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.