pace with Rayolin. They got to the second parking level and stopped as Rayolin pulled a set of keys out of his pocket and approached the car. They got in and Rayolin gunned the engine as soon as the doors were all shut. Itham looked around the interior of the car, noticing the Calisred leather seats and the Rendagus logo on the steering wheel. Rendagus was one of the finest automobile companies in Kalathek, their cars well known through most of the world.
“Nice ride,” Itham commented, “But I thought Creed workers were unpaid volunteers.”
“They are, but I only work with the Creed occasionally.” Rayolin said. “I took a leave of absence from my job in Valhark to study here for a year.” The car was quiet for several minutes before Rayolin spoke again.
“Do you want any music?” Rayolin asked him. Itham didn’t respond, bewildered that the man could listen to music while they were riding for their lives. Rayolin nodded and pressed a button. Music started playing at a high volume, the synchronized beats making Itham’s ears ring. Heavy bass boomed from the speakers in the front and back of the car, vibrating slightly under his feet.
“I called the Fire Brigade and the Police Department and told them what happened.” Rayolin yelled over the music. “They’re on their way to the Hall right now. The Police know that the Martyrists were behind it, so most church members in the city should be taken into custody over the next two days.”
“You say that as if we aren’t going to be here in two days!” Itham shouted.
“What was that?” Rayolin yelled.
“Rayolin, turn the music off or at least turn it down!” The woman sitting next to him shouted. Itham had not been introduced to her yet, and she had been silent every time he had seen her.
Rayolin laughed and turned the music down until it was a quiet buzz in the background. “Whatever you say, Liriel,” He said
            “By the way Itham, this is Liriel. She doesn’t talk much, except when she’s mad. You have nothing to fear from her except maybe those glares she shoots at you when you make her mad” Rayolin laughed again as Liriel glared at him. “Like that.”
Asenath spoke up. “So, how did you end up with Handellen, Itham?”
“He climbed in through my window and told me to follow him.” Itham told her.
Rayolin chuckled. “That’s Handellen all right.” He said.
“Did he give you a reason?” Liriel asked.
“He said that if I didn’t go with him, the Martyrists would find come in and kill us both.” Itham said.
“He was right about that.” Asenath said. “Who killed him?”
“You remember that body that was next to his?” Itham said. The other three nodded at the same time, taking in his words. “Handellen called him an Ashare.”
Suddenly the car grew quiet, and Itham could feel the tension in the air. The techno softly echoed through the car as all three drew breath at once.
“Why didn’t you tell us this before?” Liriel demanded.
“Easy, Liriel. He probably doesn’t even know what an Ashare is.” Rayolin said. “I thought I recognized those markings on their robes.” He said under his breath. Itham met his eyes through the mirror. “You don’t know what an Ashare is, do you?” Rayolin asked hesitantly.
“No, I don’t,” Itham said. “I didn’t think it was important enough to mention until you all got quiet.”
Asenath turned toward him from the passenger seat. “Itham, an Ashare was the highest tactical position someone could hold in the Martyrist army during the wars following the fall of Alashism. The only reason we know what they are is because we all, including Handellen, used to be members of the church. We left when we found out that the church was preparing for crusade.” She said.
Itham was confused. “If you knew the Martyrists were mobilizing, then why didn’t you tell the Hall?” He asked nervously.
“Itham, we left the church ten years ago.” Rayolin told him. “The leader that was mobilizing died about a year after we left, and the new one didn’t like the idea of another holy war.”
“Then why did they attack tonight?” Itham asked him.
“Because recently a new leader was appointed, one who likes to take action.”
Asenath and Liriel gasped. “You mean they actually appointed Mizram?!” Liriel said. “How do you know?”
“Do you think Mandin would let Mizram do something like this under his command?” Rayolin asked. “It only takes common sense.” Both women glared at him, but he ignored it this time. “Was that all Handellen said to you, Itham?”
“He also said that he was the Ashare’s main target.” He said.
“Definitely Mizram, then,” Asenath said. “He hated Handellen.”
“It sounds like we’re going to have to talk to the Guardian and get the board of Curators to prepare before we have a full-scale crusade on our hands.” Rayolin said.
They drove for another ten minutes before coming to a stop at a gas station at the edge of the city. Rayolin got out of the car and pulled a phone out of his pocket. He dialed quickly and lifted the phone to his ears. Portable phones were not available to people without Arcanic ability yet, but the technology was quickly catching up.
As Rayolin talked, a man came out of the small convenience store and shouted something to someone inside. Rayolin filled the gas tank of the car as he talked. As he finished, he flipped the phone shut and put it back in his pocket. He walked back to the driver’s door and grabbed the door handle, but turned around when he heard the man from the convenience store talking to him. Rayolin yelled and dropped to the ground, a bullet hitting the window of the Rendagus. Rayolin quickly got up, firing his own weapon. He fired again, and the man next to the entrance of the convenience store crumpled to the ground. The person the man had been talking to when he left the store screamed when she saw the dead man on the ground. Rayolin pointed the gun at her and asked what religion the man had been a member of, his arms growing tense when she said that he was a Martyrist before bursting into tears.
  Rayolin asked her what religion she was a member of, and she stopped crying long enough to tell him that she was a member of the Incarna Church, the church that worshipped only the angels and demons of legend. He thanked her and walked over to explain what happened. He took out his phone again and called the police before coming back to the car. He started the Rendagus and they pulled out of the gas station, his expression grim.
“It looks like the Martyrists are already on our trail.” He said, heaving a sigh. “I called the Guardian’s office before that man tried to shoot me, and I called him again after I took care of things at the station. We can’t contact any member of the Creed unless we’re in person, and we need to do that only with caution. If they have our trail already than they could be anywhere. I don’t mean to sound paranoid, but we have to be careful until we reach Kingseat.” He paused. “That means no credit card purchases, Asenath.” He said with a hint of a smile.
“What are you trying to say?” Asenath asked suspiciously.
“Nothing, I’m just saying that you make a lot of your purchases with your credit card, and we can’t have that until we reach the Hall in Kingseat.”
“Do I have to come with you?” Itham asked them all. They all turned to him, their expressions suspicious. “I mean, it’s kind of dangerous, and I don’t know if I want to risk my life. You might want to keep your eyes on the road, Rayolin.” He said offhandedly. Rayolin swore as he swerved, barely avoiding collision with a car going the opposite direction. Asenath and Liriel burst out laughing, and Rayolin joined them briefly. After the laughter died down, Rayolin looked at Itham through the mirror.
“Normally I would say yes, but I’m almost sure that the Martyrists will have your name and face along with ours.” He said, “Especially if they’re already on our trail.”
Itham nodded, resigned to his fate. He would have to contact his wife as soon as he could and tell her what he had been caught up in. She would have to handle business for him until he got back. When that would be, he didn’t know. He sat in the back seat silently, deep in thought. He stared out the window, noticing that Rayolin had turned the music on again. They all listened to the music without complaint this time as they entered Interdistrict Two, heading for Kittim.