Amarain Dynasty chp one

Chapter One of Part One: Clouded Dreams

Chapter One

Black-sailed ships littered the bay ready to leave port. The sun was appearing over the horizon sending arrows of light dancing across the water. Tomas had to squint to make out his men aboard the ships. All were loyal to him, all loyal to the Syeleven cause. It has taken him nearly fourteen years to rally the coastal tribes and rebuild the Syeleven army. Now that the Net has been broken, they are free from the wasteland, a lifeless desert that they were imprisoned on over a thousand years ago. The mainland should still be under Syeleven rule. If it wasn’t for the Jei, the Syeleven would have the whole world by now, and Tomas would’ve inherited much more than what he did.
The Jei have been taken care of. It has been a year since Tomas launched the attack on Kasmirain, their sacred little island. Their army has been disbanded, a few groups of rebels have fled, but it won’t be much longer before they are brought before him. It seemed funny to him that they had locked their future leader in prison to live out the rest of her days. They trusted her as much as they trusted the sun wouldn’t burn them. However it angered him to find that she was missing. Someone had gotten wise and had set her free, but where she was he did not know. She was the only person who could stop him; she needed to be found.
“My Lord, an urgent report from Kasmirain has come in,” a voice came from behind him.
Tomas stood up from leaning on the balcony and turned to face a tall boy dressed in black. He had a red hood and matching sash across his chest; the typical dress for a Syeleven. His name he cared not to know, though looked about six or seventeen.
“Well, what is it?” Tomas replied, impatiently waving his hand.
“Lady Ryshiel has still not been able to find your sister. She is nowhere on the island.” The boy answered.
Well he knew she wouldn’t be on the bloody island. In frustration, Tomas ripped off a panel of drapes that hung between the balcony and his office. Ryshiel was going to pay for the lost time she caused him. His generals had told him earlier that Erryn would head for the mainland.
He shook his head, he knew better than to listen to that vile snake of a woman! His reflection from a circular mirror that hung on the wall caught his attention. Slowly shuffling towards it he gazed at his appearance. He considered himself a tall man of good strength. As he moved closer his eyes shifted from his black billowing shirt to his pale face. Ironic he thought that his symbol and patron saint was the sun god Ak, for he hated the sun. He burned too easily under its golden rays. Too often he came out looking like a bloody cherry! He only went out if he had too, only if it was absolutely necessary. Besides executions did look rather pleasant out in the open courtyard.
He came to rest upon his eyes. He had his mother’s eyes. If that is all he could remember of her it was her piercing green eyes; like emeralds they were. Even he could get lost in their depths. He shook his head back slightly in attempts to remove a few strands of hair that had fallen in front of his face. His long sleek black hair framed his square features rather nicely he thought, as he brought a hand around his chin. Though he always thought of changing his nose. Too big; however Ryshiel said it made him look rather dashing. Ugh! Bloody woman! He took the mirror off the wall and threw it against the floor sending it in shards.
“Send for the Spider! Tell him he has the job after all.” Tomas ordered as he stomped out onto the balcony.
“Yes my lord.” Tomas heard the boy say before he left his office.
Resting his elbows on the stone railing, Tomas peered out at the horizon. Due north was the mainland. He will make up for this lost time. He will have his sister in front of him before the summer’s end!
“Where are you?” he whispered.
* * *
The first ray of light sprung from the top of the hill flooding the valley below in brilliant orange warmth. Flowers began to wake, and birds could be heard softly singing amidst the trees. All was at peace and if only for a moment, it could be written that it had happened and be remembered for a lifetime. The last of the snow had finally melted and life was able to take its first breath once again. A cycle that has continued generation upon generation, a cycle that I have witnessed for thirty years, and one that I am deemed to destroy in some sacred little prophecy that a long dead society put together. However I have denied that part of my life, it has been exiled into the dark recesses of time, to never surface and call my present thoughts home.
I sat in an old rocking chair that rested on the porch of a weathered one-room cabin. Spending the last four months here has numbed my brain to a cumbersome drone of existence. I went from holding wealth and power that matched ancient kings to hiding my face amidst the trees with the birds. Fate is no friend of mine. Thus I have no reason to smile or embrace it with open arms. I face it with a sharpened blade of steel and the cold heart of winter.
This is not the first time I have been forced to wipe my face from the memories of others, nor will it be the last. For ten years I have given names not of my own. Forced to flee from city to city, nation to nation. I barely remember the name that was given to me when I was babe; it is but a shadow of what I have become. And what I have become is no better then what I was, or what was deemed of me to become.
A lone robin flew over the roof of the cabin and landed on the railing that encased the porch. It was unaware of my presence. Itself was too busy in its own quest of soaking in the life that the sun had brought. Like all beings in the world today, its concern did not rest in its surroundings, but in its own existence; it was the world.
There was no sisterly or brotherly love anymore, no deeds accomplished that required no reward to be given, and authority of the state was foolishly cast aside. That is what the problem truly is. Everyone is looking out for his or her own back; deeds do not come without a benefit for the one carrying out the deed, and kings sit upon empty thrones of hollow gold.
I was tangled in that web for so many years. A tournament champion of swords, a skilled thief and gambler, and a key component in the largest smuggling operation the world had ever seen. I avoided authorities, I was heartless and interested in only the benefit coming to me; I had an angle to everything for my only goal was to obtain money and lots of it.
To say that I have escaped would doubt my ability to tell the truth. I can cover up what I have done; yet I can feel the chains locked around my ankles. Escape is a term spoken by many, yet only achieved by a few. I cannot promise that I will not return to the gambling rings or the stadium packed full of cheering people; however I can promise that I will not ask anything for myself while others stand without.
I have given much of my wealth away, now living a simpler life. Yet I am no happier than I was before. I find myself alone. I never had a surplus of friends, though the close few I did have I treasured. Our paths crossed once for a while; then as the sun sets every day, the light faded forcing us to take shelter for the night. But the night was not so kind, as fate as its accomplice, they slashed the bonds without warning, and now we are but blind fools fumbling in the dark.
A light breeze came twirling around the side of the cabin spilling into my face. A few lone strands of hair fell into my eyes, obstructing my view of the valley. I had left my hat inside, favouring my hair to be free for a few moments of the morning. It has grown wild and restless, now lying just past my nose. I had such beautiful hair when I was young. Strong and healthy, long flowing locks of dark chestnut hues once fell past my hips.
Any sign that marked me as a woman has either been hidden or altered. My hair has been varying lengths above my shoulders in the men’s fashion, men’s clothing nicely tailored to hide my curves, and even a deeper voice. Though I must admit lowering my voice becomes tedious at times, however one gets used to it. Often I prefer to not to talk at all, as listening is a better ally. One can get into a lot of trouble with their tongue.
I pushed back the childish strands of hair, running my fingers through them as if I were tucking them back into bed. Today was my last day here. The mountain pass would finally be open, and I would be able to get back to Oneado. Though I am not sure if I want to go back. Perhaps I will continue west. Yet in any direction, memories, like a homeless dog silently follow and wait for the slightest bit of attention. If I cared about the past, I would dwell on the past. All I want is now. To watch the days slip by in peace. I would give anything for a cure, as my memories are such a burden. Thus I cannot stay in one place too long, I get attached, and then I get thinking.
Knowledge is a gift, yet at the same time, a curse. I wish I did not have to think, or know what I know, seen what I have seen. Yet there is so much that I do not know, but I am afraid to know it, to seek it out. One day though, it will find me, whether I like it or not. And that makes the future my foe. I have too many enemies, but in this world, that is all you have.
This spring has a life of its own I could feel it; a new atmosphere has taken shape. Things this year are going to be much different than all of the rest of the years that I have been on the mainland. Nations have been slowly crumbling for years, and now something is about to happen. Yet what that something is, I do not know. But I fear that I will become entangled in it.
My luck is not that great anymore that I can avoid the most gravest of fates. What I do know is that I will not die of old age; I have seen it in my dreams. A rare blood disease that I was born with which turns my blood to poison will destroy me from the inside out. Tyevellias, it’s called, named after a man who died before he found the cure. Apparently he was quite close. That was over a hundreds years ago and now they have a cure, but getting a hold of it – the odds are not favourable. I was told I needed someone of the same blood as me, not family blood but I guess there are different types of blood. But to make matters much more difficult this person of the same blood must have a high concentration in some kind of mineral that I have lost the name to. Thus I am lost in the black cold night without a blanket, however what happens in between will be up to me and I will not go down without a fight. Yet I doubt that fight includes a mission to find this person, besides this cure they have is not exact science, it is just a guess as no one has lived long enough to find that other person. Although since I am deemed to die of this disease it gives me great pleasure that I will not live long enough to fulfill their little prophecy for I refuse to be a pawn on a game board; a part of some prophet’s story in all its greatest detail.
I stood up from the chair rather quickly, swaying slightly from being off balance. I centered myself before taking a step forward, as to not fall flat on my face. Though I only have a few things, it wouldn’t hurt to start packing early. The sun, now that it is up, will move quickly and before one knows it, it will be well past noon.
As I stumbled through the cabin door I caught my reflection in a small square mirror that rested on the dresser. I crossed the room to where it was and immediately turned it over. I did not care to gaze upon my face at this moment in time, or any other moment for that matter. Though I barely recognized myself I knew what I looked like and I could see myself, my past lurking just over my shoulder. I knew my skin has gotten paler, though I thought it not possible it could. Weight I knew I have lost could be seen as much it could be felt. I was a ghost of what I was, much weaker in all ways of strength. But I really had much less to live for than before.
Still holding down the mirror against the dresser as if it would resist my wish and stand up to fight for its right to represent this tattered space, a tear slid down my cheek. Slowly and ever so gently I lifted the mirror to my face. My eyes told all. Deep wells of sorrow and pain and much of regret swirled around in dark black eyes. How naïve I was as a child to think this world so full of opportunities and wonders, and of happiness. I threw the mirror onto the bed. Limp it laid as if somehow quietly mocking me in my fears of my own reflection. I knew myself was a wanted and hated person. But I do not think anyone could hate me so much as I hated myself.
My saddlebags rested upon the back on a small wooden chair. I reached over and picked the up. Opening the flaps I walked around the square of the room gathering anything and everything I could find that was mine. I did not have much, a few small pots, an extra shirt this one was white where I was wearing my more favorable black one, and a few other odds and ends that were probably no use to me now.
I picked up my hat from the bed and sat it atop my head and nodded to myself in satisfaction. I was ready to leave. Though I could not leave without my swords. I bent over and thrust my hand under the bed and felt for my leather belts. With the strength I had at present I gave a tug and pulled them out. A bit covered in dust and if I cared slightly more I guess you could saw I could be disgusted in there appearance. They were such lovely creations though, beautifully crafted. One was a gift from a friend that has been long tucked away by many years past. Three feet of silver steel, two inches thick that never needed sharpening. The hilt was plain but held elegant curved lines and embraced a sturdy grip. It has been a quick and steady friend for years. Once lost, or rather foolishly stolen, yet the occasion I shall never let reach to be twice.
However as I finished buckling my first sword, I reached out for my two favourites. Most would consider them long daggers, and larger foes have more than once laughed and underestimated their skill. Pair of Duk daggers hung from tightly woven leather strips was also a gift from a dear friend. Both two feet long one inch thick with white carved ivory grips. Like my long sword these also had no need to be sharpened. It was a way in their creation, but I was not so priveleged to know how it was done so. And odd should I find that a Jei’s most coveted weapon to be my most valued possession. So vile a creature to walk the face of the world it was truly a shame that the myth was not true; they should have all died out. They are just as bad as the Syeleven. Yet as prisons go, far better conditions than any on the mainland.
What am I doing? I thought to myself. I was drifting into the past, and one of the last places I want to revisit were the white walls of Onofre on Kasmirain. I quickly brushed all thoughts out of my mind and returned to the task at hand: leaving.
I buckled the daggers around my waist and threw the saddlebags over my shoulder. I looked around the room one last time and saw nothing of my possession. I slowly turned on my heels towards the door and proceeded to walk out. The wind caught my face as I entered the porch. The sun set a little higher the in sky now, and the rest of the world was waking to this new spring day.
As I stepped off the porch my boots were suddenly engulfed in a sea of grass. I shifted my saddlebags, readjusting their weight upon my shoulders. Then, as I could not afford to lose any more time I set off down the valley. I had nowhere special to be. But daylight is never to be wasted on idleness, as I was repeatedly told years ago as a child.
The sun had just reached its zenith announcing mid-day to the populous below. Seas of lush green grasses lined the narrow gravel road. Not a single cloud was in the sky, giving the sun all the glory of a blue blanket. It was a beautiful day for a walk, though my feet were beginning to tire. I was not use to the extensive exercise that two hours of walking would bring. After being cooped up in a small cabin for most of the winter my joints were rather stiff, and a few pungent drops of cold sweat beaded from under my hat.
It would have been nice to be sitting upon a horse, however my beautiful black stallion Junyi was stolen during a harsh winter storm. A pair of local boys that knew the territory better than I, were able to get the best of me. However Junyi probably got the better of the boys, as he was a tough horse to handle.
The narrow road was empty, not a soul to be seen either way. It was not a main road, as all main roads leading to cities were paved. This was just a farmer’s access route to the fields. I hoped there would be at least one person on the road today, to tell of spring news from around the area. I have been out of the loop for too long, so much has probably changed since my last visit in a remotely looking urban area. The southwestern countries were oddly less populated than the north. The largest cities remained in the northwest. Though perhaps it could be much different in the east, as people have been emigrating south from Cathal and Macadria for so many years. Those two warring countries have been battling over the northern lands of the east for as long as history has been written.
I find myself on a westerly course after standing in the middle of the road for about an hour this morning. I had decided not to go back to the city that held my old life intact. I will be losing another friend, my business partner, if I have not lost him already. I know I could never carry on like I used to. I would not be able to look Velcor in the face.
To stop the tears from welling in my eyes I switched my attention to the swaying sea of grass. The varying greens crossed and blended, calming my nerves if only for a moment I was somewhat relieved a little. Suddenly my vision became blurry, I tried to focus, but it was no use. Then I felt my knees give way, I had no time to brace myself, landing face first into the gravel. My breath came out as I made impact with the road. Coughing I tried to push myself up, confused at the matter of state I was in.
Then it started, I tried to push it back, but this one was strong. Stabs of sheer pain came up the back of my neck and into my head. I screamed in horror. I would not surrender to this evil. Tiny bolts of lightning came shooting from my fingers frying a small bush by the side of the road. My eyes became clouded, a red fog. It burned. I could hear my screams as faint echoes in the distance. Then all went black.
I woke to the sound of an owl in a nearby tree. My head was spinning, yet my vision was back. I have been out for hours. The night was cold and heartless, as clouds had covered the friendly stars. Shaking from the chill of the night, or from the outburst I did not know, nor did I care. I felt whatever was in my stomach rise. Bracing myself I spilled the contents on the side of the road. Evil. Tears flooded my eyes, pouring out onto my cheeks, and I did nothing to stop them.
This has been the tenth among such incidents, each getting stronger. Fortunately the only casualty of this episode was that little bush. I stared at the charred figure of the once lush and green bush that was blanketed in little white flowers. I felt as though something had taken over my body, and was now trying to take over my mind. It sickened me how I had no control, how it hurt others. I did not care if it was just myself being torn apart, but how could someone let it tear apart the innocent ones around them.
I thought I had nothing left in my stomach, but I was wrong, for bile quickly rose up from my stomach, emptying out onto the road. I was weak, a danger to those all around me. I huddled for warmth, tears soaking the collar of my shirt. Oh how I wanted the past years to disappear, all the pain that I have caused.
A small headache was calmly nestled between my eyes, figuring it is just a remnant of the outburst I tried to give it no attention. I sat on the edge of the road staring out into the black of the night. It was too far to walk back to the cabin. So I sat and waited. Waited for morning. Waited for a new day that would bring some hope.