Not edited yet, but I'm so excited that I had to post it... - Lace

Guess who decided to cooperate tonight? ^_^

Chapter 1

1884 words

                My brother told me that he barely had to pay anything to get his video made for the selection committee. It’s taken me a while to track down his videographer, someone named Charnus Greeley, but now that I have I’m convinced that his price for filming has definitely gone up. Thank goodness I’ve been working three jobs and can survive on six hours of sleep every night, otherwise I wouldn’t have had any hope of getting chosen to move up.

                Something tells me this videographer is the reason Cy got picked to move up. It’s not that he wasn’t intelligent, charismatic, and talented—he was. It was just, I know a couple other people who meet the above criteria as well as Cy did, and they weren’t picked. So it had to have been Charnus Greeley, whoever he is, who was responsible for my brother’s becoming a Primus. And if I want to be one too, I guess I need his help. That’s why I’m on my way to hire him.

                I have to make a video that tells the selection committee all about me. My full name, my desired future career as a Primus or Secundus, and, above all, why they should pick me. If I have family members who’ve been moved up, what my special talents are, that sort of thing. All the people I’ve talked to—my teacher from the elementary school who stayed in touch with me being the most influential by far—tell me that my videographer will help me plan out what’s best to tell them.

                I squeeze the brake on my motorcycle hard, sending it skidding to a stop. The rubber wheels whine on the pavement and I wince, but it’s more fun, more dangerous, to stop it that way. Cy used to tell me that my daredevil nature was either going to pay off big time or get me hurt. So far it’s done neither. But to be chosen for the career I want—the career Cy was picked for—I need to be a daredevil. It’s in the job description.

                The building I’ve stopped in front of is one of the biggest in all of East. It looks solid, like it’s been there for hundreds of years. It probably has. There are several doors along its base, labeled with faded wooden signs for the most part. All except one. The one that catches my eye is almost new compared to the others, its paint only a couple of years old as opposed to what looks like decades. It reads “Charnus Greeley” in red block letters.

                Swallowing, I raise my hand and knock on the metal door. There’s a button beside it which supposedly was called a “doorbell” and which you could press to get the inhabitant of the apartment to come to the door. Whatever made it work ceased to function long ago, however, and so now all of us in the Tertius Quarter of East have to knock to alert friends and fellow workers to the fact that we’ve arrived.

                As I consider this, the door swings open, and a boy about a year older than me appears. He stands there silently, a lock of red hair drooping over one of his eyes, which are an almost bizarrely startling green. He’s about eight inches taller than me, and doesn’t smile.

                “Er…hello,” I say rather awkwardly. “I’m…uh…here to see Charnus Greeley, the videographer?”

                The boy nods and steps aside so I can enter. I wonder if he’s Charnus’ son or something as I cross the threshold and take a look around. The hall within is clean and unfurnished, lit by a series of candle-like lamps nailed to the left wall. The lamps cast interesting shadows over the ceiling and floor, making my shadow waver, growing taller and shorter.

                Clearing his throat, the boy steps forward and heads down the hallway, clearly expecting me to follow. I do so, pondering why on earth he hasn’t said a word. Politeness would dictate he at least tell me his name. I hope Charnus is more polite than his son or whoever this is. Maybe this is just an employee—but if it is, he’s not making a very good impression. Maybe Charnus Greeley isn’t the reason Cy got chosen at all.

                He leads me into a small room furnished with a white backdrop that looks like a sheet, a rickety wooden chair, and a single camera. Large lights, the first sign of electricity in the building I’ve seen, are pointed at the sheet and shining almost blindingly. Upon closer examination, I see an old, almost prehistoric computer sitting on a table that obviously matches the chair. Apparently the magic of Charnus Greeley isn’t his filming location or technology.

                When the boy heads to the camera and turns it on, I raise my eyebrows. “Uh…isn’t Charnus Greeley going to be the one filming? I’m…er…paying a lot of money for this, and I really want it to be as good as possible.

                The boy looks at me evenly, his hair still in his face and his eyes, oddly enough, betraying a hint of amusement. “I’m Charnus Greeley.”

                Embarrassment floods through me, and I can feel my face growing red. “Oh.” I cough uncomfortably. “Sorry. I just didn’t expect you to…be so young, I guess. I’m not trying to offend you,” I add quickly, raising my hands in a defensive posture.

                This just makes him chuckle. “Sit down. I get that a lot, and actually I don’t mind. I like keeping the element of surprise on my side. Someday the Gov is going to know what they missed out on.”

                “What do you mean?”

                He inspects the camera more closely as he explains. “I applied last year. Wanted to be a cinematographer for those movies the Gov sponsors. Apparently ‘they didn’t need any of those this year, thank you,’” he says in a slightly mocking voice, cleaning a fingerprint off of the lens. “Oh, well. Their loss. I guess this is my life now.”

                “Have you filmed for anyone besides my brother Cy and yourself?”

                “Oh, I didn’t film myself. Hired one of my competitors, actually, as per the rules of Selection.”

                “That’s a rule?” I ask, suddenly curious.

                “Yup.” He looks at me oddly. “Surprised you don’t know that.”

                “I wouldn’t have. I’ve never touched a computer in my life, let alone seen a filming camera. Just those Government security ones.”

                He nods. “Most people haven’t. I got lucky; my dad used to film Selection videos before he died, so I inherited all this stuff.” He shrugs, though I see a bit of emotion flicker through his face. “He taught me a few things. The rest I had to learn alone. And in answer to the other part of your question,  filmed a few people aside from your brother.” He shrugs. “They’ve all made it through, which is why I felt comfortable raising my rate a bit.”

                “How do you do it?” I ask. As far as I know, he’s the only person who films the videos who has a perfect record to ever exist. I can only hope he’s telling the truth.

                “It’s a matter of getting to know the person you’re taping. Talk to them a bit before you actually start the mandatory Selection interview. Sit down,” he says again, and I realized that I’m still standing next to the chair. I do as he asks, and he pulls an ancient-looking rolling chair from behind the computer table and sits behind the camera. “So. Tell me about yourself.”

                “Well,” I reply, “My name’s Rainey Kleeft, and if you hadn’t already guessed based on the fact that I’m filming a Selection video, I’m seventeen.”

                He nods. “And your family?”

                “Well, my parents both did odd mechanical jobs and upkeep stuff for the city. They died in a fire when I was seven. My brother Cy basically raised me until I was fourteen. He was three years older than me.”

                “Why are you referring to Cy in the past tense? He was Selected, right?”

                I nod slowly, not wanting to think about it. “Yeah. He was. But he died about six months later.”

                Seeming to sense my hesitation, Charnus moves on. “What do you do for a living?”

                “I work three jobs. I’m junior gardener for the East Greenhouse, I stock shelves at the East Mart, and I drive a street sweeper.”

                He looks mildly surprised. “So you can drive?”

                “Oh, yeah. Cy fixed up an old motorcycle and rigged it to run on an electric charge. It doesn’t go too far, but it gets me to my jobs and recharges in about six hours. It’s pretty fun to ride, even if he did say I was going to wreck it.” I laugh sadly at the memory. Cy saw me doing my signature skid-stop when I was about ten, and though he looked a bit amused, he sat me down right there on the front steps of our apartment and told me that it was dangerous, and please to avoid doing it so I wouldn’t hurt myself. He looked so concerned that I did indeed stop—at least, when Cy was around. I hated to see him look worried. He was such a wonderful older brother…

                Charnus’ voice jolts me out of my reverie. “And how were your school grades?”

                I think back. “They were good, if I remember right. It was a long time ago, of course…but I’m pretty sure they were A’s.”

                “Good. And what were your Talent Test results?”

                I think back. When elementary school students are ready to leave school, which for Tertii happens at the age of eleven, they take a Talent Test that helps potential future employers know what they’re best at, and what they’re not so good at. It’s been a long time since I’ve considered my results, but I remember them clear as day. “In strengths, I got Intelligent, Courageous, and Diligent. In weaknesses, I got Risk-Taker and Stubborn.”

                He nods. “And what Selection career do you want?”

                This is it. I really can’t debate any more. For two and a half years, I’ve wondered whether or not I should go through with the crazy plan I formed. I want answers to some unanswered questions, but the way to get them is so insanely dangerous that I’m not sure whether or not I should do it... A small voice inside me informs me that this is the Intelligent and Risk-Taker sides of myself in a friendly debate. I need to pick, and from the way Charnus is raising his eyebrows, I know I need to make it fast. And of course, the Risk-Taker side wins out.

                “I want to be a pilot.”

                He nods, though his face has gone slightly pale. Standing, he inspects the camera button. “Thanks, Rainey. That concludes the interview,” he says, pressing a button on the camera. A red light beside the lens blinks off, and I realize what he’s done, and applaud the brilliance of it while at the same time find myself irritated at the trickery. He got me to say things without being stressed and nervous. My interview video will be completely natural. They’ll see the real me. Because he was filming that whole time.

Chapter 2 -Lace

Chapter 2

1790 words

Another student raised his hand. “Didn’t he go look outside the building? They couldn’t really have disappeared that quickly...”

“Maybe not in today’s Mirkal, no;” the professor agreed. “But back then, before the War of the Resistance, Mirkal was a much different place. There were always a lot of people around, and the streets were narrower and more winding, and there were an awful lot more of them.”

“Well, that makes sense, then.”

            “Now,” the professor continued, “we’re going to talk about a different part of this history, which takes place about ten years later—the story of how the Education Machines were first tested, and what happened to the human Guinea Pigs who were chosen for this great honor.”

            Some students, who wanted to hear more about Ben and what had happened to Wynn and Kara, groaned, while others straightened in their chairs, eager to learn about something new and different.

            Gavin had awaited the day of Education excitedly. He could hardly focus on school; his grades slipped so much that the government actually considered selecting someone other than him for the test, but Gavin had managed to return them to normal in time and submit a Letter of Explanation to the Educators, stating that his excitement had made him distractible. As Gavin was only eleven, they had understood.

            The day drew nearer. Gavin and three of his friends, who had also been chosen for the test, would often be found in the corner of the school cafeteria, talking excitedly in low voices of what Education was going to be like. They would exchange their theories: “You won’t even be conscious for it—it’ll be like surgery.” “They’ll stick you with a needle and inject you with the information.” “They’ll do it telepathically, just sort of send your brain the information.” No one knew the facts; no one in all of Mirkal had yet seen the machines.

            For they were machines, large and silver, with wicked-looking claws dangling above hard leather seats and computer screens imbedded off to the side, displaying frantically scrolling streams of computer code. Day and night one could see Educators scrambling to add the final touches to the code, or zapping real guinea pigs, mice, and rabbits with the machines to make sure the levels of electricity coming through the claws weren’t deadly.

            At long last, they had deemed the machines ready, and Gavin, Carlton, Drake, and Ren, along with the three other guinea pigs, had been issued special uniforms and escorted by the Governor’s Elite Guards to the Capitol Building, where the Governor himself had greeted them and personally briefed them on what was to take place. They were practically trembling with excitement as a few Guards and some of the Educators led them to the machines and locked them in.

            And pressed the large red button.

            Gavin’s vision went black. He heard a faint strain of music somewhere in the back of his mind, and a man’s voice droning at triple speed. After a minute of straining to hear what the man was saying, he gave up. Probably not important, he thought.

            Even as he thought this, he got the distinct impression that it was important. He wasn’t sure, but he thought that the impression came from the machine. The music grew louder. Gavin struggled to listen to the lecturer—for he was sure it was a lecturer—and started to succeed. His mind slowed the information down; he could understand the man’s words. “The leg-sweep defense,” he was saying, “is used when confronted with a punch or any technique to the head...”

            Guard training? The boy was confused. Not just normal education?

            “How did he know?” a student asked, without even raising his hand. “That it was Guard training, I mean?”

            “Only Guards and other soldiers learned self-defense,” the professor explained “It was the law in Eleth.”.

            A burst of energy flooded through him. Suddenly the music slowed down. The lecturer’s voice faded off. Blinking, Gavin opened his eyes and saw the Education room.

            “Congratulations, Graduates,” intoned a deep voice.

            Turning his head, Gavin saw the speaker. It was a tall man in a jet black suit, a man with neatly combed hair, sunglasses shielding his eyes from view, and a cigarette protruding from the corner of his mouth. He wore a slight, chilling smile. Gavin shivered and grasped the seat’s armrests to lift himself to the ground.

            He heard a shout, followed by a crashing noise. Something was going wrong. Leaping to his feet, Gavin whirled around and saw Drake backed against a wall, three Guards pointing their guns at him. The older boy’s eyes were wide with fright, an emotion Gavin had never seen displayed in them.

            But before he could react, he heard more noises from behind him, more shouts of surprise. He turned back toward his machine, and saw what was happening. The armrests were bent forward at the point where his hands had pushed against them. 

            Did I do that? Gavin thought. I couldn’t have...

            “Gavin Beck.” He heard the tall man’s voice again. “Stay where you are.”

            Spinning on his heel, Gavin faced him. “Who are you?” he asked. “What’s going on?”

            The man grinned his cold grin again. “My name is Agent Gregory,” he replied.

            “Isn’t that the same guy who Listed Wynn and Kara?” asked a student.

            “Yes. Good catch.”

            His voice was quiet and deadly-sounding. “And, as an Agent of the Governor, I have the authority to use this.”

            The boy’s eyes widened as the man extracted a gun from his belt and aimed it at him.

            “But I won’t have to,” Agent Gregory continued, “If you stay where you are and don’t put up a fight.”

            “What’s going on?” demanded Gavin again, clenching his fists.

            “The Education was successful...a bit too successful.”

            “What do you mean?”

            “You’re showing abilities, so to speak, beyond the realm of normal human understanding.”

            “Abilities?”

            “Look.” With the gun, Gregory gestured to the armrests of Gavin’s seat. “You did that. I saw you do it. You’re strong—too strong. And that makes you a threat.”

            “A threat?”

            “Look, kid. The Governor doesn’t want anyone going up against him, you see. He’s powerful, very powerful. And he wants to stay that way. He pays me to keep the peace, to ensure his continued rule. So if you so much as lift a finger against him, you’re dead. Understand?”

            Gavin swallowed and nodded.

            “All right then.” Suddenly Gregory wheeled and, with split-second aim, fired a shot that sailed straight through the center of a diagram on the wall. “That will be you if you try anything,” he growled, spinning the smoking gun around his finger and shoving it roughly back into its holster. “Now, we’re going to take you—all of you—into custody.”

            Glancing at Drake, Gavin saw that the Guards had moved in closer, and one of them was pulling handcuffs from his belt. He looked over at Carlton, and noted his friend’s expression of terror. Only Ren was silent, still sitting in the machine’s chair, looking at Gregory with an expression of utter disgust.

            He’s not going to get up, the boy realized. He’s just going to sit there. A few guards drew their guns, and Gavin closed his eyes. He’s going to die.

            NOW! The thought suddenly exploded through his head—in Ren’s voice? GO! THROUGH THE DOOR!

            Wheeling once more toward Gregory, Gavin threw a well-placed punch at the Agent’s stomach. Doubled over, Gregory yanked the gun from its holster, but the tears streaming down his face seemed to be keeping him from successfully aiming at the boy. His bullets slammed into the ground, each more than a foot away from its intended target.

            Gavin’s attack had drawn the attention of everyone in the room. The upside was that all the other guinea pigs could slip out the door practically unnoticed. The downside was that all the guns in the room were now aimed at him.

            He dove to the floor just in time to avoid a sudden volley that left his ears ringing. The sound of dozens of bullets pelting the ground as he slid behind one of the machines was nearly deafening, but Gavin didn’t care. He just needed a place where he could safely plan his next move, and he had an idea of where that place might be.

            And he was right. The machine had a panel at the back, a panel that opened easily at Gavin’s touch. He slid into the machine’s inner workings and slammed the panel back across the opening hurriedly, as several bullets ricocheted off of it.

            He lay there for a minute or two, gasping for breath, listening to the Guards pounding at the machine frantically. He thought he could hear some Educators going at it with power tools, desiring the safety of the Governor over the safety of one of their prize machines. He must have jammed the door.

            They must really want me dead. They think I’m a threat. But why would I be a threat? I’m only eleven. I can’t do all that much against the Governor. Maybe tear a few statues down, now. But why would I want to do that anyway?

            His Education suddenly kicked in. He heard the lecturer’s voice again. “The Governor took power twenty-three years ago, after a time of food shortage and political dissent destroyed Mirkal’s former infrastructure. After a fierce battle with insurgents determined to eliminate the new regime, the Governor seized complete control and banned the formation of private militias, the ownership of weapons by citizens other than Government workers whose jobs mandate them, the practice of the Visian religion, and the education of children other than under the Government’s system and in Government schools. After this occurred, the Governor required that the details of his occupation be recorded only for the purposes of alerting Government employees of the Governor’s character and his hatred of dissent. The people are to receive an altered version of history in order to preserve the peace. If asked, you will state that the Governor took power peacefully. There was no insurgence. The Visian Religion was made up of ignorant, dissenting individuals, enemies of the Governor. Education can best be completed by the Government’s credentialed teachers. You are never to reveal the full history to anyone, on pain of death.”

            What? Gavin blinked. This is blackmail. This is wrong. This is what I have been thrust into. The Governor now knows I have this information, that I can share it. The Agent knows that we’ve gained special superhuman abilities. They want us dead. They don’t want others to know the truth.

            And Gavin realized what he had to do.

Lace's Recording of Jamie's Chapter 1

Here it is, at long last. Late, I know...I had a karate tournament two days ago which lasted all day, and as a result I could barely talk yesterday. My voice is still a bit crackly, which you can hear when Krinen talks (except for the first bit, which I recorded before I decided on voices xD)

This is also "unlisted". xD

Hope it helps! I had fun recording it ^_^

Jamie's recording of Lace's Chapter 1

So, I once heard that it's helpful to hear your writing read out loud... thought I'd give it a go. Tell me if it helps. ^_^

And it isn't just out there on youtube, btw. It's... "Unlisted"... ;D

Anyway, soapbox is on its way!

Chapter 1 - Lace

So, as Rainey is still struggling to find a voice, I've decided to continue my work on Resistance (which is actually Listed's new title...I had forgotten...) So...here's Chapter 1!

2458 words

Chapter 1

 “The historian uses art in telling his stories, but he must bow to the higher value of faithfulness if he is to be a good steward of his sources and his task.” – Dr. Donald Williams

            On the first day of class, the students arrived, prepared to be bored to tears. It was a history class, and history in Eleth, like history in the former realm of Calormen, was dry as a bone, as the phrase goes. When the professor entered, their conclusions seemed to be even closer to the mark. She looked like the most mundane librarian that there had ever been. Her hair was tied back in a bun, and she carried a large stack of what looked like handwritten notebooks—and, the students knew, anyone who did that much writing by hand by default must be horribly prosaic.

            But as soon as she opened her mouth, they realized that their beliefs were incredible misconceptions. She spoke not like a professor, but like a true storyteller.

“The story I am about to tell you,” the professor began in her musical voice, “is an incredibly important one. You have heard, of course, about the rebellion, thirty years ago?”

            The sea of students filling the lecture hall all nodded. Though most of them had been born a decade after the fact, they had grown up hearing horror stories about the old Governor and grand tales of the heroes of the Resistance.

            As though reading their minds, the professor smiled. “Yes. I’m going to tell those stories—tell them as stories, mind you—of the heroes and what they did; the history of the Resistance, the Counter-Anarchists, and the Anarchists themselves. You see, much of the story has yet to be told. And after years of research and hearing eyewitness accounts, I am ready to tell this story to you.”

            At that, the students sat up in rapt attention. The way their professor had said this, they were certain that they would be the very first to hear many, many new stories about the Heroes and the others who had been involved in the conflict.

            “Does anyone have any questions before I begin?” the professor asked.

            The room was silent, until one student shouted, “Tell the story!”

            “All right,” said the professor, smiling and opening one of her many notebooks. “Then I’ll begin.” And she started to read.

            Ben Sinclair sat down exhaustedly in one of the chairs at the large round table in the center of the hall. Nevertheless, he opened his notebook and began to write, spelling out nearly word-for-word the lecture from that afternoon. It was a practice he employed often, this writing out of the lectures he had heard, in order that he could go back and read them in the future and further solidify his memory of what he had learned. His fellow students likewise appreciated this methodical transcription, for it ensured that they, too, could remember the lectures.

            After about a half hour, his silent vigil was interrupted by loud footsteps. “You doing that thing again?” his friend York asked, dropping into the seat next to him. “Where you write it all down?”

            Ben nodded silently, his pen hardly pausing.

            “You’re insane,” York announced to him and to the room in general. Naturally, no one but Wynn and Hazel heard him. They were part of his and Ben’s inner circle of friends, who would work on papers and projects together, researching, drawing on their various fields of expertise to help each other learn as much about the world—and the other worlds—as they possibly could.

            “Can’t you say it more eloquently, York?” Wynn asked, with a good-natured smile. Hazel nodded in agreement. “We all know that you are capable of eloquent speech—why is it that you never make use of it?”

            “I don’t like people to know I’m smart,” York admitted with a shrug. “It gets boring when everyone knows. They expect a lot more from you, and I don’t want a lot expected of me. I’d rather just fly under the radar for a while, write the occasional paper, but not be a famous academic.”

            “So you want to pretend to be normal,” Hazel summarized.

            York grinned at her. “Yeah, exactly!”

            “Whereas Ben here could never pretend to be normal if he tried,” Hazel chuckled.

            “Hey, it’s not my fault that I have a photographic memory,” the young man grumbled, putting the finishing touches on his transcription. “So, what’s for lunch?”

            The students laughed, and the lecturer smiled at them. “I’m guessing many of you live in much the same way,” she guessed, and was rewarded with a second chuckle.

            In the midst of his extremely busy life as a graduate student at university, Wynn was working on an invention which, despite his penchant for eloquent speech, he had dubbed an Education Machine. It had begun as a bizarre theory one day, as he sat in a psychology class and learned about the brain. What if, he thought, one could artificially implant information in an individual’s brain? Would it be possible to educate a person using electricity, of all things? Wynn mentioned his theory to his friends, and they, very interested, agreed to help him research it.

            “How’s the work coming?” Hazel asked Wynn one day, as they walked to their history lecture.

            “It’s going remarkably well, all things considered,” replied Wynn with a smile. “All the experts I’ve spoken to have concurred—education by electrical impulse is a definite possibility.”

            The work progressed. Wynn and York found out, by several tests run on guinea pigs, that simple tasks could be taught by altering this or that area of the brain. Not irreparably, of course—by which I mean that it wouldn’t change the person in any way. The individual would remain fundamentally the same, but simple skills and knowledge could be added by using even a mild electrical impulse.

            They increased the strength of the signals slowly but surely, and eventually wound up basically creating an entirely new race of guinea pigs. There is an Otherworld book which tells the tale of rats that learned to read; Wynn and York seemed to manage this feat remarkably well.

            But one day, Ben, who had been preoccupied with his doctoral thesis during this stage of their work, came to find out how they were doing.

            “Look at what these guinea pigs can do!” York exclaimed, holding up one of their prized specimens with unconcealed glee. “They can read, they can communicate...all because of electricity!”

            Surprised, Ben looked closer. The guinea pig stared back at him with its overly-intelligent eyes.

            He took several steps back.

            “York, that’s unnatural!” he exclaimed in an almost disgusted voice.

            The other man beckoned him to take a closer look. “We’re just pushing evolution along a bit. They would’ve learned to read sooner or later.”

            Wynn rolled his eyes. “How many times do we have to go through this, York; evolution is not a scientific fact, but a mere theory.”

            “Whatever. I believe it. Because look what we did!” He danced around the room with the guinea pig still in his hands.

            “You may have evolved the guinea pig, York, but I don’t like it,” Ben explained quietly. “There’s something really wrong with doing that to animals. You’re not supposed to be able to talk to animals!”

            “That Otherworld guy did it!”

            “York, that was fiction, even in the Otherworld!” Sighing exasperatedly, Ben took a closer look at their instruments. “You use this to send the electricity in?”

            “Yes, that’s what it’s for.” Wynn peered over his shoulder, then pointed at a set of complicated-looking dials. “This is where we adjust the impulses. We don’t use enough to kill them...most of the time, that is; this isn’t an exact science yet. We’re still learning what does what.”

            “And you’re putting living things into it?!”

            “Well, how else would you expect us to find out how this would be done?”

            “I dunno, Wynn; I still don’t like it.”

            “Suit yourself, Ben. You don’t have to help us any more—not that you’ve done that much, anyway,” he added bitingly.

            “I was working on my doctoral thesis!”

            “Well, couldn’t your thesis wait? This is a new science, an incredible discovery! You could be famous!”

            “No. I don’t want any part of it.”

            “Well, if you turn up your nose at it, I don’t want you coming around any more. This is my proudest moment, Ben, and if you won’t support me—”

            “I won’t.”

            “Then...get out,” Wynn spat, his voice unnaturally terse.

            They didn’t speak for years after that. While Wynn, York, and Hazel worked on their Education Machine, Ben joined the Education Department of the brand-new Government, working his way up in the ranks until he was very nearly in charge.

            Along the way, he heard disconcerting reports. York had apparently traveled to another town to pick up some parts for a large machine and never reappeared. Hazel had apparently perished after a brief but severe illness. Wynn, however, was still plugging away, and eventually contacted the Education Department, asking them to send a Government agent out to inspect his work. He wanted to see if it would, when finished, do them any good.

            While he was proud of his former friend’s success, Ben didn’t want to go himself, so he sent an Agent named Kione Gregory, who was known for his thoroughness and loyalty to the Government. If there was any worth in Wynn’s machine, Gregory would commend the man and see to it that his work was heavily subsidized.

            When Gregory returned from Wynn’s laboratory with the invention in tow, Ben was mildly fearful. While it meant that his friend had managed something excellent with his work, he had also specified that it was in the preliminary stages—not ready to sell. And his suspicions were confirmed when Wynn himself arrived at his office, a small girl about three years old in tow.

“Ben. It’s started,” he said.

If it had been anyone else, Ben would have been rather nonplussed at this intrusion. But the fact that it was Wynn, whom he hadn’t seen or talked to in years, made him leap to his feet. “Wynn! What’s—” He stopped abruptly in the middle of his sentence. He had been right. Something was definitely wrong.

“It’s started, Ben. The Government’s taking over.” Wynn’s eyes were wild.

“Isn’t that kind of obvious?”

“You don’t get it.” Wynn pounded his fist on Ben’s desk, causing a cup of pencils to tip over and spill onto the floor with a wooden rattle. “They’re taking over. Controlling everything. Do you hear what I’m saying?” he roared, grabbing Wynn by the arms and practically shaking him. “Ben, everything is changing.”

“Now, calm down, Wynn.  I’m sure you’re overreacting. It can’t be as bad as you seem to think—”

“You don’t understand,” moaned Wynn through clenched teeth. “They’ve taken everything—everything, Ben!”

“Is this about your machine?”

“Yes, it’s about the machine! And about everything I own—my equipment, my food...Ben, they’ve taken it all! Everything!”

“Why on earth—”

“I had to stop them, Ben! They’re not who you think they are!”

“Stephen, I know they’ve lied about the takeover. But all in all what they’ve done has helped Mirkal. Less people are breaking the law. They’re moving everything to those new buildings they’re putting up at the center of town. They’re a lot more organized than the old government was—”

“Do you think that’s what this is all about?” spat Wynn. “Organized? Better at keeping the peace? If that’s what you think...”

“I don’t know what to think!” Ben suddenly roared. “I’m being bombarded left and right with this propaganda! No one is telling the truth! I just have to trust that they know what they’re doing! It’s all I can do!”

“No, Ben.” Wynn’s voice was quieter now, shaking with emotion. “It’s not.” He indicated the little girl standing beside him.

“You have a daughter?” Ben inquired, his voice gentling.

“Yes. She’s the spitting image of her mother, isn’t she?”

“I wouldn’t know.”

“Oh, that’s right—we lost contact after you wouldn’t help me.” A bit of bitterness returned to Wynn’s voice in that moment, an irate, stiff sound which, somehow, brought Ben back to when he and Wynn had fought over the Education Machine. “I married Hazel McClenaghan—you remember her?”

“Yeah.” Suddenly remembering that Hazel had died, Ben lowered his voice and said, “I’m sorry, Wynn.”

“Kara is all I have left of her now,” the other man murmured. “And now,” he suddenly growled, “I can’t even take care of her. Ben, I’m Listed. And so’s she.”

One student raised her hand. “Er...what’s Listed mean?”

The professor blinked. “You don’t know?”

“No.” The other students let out a murmur of agreement.

“Well, Listing...it’s like exile, ostracism from Otherworld history...” Off the students’ blank looks, she continued. “It means you’re kicked out of society. No one can talk to you. You can’t work. You’re dead unless you find a community of people who find some way of getting food.”

“Oh. Thanks, Professor.”

Ben blinked. “They Listed her?”

“They think I’ll raise her to be a threat. They weren’t taking any chances—not after I refused to give them my machine or my help. They’re heartless.”

“Stephen, what can I do? I—”

Clearing his throat, Wynn held his daughter out. “You can take her...raise her as your own daughter.” His voice cracked. “She’ll be safe. She can get an education, have the life she deserves. They’ll never know.”

Ben took a deep breath. “Wynn, as much as I’d like to, I can’t. Taking care of someone that young...it’d be an unbearable burden on me. I couldn’t teach, I couldn’t work, I couldn’t do anything.”

“But Ben—you can’t—”

“Wynn, I can’t afford it. It’s too risky, too much to ask. Why don’t you ask York?”

“No one knows what happened to him,” hissed Dr. Wynn through gritted teeth.

“Oh...right.” His voice trailed off as he remembered that his other friend had vanished.

“You see, Ben? You have to take her. You’re the only one!”

Ben’s heart ached. He wanted to take her, he really did. But it just wasn’t practical. “I can’t. I’m sorry. Surely I’m not the only one—surely there’s someone else?”

“There is no one else.” Wynn’s voice was hollow now. “Goodbye, Ben.”

“Wynn...wait...where will you go?”

“I don’t know.” And with that, Wynn gave Ben one last look, a glance filled with every ounce of his anger and fear. Then he lifted his daughter and stalked out of the office, slamming the door behind him.

Within two minutes, Ben ran after them. He couldn’t let them go that easily. He had to take the girl; who knew what would happen to her if he didn’t?

But Wynn and Kara were gone. They had vanished without a trace.

Chapter 1, Grave News - Jamie

Jamie here. ;) Well, turns out it didn't take me several days after all. :P First chapter, up and ready to go! ^_^ A little background information... this is my second novel I'm working on, which I recently found out is a prequel to my first novel, Daughter of Eurivion. So, second novel... it might become Prince of Eurivion, or I may have two prequels. At any rate, the temporary name is The Butterfly Jar. Which, really, isn't a great name in the least. But I had to have something to name the word document. U_U ... xD

While Lace is beginning a new novel right now, I'm currently on chapter 12. So this will be my editing motivation. ^_^ First novel I've ever edited, actually. *glances apologetically at DoE* Don't fear, dear DoE, don't fear... your time will come. 

So, without further adieu, chapter 1! =D

(1740 words)

Chapter 1

Grave news

“The destruction in Niluin was no accident,” said Hrail. “Algoth brought this about with the magic butterflies.”

Krinen gaped. “What is this you say, brother? Has the vault been compromised?”

The two men stood in the gatehouse of the small fortress. It is true: calling it a castle, stronghold, or fortress was more of a joke for them. More like an inn, it was! But the walls extended past the perimeters of the building, encompassing the entire village. They were sturdy walls.

Krinen took a sip of his cider and lifted pale green eyes to those of his brother-in-law. There was worry in his gaze, and something deeper than worry. Fear.

“Sit down,” he said, motioning to the empty seat and setting his mug down on the wooden table. The guard room was his living room, with a hallway leading off to the kitchen and bedrooms. The man spent most of his time here, as gatekeeper. Not a bad job to have, really. Many a quiet afternoon he spent playing with his children or dreaming with his wife; drawing up ideas and plans and diagrams, crafts and art, splendid tales of imagination… and more.

This guard room also served as dining room, and the half of the room closest to the door on the gate’s side of the house was not carpeted like the rest; but the far wall was full of bookshelves and works of creativity.

Hrail ran his hand through his dark hair and sighed, removing his belt and scabbard. He hung them up on a hook located on the wall after the bookshelf wall, near where a fireplace crackled and chuckled quietly to itself. Then he took the seat wearily. “Yes, the vault has been compromised. Doubly compromised. The jar of butterflies, the sword, the poison! Yes, he has them all. But worse than that, he also has the scroll. His last rebellion was bad enough, with merely the three magics. What will he be able to accomplish now that he has the scroll as well? What a blow this will be to my sister... and to us all.”

“Tell on,” said the gatekeeper gravely.

“Algoth acquired his magic just a week ago. You’ll remember that Lilisha and I chose the strong vault in Village Central when we locked these objects away. Village Central...” Hrail repeated, as if it bore some significance.  

Krinen rapped his fingers on the table, waiting for his friend to continue. He hadn’t told all he knew, that was clear.

“In his party there were three youths, two children, and another old enemy.” Hrail explained, “A duke in his usurped kingdom, a lad from Niluin, his niece and nephew, the son of Earvin, and... one other.”

“Yes?” said the gatekeeper. “Yes, who is this one other?”

“Has Lilisha never told you who Algoth is?” he asked softly.

The gatekeeper bit his lip. “It… it has never come up before. I didn’t know he was… someone with additional identity of any concern to us.”

“For a long time, he hasn’t been.” After adding an extra log, he returned to his seat. “But that has now changed. His niece and nephew are the children of his wife’s brother. But there was a third young woman with them. His own daughter, raised by his sister.”

Krinen nodded, taking in the information.

“He didn’t know that, though. He believed that she was taken in by an innkeeper. Having no desire to care for a wee child after his wife’s death, he merely kept an eye on her from a distance. But now that she is older… he has revealed himself to her and taken her from the boarding school where she now resides.”

“And she agreed to his dark schemes?” the man frowned.

“Yes, perhaps he thinks so. But it’s all an act on her part. She is an upright young woman. Short brown hair. Stern of face, firm and decisive. Slow to open her mouth, and always purposeful in speech. Finished the traditional education and went off to boarding school to study legends and history not two months ago.”

Krinen merely stared, unblinking, at Hrail’s face. What was he saying?

Hrail nodded. “Algoth’s full identity was never of any concern, until now. He is my brother. He is Lilisha’s brother. He is your brother-in-law. He is Ammay’s father.”

The fire crackled, a lone voice in a room suddenly grown unnaturally quiet. It was several moments before either spoke again.

“Ammay,” Krinen gasped at last, “My little girl…” he rose abruptly and stepped to the carpeted side of the room. There, he paced back and forth. His mind swept over the past 16 years, as if caressing each memory and looking at it with new eyes. “We have fled from the coming destruction brewing in Shryuin,” he heard Hrail’s voice, 16 years ago, the first time they had met; in this very gatehouse. “This is my sister, Lilisha, and our niece… Ammay.” The infant was not even a year old yet. By the time she was 2, Lilisha and Krinen were married; and she had a family. Two siblings were to follow. And always they had lived here, in the peaceful northern kingdom of Malthire. Krinen grinned as he watched his children grow, skimming over many happy memories.

Hrail’s careful voice called him back to earth. “How is it with your heart?”

“Shocking.” He sat down on the sofa. “Very shocking indeed. But it doesn’t smart. She’s my daughter, not his. I love her, he doesn’t. This changes nothing in my heart; save one thing.”

“And that is?”

“A stronger urge of protection than I have ever before felt is awakened. She can take care of herself, this I know, but that doesn't mean she doesn’t need me; and the walls of protection I can raise around her.”

Hrail nodded. “It is well. What will you do?”

The gatekeeper grinned. “There’s an obvious first course of action. We need to discuss this with Lilisha!”

**********

“But… but how did he break into the vault?” Lilisha was trembling, “And… how do you know all this??”

“I can’t tell you yet,” sighed Hrail, “not until a future revision of this draft. Perhaps then I will be able to give you the good news that I have seen and spoken with Ammay, and that is how I know of these things.”

Lilisha nodded in understanding, but threw her arms up in exasperation. “I wish she had come home. Why didn’t she?”

“Ammay is very unlike our brother in all save two ways. Appearance and will. She’s on a mission, Lilisha. We should be glad that she is right where she is, doing what she can to put a dent in his plans.”

Krinen coughed, indicating the small nightgown-clad figure in the hallway, and they both fell silent. “Do you need a cup of water, Liden?” he asked tenderly.

“No, Father,” said the little boy. “I’m frightened.”

He strode over and put his arm around his son’s shoulders. “What do you have to be frightened of?”

“I don’t know. That’s what scares me. Your voices… I couldn’t sleep, and… I can’t hear what you’re saying from my room, but the sound of your voices… Oh, Father, something is wrong! What is it?”

Krinen nodded gravely. “You’re right, my son. Something is wrong. Do you know what that means?”

The boy shook his head.

“It means that we all have an extraordinary opportunity to show great character. To be brave and strong. Just like day to day life, but amplified. It is in such a time as this that heroes may end up in legends. Do you understand?”

Liden nodded, and a dreamy look came into his eyes. “Like stepping into a storybook?”

“Precisely!” Krinen smiled down fondly and took his son’s hand, leading him back to bed.

When he returned, the council continued.

Lilisha’s voice was steady now, and she spoke. “Yet, how did he break into the vault? I don’t understand. It was sealed with solid rock! And the scroll was in a vault within the vault, locked by a combination that even I do not know. But they could not have reached it in the first place. I have the key to the outer door, right here on my-” she reached for the necklace around her throat, but stopped suddenly.

“What’s wrong?” asked both men at once.

“The key, on the necklace… I… I gave it to Ammay.”

Hrail whistled slowly. “That explains a lot. Did you tell her what it was for…?”

Lilisha sank onto the sofa on the carpeted side of the room with a sigh. “No… I only told her that it was a key to great legend, and she must keep it safe; and someday pass it on to her own child or other worthy keeper. But she’s heard all the stories. I’m sure she guessed just exactly what it was.”

“She would not give it to him willingly!” exclaimed Krinen.

“No,” agreed Hrail, “Not unless to not do so would bring about greater evil.”

Lilisha sighed. “All true.”

There was a silence.

“It’s hard to believe…” Lilisha said, “We worked so hard to bring these three objects to a place where their power could never be wielded again, and to make sure he never ever acquired the scroll.”

“More or less…” her husband agreed. “Never in our time, that is. Never again, until the land has recovered and they might be used wholesomely once again…”

There was a silence once again.

“Okay,” said Lilisha, “I know that this conversation will be much fuller in the second revision, but there is one more thing I want to talk about. Earvin’s son. Hrail, I thought Arlion was dead! Duke Soldor murdered him the night of the rebellion.”

Her brother nodded. “But have you forgotten? Earvin’s wife Krista escaped as well. They have another son now.”

She nodded with a sigh. “Earvin was the only one who knew the combination to the inner vault. He must have ransomed his family’s safety with it.”

“I can’t blame him,” said Krinen softly, “But what do we do now?”

“The scroll, the sword, the butterflies, the poison... they must all be returned to the locked vault, certainly!” said Hrail, “But, I would say, the most important thing is finding Ammay. She will have more knowledge of recent events, even if not the background to understand them.”

Welcome!

Hello to all you stalkers :) I suppose you'd like to know what this blog is for, so I'll oblige you xD Jamie and I are trying to keep each other motivated to write, so we've decided to exchange chapters about once a week on this blog, and soapbox them for each other!

Lace

P.S. I've been assigned the first post...sadly, my power was out for most of the day, and I had work, so I wasn't able to get a full chapter written. So I will post a short preview, with the chapter to follow as soon as possible. Sorry about that, Jamie v_v