NaNo 2007

Alright. My longest at the time attempt at writing. First year of NaNoWriMo: 8661 words. Far from the end.



Circa 1460
Excerpt of the Essay “The World Now” by Lin Nizba

The world is no longer new. Every clump of soil had seen the boot of man for over a hundred years, every piece claimed by nations, by tribes, by man, or by beasts far too vicious to share. These beasts are not quite animal because of a dreaded keenness about them, and they are true omnivores. Everything living or dead that lay in their path when it came time to feed was considered edible. There are two types of these beasts on Lanic, the Durn, meaning maimers in a tongue predating the Great Fall, and the Crod, which has no meaning still known to man. The Durn, and Crod alike, walk both like man and mount, clearing over tall men by two or more heads, and are covered in a matted fur, with color as the only easy way to determine a Durn from a Crod.
The race of man on Lanic called themselves the Lunz, despite the mighty differences existing between the three divisions. The first division of the Lunz simply goes by that name, consisting of simpletons, peasants, and persons generally insignificant for anything but growing food and waging war. The Annan, communers in the ancient tongue, are blasphemous heathens, surviving in the wilderness and claim to channel the power of nature to perform acts of Jhen. It is a common Lunz story that the Annan trained the Crod, and raised them on Lunz blood. The true practioners of Jhen are the Faln. The Faln are as close to perfection as man can be without turning themselves into gods, although some Faln are believed to directly descended from the gods. The Faln make the decisions too great for the Lunz to begin to comprehend. They are the rulers, the elite, the ones marked for greatness.
However, things are not all great on our world of Lanic. The Annan peace is a fragile mess, nations push for war over land and resources, the Durn and Crod seek more blood every night and leave small villages desolate by dawn, and then, there are the Nortanu. The Nortanu may or may not be a collection of firebrand Lunz, alpha Crods, rebellious Annan, and banished Faln. The Nortanu are the epitome of the blight since the Great Fall of Wyrnen. Wyrnen’s first fall marked the start of a new age, as well as the first glimpses of the Nortanu. That long time ago Wyrnen sent his Nortanu cult out into Lanic, making himself an arbiter of chaos. The Faln overthrew Wyrnen before the end of the year, leaving him in pieces glittering with the might of the Jhen, but his cult, although dissipated, survived. A possible coincidence that the first Crogs appears near this time, typically in areas left unmarked by Durn raids.

Chapter 1
Circa 1470

Road was no less than fourteen years of life. He only knew that much since he could remember fourteen freezing seasons. This time of Road’s was as seemingly unimportant as any other time previous or years to come, but it was this cold, harsh season, the fifteenth that Road knew, that marked his first kill. Road wouldn’t know what importance that day was until decades later. Road did not know about sorcery or Jhen, about rebels or traitors, about the Annan, or secrets of the Faln, or even Road did not know his name. He took his name that day, after being confronted by a soldier on the Timber Road, after tricking and maiming that soldier, after first lying to the soldier about his murderer as the man’s life escaped his lips. Road thought that every man should know his death, should know who killed him, and should know why he will never take that breath again. He learned from the beasts raids that death was an encounter that all would face. He knew that it would come to him, but it was that day that decided to give it to someone else. He had no name, so he chose one, on the spot of his first. He had no reason to give the man, so he simply had to say, “My name is Road. I have taken your life for no other reason than to see death.”

Chapter 2
Circa 1500

Thirty years later found Road no longer wandering the streets. He now worked in a forge, pounding iron and steel, billowing flames, and working his sweat into every piece of metal that he turned out.
Three heavy pounds on the forge door opened to show Road looking no more than his late twenties, with medium dark hair, slate colored eyes, standing at a moderate height with steam and the scent of thick sweat falling past him out the door. On the knocking side of the door, there stood a rigid-looking man, with close cropped auburn hair and a permanent scowl.
The knocker waited for the overpowering disgusting air rush past him before barking, “Are you the man who calls himself Road?”
Road dumbly nodded, already guessing where the conversation was heading. The knocker then in hefty breath questioned, “Do you or do you not know any person of respectable character who can vouch for your presence two nights ago on the fifteenth of Firja?”
Road paused a moment to give act like he had to think. In reality he was ready for these questions the day before. ‘So much for the efficiency of the law’ was the thought that permeated his brain. His prepared answer was a quite simple, “Yes. Ask Commander Kennen, we were discussing logistical supplies and the future of the dynamic between forging and war.”
But what came out was something entirely different.
Road cocked his head and without any mental inhibition in the slightest, told him matter-of-factly that “No. The only person able to vouch for my location was the Lord of Baykeep, but that’s because I was killing him.”
Both Road and the lawman were stunned, neither recognizing bluntness as an immediate answer. Luckily Road was younger than the man and was able to react faster by slamming the door. Sliding the bar into place, Road was estimating his chances.
‘How long will the door hold, did he bring anyone with him, could I fight my way out’ and a hundred more questions flooded him in one panting breath. With the heavy exhale, only one idea remained, ‘step away from the door, now!’ Road trusted his instincts and saved his own life. Less than a moment later, the glimmering head of an axe reached out from the door. Road stumbled away from the cleaved door as the vicious steel prepared for another charge. Thoughtlessly he backed away, unconscious of his inevitable destination.
The second hit echoed like a hammer around the forge as the axe cleaved through the bar. The third swing ruptured the door. The iron Road, awakened by the splinters and fragments falling around him, turned to sprint out the rear exit.
Road never saw red again, after his flight took him into a piece of overheated steel and headfirst into a cast stove.

- One year later

Rope. Rope was the only thing that Road awaited. He wished he had some before sunset; maybe he could then escape this cell. The only rope to be found would be the bit dangling his dead before the crowd of ignorant Lunz and the pompous Faln that take pleasure from seeing death.
A man should know his death, should know who and why. Road felt cheated, only knowing two. Doubly cheated knowing his life would end with the sun, but he would never see that sun fall beneath the sky, taking his soul with it.
A youthful Faln sneered as he said. “You, Road. It’s time to pay the gods for the life you stole.”
Road wished for that rope again, although its purpose would be very different from only moments earlier. Two meaty Lunz brutes flanked him, as the Faln pranced around him, prodding with a stick on every pass. The gallows steps seemed monstrous, his ankles weighted by lead, and that piece of rope threatening from a few steps away.

A flawless hanging. The body of the murderer was simply discarded with waste, no funerals for criminals…

Chapter 3
The sunset of the fifth day since Road’s Execution

Orange had lit the sky, scattering the suns warming rays amongst the clouds. The body of Road lay with the discarded food and household garbage. The body began to stir, signs of life returning to pale corpse. Road had returned.
The afterlife imparted Road with knowledge practically forbidden for the living; knowledge of destiny, of Jhen, and of his bolstered need for blood. Road knew that his life was over, destiny fulfilled, but his crimes; his need of death is what pulled his soul back from the eternity. He shorted the destiny of two individuals, and claimed the time of their death, to the time of their destined demise. When he stole their lives, he stole their time. Now, he has lost his destined life, but the link he made allows him to continue on. For his new life to continue, he must continue his atrocities, his soul no longer intact enough to be charred by the abyss that calls for him.
Road had a choice now, to allow himself to be resummoned to the abyss, or allow himself to cut the strings of destiny. Road had no idea on how much stolen time his soul had, but he decided then, that death will come to Lanic.

Road knew that he smelled of rotten food and a general sewage, but he needed a life. The lord from the sea, whose death is what entered him into this new life, was not a very young and healthy man. He chuckled at a slightly fortunate happenstance of all this, he will always be either young or dead.
The Jhen was the goal of this young undead. The Jhen was quite simply magic, but its source was what fascinated the ex-smith. The Jhen arises from the energy that makes up every living thing. All these channelers, sorcerers, and conjurors were never involved in some benevolence towards the Lunz or Annan or Faln, but rather act of hate, violence, and death. It is these things that release the energy that those ancient magicians manipulated into a focused energy force, causing fire and lightning, flood and quake. Armed with this knowledge, Road marked a destiny paved in blood, and bone, and magic.

Chapter 4
1505 PGF

Road sat on a rock near a stream in the forest east of the capital city. This damp wooded trail gave him what Road now truly desired, secrecy. It had been about five years since his fateless resurrection, but he had not given any man to death. There had been many instances, such as the woman in the fishing village, his knife not delivering a fatal blow; another time was more comical, with Road missing the farmer, who never noticed, and Road tripping on his spear. He since gave up highway banditry and spears, taking to dagger and shadows.
Somehow Road knew his time was close, the scent of death was intimately familiar to him. Sitting on his cold seat dangling his toe in the slow trickling stream, he wondered why he never smelled it before, when he was really alive. With his family being taken, or those two men he unjustly took, or the accidents he has seen, or the outbreaks, the wars, the atrocities of nature, this scent was distinct, attractive even, not for its sweetness or its pleasantness but its peculiarity and familiarity, like it was coming to where you belonged. The appearance of the death, however, prompted a variety of emotions, fear, grief, and the occasional acceptance. Road thought deeply on his final days of thinking about the world as normal, realizing he had accepted death, but not until the stool began to move. The horrible abyss had dropped around him as he felt the euphoric surge of falling. He did miss that euphoria. But he made his choice when he reawakened, he would seek evil, if such a thing really held such meaning for him. He knew where his darkened soul would go when his time ran out, and that was the one thing motivating him to keep pressing on.
Shouldering a small, hide satchel that carried a gourd of water, and some hardened peasant bread that he stole from a farmhouse deep in the fields that was a two day walk away from this restful respite he found in this creek. Death would soon come calling, and Road only hoped he could pay the loan.

It was dusk. Road greatly missed the many sunsets and sunrise the he could no longer enjoy. The only solace he could derive was the knowledge that regardless of what happens on Lanic, the gods and the heavens would maintain their constant trek.
Road knew the best time to travel was far past, but he needed a city. He needed some shadows to allow him a decent murder. “Gods,” he muttered “am I enjoying this?”
If gods ever listened to anyone, they would not have chosen Road as their advisor. However, having a multitude of deities often can lead to some major disagreements, particularly from one insignificant godling that thoroughly enjoyed order, something man was the exact opposite was. This godling took notice of the disorder caused by a destiny thief, and spent its infinite free time thinking of an unlimited number of ways to eliminate this nuisance.
The correct to answer to Road’s quiet plea was ‘No’. He did not enjoy the lifestyle he had chosen. This voluntary secrecy was no different from his orphaned youth, but then it had been for survival, now it possessed by malice of forethought. He wanted no one to see him, know him, impact as few lives as possible, other than agitating the already chaotic nest by leaving a corpse in the street, and then disappear until his time would run low again.
There came a sound. Road’s palm slipped to the butt of the knife he had tucked into his trousers. It was well past dusk now, with a cloudy moon casting the nearby forest as one mass full of darkness, and sticks, and noises. There were no noises. Road seldom panicked, not since his capture years past, but he had heard stories. He knew that they might be out there, staring at him. Creeping just behind the brush and shrubs. Could they climb the trees? Could they be on both sides of him?
Glancing over his shoulder, he saw the thick, knotted, overgrown grass stretching many paces away from this path before the gloomy canopy claimed all the light. Another noise! His head snapped in that direction, his wrist numbing from the grip on the knife still in his pants. The terrain seeming as it was before, except that bush… large dark mass darted away from the bush, its path would put the gargantuan beast in the middle of the clearing between the road and the ominous darkness.
With the knife clearing the sheath, Road’s lean figure began to sprint down the road in his original direction. Only for the hefty claw of a Durn to slam into his chest with his feet, still in a full sprint, falling out beneath him. The first Durn slid and began a berserker rush towards the fallen Lunz.
Road’s knife acted seemingly of its own volition, darting to the head of the Durn that was crushing his chest, forcing any air remaining from his lungs. His blade connected the beast, sending it reeling off him in a guttural cry of pain. The wounded brute fled, jerking the blade free with its paw.
Road rolled to the discarded weapon, scooping it up as his shoulder lanced with pain. He quickly scoured the area for the intact Durn. After a few moments on alert, he sunk to his knees. His eyes did what they had never done during his true life. Road wept, and a few brief moments later he collapsed, exhausted, into the thick brush lining the road.

Chapter 5
The Next Dawn

He could feel the sun. Road rubbed his eyes, knowing he was incredibly lucky to survive the night. The dirt had caked around his sad, slate colored eyes, dried Durn blood coated the dagger, and Road was very hungry. Stumbling to his sack, which he assumed had apparently been dislodged during the scuffle the previous night, Road found a quarter of a loaf of peasant bread. The bread gave him no filling, only a sore jaw, but it was all he had. Road needed to make the city by dusk. But with no money for passage to or lodging in the capital, Road was feeling like he should have let the Durn maul him. He wouldn’t have been a very filling meal.
The sun was on its descent when the capital’s walls protruded from the horizon. Pushing on, he saw wagons departing the city, heading seemingly all directions after clearing the gate. Darkness began to fall as the walls just seemed reachable. Road desperately hoped that the outer gates remained open after dusk.
Although on a typical day the gate would have been sealed at sunset, fortunately for Road, the harvest festival had just begun, with the mass exodus of carts going to local farms to obtain fresh produce. But Road was too tired to know how hungry he was, and he promptly fell asleep as soon as his body came to a slouched rest in an dark alleyway nearby.
Dawn came again on the soul thief, and he awoke, know exactly what he had to do today. Road’s first goal was food. He felt at a distinct disadvantage in obtaining committing a secretive murder. The harvest vegetables were definitely available to Road, but he was certain that they’d be more closely guarded than caches of treasures by the scowling Lunz that picked them.
Quickly dousing his face with some roof water that had drained into an empty keg near the bar that he had slept next to, Road began to stumble up the city’s main thoroughfare. Each pained step felt like his muscles were ready to break free of his bones, and he couldn’t blame them, with as little rest that he was getting now. As the dirty wanderer shuffled up the street, his hand sliding along the shop fronts and ropes blocking off merchant wares from crowding, nimble-handed thieves, Road found another familiar scent, a much more pleasant odor comparatively, pie. He didn’t know what type or how much, but he did know that what he had was not enough.
Faced with only a small moral dilemma with regards to other items on the agenda, a light breeze wafted a blast of sweet, baked fruit clearing his mind of any objections. The shop was indiscreetly marked, matching the wood and stucco theme as surrounding shops and houses. A faded wooden sign dangled from above the entrance with the words ‘Behta Bakery’ burned into it. Road nervously edged into the door, noticing five others in the shop began to plan his escape from what felt like damning situation. No more than fives paces from the do, sat a prize that was worth the risk. It was golden brown, with red fruit bulging from the center, knowing that this scent too would haunt him forever, he grabbed the pie and took three paces before he realized that the doors were closed!
A severe looking young brunette stood, arms crossed with a threat of pain to be inflicted lingering in her eyes. She spoke very softly, “My name is Behta, can I help you find something?”
He stammered, placing the dessert back onto the shelf, and glanced over his shoulder. The attendant was still at the far end of the store, and like the other customers, oblivious to the happenings less than seven paces away. Then something peculiar happened, something he knew of but had never before seen, this Lunz baker could channel the Jhen.

Chapter 6
Two hours later.

Road sipped another time on the scalding tea, hoping that a stronger tongue could withstand the awkward flavors and burning temperature.
“So, let me see if I understand this. You’re an escaped criminal, for years on end now, obviously not a thief… You’ve generally been hiding out in the woods and needed to come into the city for supplies. Then, on your way here, you were assaulted by two Durn, which stole your food… How exactly were you going to acquire these items?”
Road coughed, taken aback by such a blunt young woman, and he replied, “I was planning on working for it, but between the lack of food and the long journey, I was too hungry too think clearly.”
Behta still possessed a look of distrust. “So, what did you do, exactly?”
Road smiled, enjoying now having one person to talk to after so long around fishes and rodents, he began “Well, I owned my own forge, working in a city a long way from here.” He lied about the forge; it was in the capital, only a two day walk from the city. “And things were going well, I had paid off…”
“No, I mean, why are you considered a criminal?” Behta interrupted.
“Oh,” replied a slightly stunned smith. He considered the truth deeply before responding, “Well, I was accused of killing a Faln that I had been hostile towards earlier. He ended up dying the next day, and I had no one that could substantiate my claim, so…” He hesitated at this point, unsure what this lie would be; would he be escaped? Released? Executed and revived? He chose the seeming half truth, “I escaped after being sentenced.”
Behta seemed somewhat more satisfied, although she still had another question ready for him after he replaced his mug onto the table. “Didn’t you think about leaving the nation? Starting over somewhere else?” she asked.
“Actually the thought never occurred to me,” he lied again with a moment of hesitation. Road did leave the nation, but it was even colder there, and he knew that he would never be able to start over; his continued life would rejepordize him.
“Ah, well,” said Behta as she rose from her armchair. “I guess it’s time to get you off. I’ll go get Dulin to call the patrolman.”
“Patrolman?!” Road exclaimed, jumping out of the chair.
“Oh, did you think I was going to let you steal from me, did you?”
“Steal? But you caught me!” Road stammered.
“Indeed, caught in the act”
Road felt pressure building on his throat. Remembering that she didn’t search him, he reached behind his back and gripped the knife, still coated in Durn blood.
But the gesture wasn’t lost on the baker, who called out the door, “Dulin, get the patrol, now!”
Road took this opportunity to rush the unarmed woman, blade in hand. He was within two paces of his target when he was suddenly flung backwards. Groaning, knife clutched tightly in his hand, he pulled himself up again.
“No!” gasped Behta, as dismay danced across her unshielded face. “No… no one should have been able to survive that!”
“No one… is actually pretty accurate,” whispered Road, the tightness on his neck making his breathing very strained.
Road stumbled towards Behta, braced for another impact. He reached her without resistance, both of them breathing hard. Grabbing her by her soft brown curls, he pulled his back, leaned forward and whispered softly next to her ear, “I’m sorry it had to be you…”
Road took in her smell, her softness. It had been a long time since he had been this close to any woman, let alone one this beautiful.
Right after this brief self-indulgent moment is when Road’s static, sheltered life of exile changed. The exact moment Road thought, ‘I actually will miss her.’ Dulin returned, with two guards armed with well-polished spears and extra buffed hard leather vests flanking him.
Dulin shrieked as his eyes fell on Road and Behta coupled, the stained dagger poised for a kill. The patrolmen reacted as trained, bringing their spears to the ready. Road, reacting as quickly as possible, threw Behta to the floor, and slung his knife at the closer guard. As the steel sunk deep and into its target with inhuman accuracy, Road felt the mounting pressure of his airway release. Instantly he recognized the sensation, but he had no time to consider its meaning. The standing guard gave a hesitant, sluggish thrust, unsure of combat in such tight quarters. Road took advantage of this obvious gap in training by seizing the spear’s neck and delivering a hefty kick to its owner. Turning the spear about, Road lunged at the now floored guard, claiming another life with his malicious intent.
Dulin whimpered, drawing the arbiter of death to the side, close to his curled up body, hiding in the shadows of the counter. “You must die as well,” spoke Road, who reached over to the felled man and yanked his knife free. He then said, “My name is Road. I shall take your life with this blade,” raising the blade overhead, “and not because I wish you dead, but, rather, I wish me alive.” With his death blessing completed, Road drove the red gleaming blade downward, deep into Dulin’s chest, stealing more time with one swift action.
Behta. He remembered the sorceress and braced for an attack from her, but after a few, tranquil moments elapsed, he began searching the room for her. He found here, standing eyes wide and mouth gaped where she had been tossed aside.
Road weighted the three choices that he saw evident before him. He deeply wished that he could just walk away, but that option, despite its multitude of merits, carried far too much risk. So, in the end, he gave Behta a choice, simply asking “Bo you want to die? Or to come with me?”
Behta, not expecting a choice, betrayed a shocked expression. “I… uh…” she replied as he wiped his knife on a towel that had been resting on the counter. Deciding on an answer and summoning the will to speak it from deep within her, she took at step forward and passed out, spent by the small Jhen that she had used.

Chapter 7
Some indeterminate time later

When Behta awoke, night had already fallen. The smell of trees and rain echoed on wind, lingering in the air of the clearing. Behta had rarely left the city, and only traveled on the main roads. The villain that stole her seemed to be no where in sight, so she had to make the assumption that he deserted her here, in the middle of a dark, unfamiliar, and probably dangerous forest. ‘Probably full of Crod and other poisonous animals,’ she thought. “And probably traps by that criminal,” she said aloud to no one in particular.
But from the wood she heard a voice, “Traps can quite easily become a problem for innocents and quick escapes.” She looked in the direction of the sound, scouring the darkness of the trees and bushes for its source.
The voice came again, coming from the opposite edge of the clearing, “start a fire, won’t you?” She began to think, ‘this doesn’t sound like Road,’ so the next logical step, she concluded, was calling out with. “Who are you?”
She suddenly found herself on the ground, Road mounted atop her, the glimmering sharp edge of his blade pressed against her throat, and pressed his finger to the lips of his stony face.
Leaning close, Road whispered, “Those are the Annan. They wouldn’t want us here.”
“Annan!” Behta whispered. “But they’re so close to the capital. The treaty prohibits that.”
“Quiet!” barked Road in a hushed tone, giving her a slightly contemplative stare.
The sound of leaves rustling no more than a few paces away echoed throughout the grove. Road took a hold of Behta’s shoulder, pulling slightly on the sleeve of her muddied dress, as he stealthfully rose from the over-moist soil, sheathing his knife as he stood. Quietly he said, “You can either trust me, or trust them out there,” motioning to where another sound crept out from the trees.
Behta started into this murder’s steely face and she found it, that hint, albeit tiny but present, of warmth in the sad grey color that filled his eye. She extended her hand upwards, hoping for help. As Road, giving an uncharacteristic half-smile, reached back, a bolt flew silently screaming from the dark wood, imbedding itself deep into the flesh of his welcoming hand.
While Road stood there, still watching the face of his captured, she never saw a look of pain, of fear, or of anything besides what appeared to be resignation. Somehow that was both comforting and frightening to Behta.
Road then turned to face his attacked, his face seeming to morph as every degree passed, this time Behta had no idea what the ex-smith was feeling. Behta stood, balancing herself on a nearby mossy tree. She then realized that something very bad was going to happen, as more Annan emerged from the forest like crossing into a room.
One of the more recent figures from the dark stepped slowly and deliberately, full of pretense, until he was within a pace of the wounded Road. Despite all of her misgiving about the criminal, her entire body seethed vehemence towards this ridiculous Annan. ‘This arrogant primitive acted like he knew who they were!’ she thought as her mind fantasized that this determined man would cover the clearing red with Annish blood, like he did to her wonderful bakery. ‘Oh, my bakery…’ remorse began to fill the young woman, until the Annan spoke.
“Road. Why have you cursed our home with your defiling presence again? Did you not,” he paused to glare at Road for a few moments, “understand what would happen if we caught you here again?”
Questions began to flood Behta’s mind, such as ‘Who is he? How does hi know Road? Why is Road so hated by these people?’ She would get the answers to those questions eventually, but today, Road’s only response was to hand his knife, hilt first, to the man. As the Annan lifted the blade from Road’s unwounded hand, Road spat on the man’ shoe and said something in a language that she did not understand.
The man instantly dropped the knife, letting it fall and sink into the mossy ground. Behta’s eyes shifted from the discarded weapon to Road’s face, now plastered in an expression that seemed like mild amusement, until another Annan was suddenly behind Road, bringing the butt of his crossbow down to the back of Road’s head. Behta was only terrified for a few brief moments until she felt a sharp painful rush of darkness engulf her body.

Chapter 8
Some time later.

Road was awake, but he didn’t open his eyes. He felt the need to feint unconsciousness, because he did not wish to relive the wonders of Annish torture. The two guards, armed with staves, since the Annan had no real forging experience or necessity, were discussing enclave politics. They spoke in a quick, dialectic of Annish that Road could at most half understand, but he could glean enough to catch up on information of the world now. It had been so long since he had a solid enough connection to the common world to stay updated on anything more than local news about crops and cattle.
Some of the news he heard had been about the capital had sending out riders, warning people to prepare for a declaration of war, some Faln was missing from a nearby city, a group of naïve Lunz had been protesting the King’s water damming, and a local farmstead had apparently burned, claiming the lives of all the farmhands and a Faln merchant lord. No news about his heinous crimes, including the arson of the bakery.
A rapping came from the door, Road estimated that it was no more than five paces from his location, huddled on some plant debris in the corner of this subterranean cell.
The man, who entered the door, did not say a word, but the two Annans on guard duty, shuffled their seats, and Road heard sounds of two sets of footsteps on the stone stairs leading back up to the outside.
Opening his eyes slowly, he saw exactly the man the he predicted. Coran, leader of this particular group of Annan, stood patiently outside Road’s cell, his eyes gleaming watchfully and malevolently in the soft light solely produced by a hanging lantern in the room. After a few more moments of meaningful silence, Coran broke it with a whisper, “You’ve returned. You returned to our little community after we made very, very sure that you understood the punishment for returning.”
“Well, I…” Road started, but was quieted by a swift kick to the bars separating the two men, causing dirt and debris to flutter in the air between them.
“You, you dark one!” shouted Coran with a voice well above the whisper that he had started with. “You not only return here, on pain of death, but bring a woman and more evil dripping from your blade.”
“Coran. I had no intention of reentering your community. I’m jus on my way to the capital and wanted to stay off the highway,” replied Road, who kept calm in his voice, which he was. “Oh, by the way, where is the woman?”
Coran sneered. “It doesn’t really matter, you shall die at dawn.” He then turned, taking the oil lamp with him, and left as quietly as he came, leaving the darkness of the room to comfort the darkness in Road’s heart.

It was well past dawn, Road guessed. He assumed that he had not been unconscious for more than a quarter of a day. As time progressed, he realized that indeed he would die, a lengthy execution indeed.
“They sealed me in,” said Road, shaking his head, awestruck at these Annans’ brutality. Only then did Road decide that it might be a good idea to attempt to escape this tomb. Thinking back to his last glimmer of light, he tried to remember where everything was in the prison. Two stools outside his cell, no weapons, rusty iron imbedded in dirt, some leaves and debris, and not much else was around, but none of that seemed usable. After a few hours of futile attempts to escape, including ramming the bars, both before and after he tried loosing the foundation with the only fluid that he had accessible, to no avail, other than an injured arm. Road sighed, ‘not only was he trapped underground, but he was trapped in a cell underground.’
Road began to consider what would seem nearly impossible. His death took him to the abyss for almost five whole days. In death, everything fell into place and Road understood all the things that in his life, he questioned. But that had been five years ago, so much forgotten from that lesson, Road tried to remember.
At first, after that spontaneous rush of euphoria, there was darkness and confinement, much like he felt now. After wondering down a dark hallway for a whole day, he came across the only other person, if he was even that, in the abyss, the gatekeeper.
The gatekeeper did have a name, but it was only known in the language of the gods. The odd thing about the gatekeeper was that he guarded no gate, nor kept an exit. ‘Maybe,’ Road now thought, he only existed as an object for abyss denizen’s hatred and spite for keeping them prisoner here. Road felt this way at the end of his second day, which he had spent alternating between finding an escape and loathing the silent, silvery giant, who stood motionless, emitting its own glow, but whose eyes were always trained on the abyss’s current charge.
Over the next two days, Road thought over his life in the world he left behind and all of his unanswered questions, only to find that the questions now all had answers. On the fifth, and last, day in that void, Road realized that he may not need to remain dead. Upon this revelation, Road turned to his silver guardian and asked, “Can I return to my body?” Road then awoke, finding himself surrounded in garbage, and an indescribably tightness in his throat.
Just this recollection returned that tightness, but Road still remembered one valuable, but so far unused lesson from the afterlife; he had learned how to channel Jhen.
Using Jhen extremely weakens the users, unless the caster spreads the weight among other victims. Most conjurers fought in wars, spreading the exhaustion among all the persons nearby, friend or foe. Also, Jhen, when used to kill a person, does not feed back onto the caster, which is another reason why all those infamous magicians massacred entire fields of battle or tore apart whole cities. Road also knew that Jhen was evoked and fed by emotions, particularly strong negative ones, such as fear, anger, and hatred.
‘Well, I’m trapped, now is as good of a time as any to learn how to channel magic,’ concluded Road. He focused, concentrating on all the fear, and anger, and hate that he had felt throughout his life. During this profound introsepeculation, Road came to realize that, although he has been sad, exhausted, and agitated plenty of times in his life, he never became unwarrantedly afraid, nor ever anger or hatred that had not in reality been annoyance or irritation. Then, that silent, oppressive darkness, ever lingering deep in his chest, found Road openly contemplating, and struck. It showed him what he feared, what he hated, and, most effectively, the secretive section of his soul showed Road a future. This future freed him from his grave. The wall of his terrestrial prison lurched far into the air, the metal bars landed a small distance away, as a contorted mass or iron, rust, and dirt.
Road had become a true freedman again, like that day five years ago, Road was reborn, but this time it was his will that rushed back into him. He was once again free from destiny, free from the ground, and free to begin his reign of death.
Thinking on what had to be done; he realized that he was only almost free. One more chain was across the door leading to his absolute freedom, but Road was willing to accept this set of links because it was the chain the broke the rest. The chain had only a name, but no actions and no quests. The chain was name: Behta.

Chapter 9

Behta awoke, for the second time in a day without knowing where she was. She saw through a window that the sun had begun to set. She opening the small portal, and noticed the light in the room behind her change. Scouring the dimly lit darkness, she found a dying candle, smothering itself in its own wax. She poured the molten wax into the small, murky brass tray that sat beneath it. With the brighter, healthier flame, she circled the room, looking for anything that might prove useful, but instead, all she found was a door that did not seemed to open, an unused chamber pot in an isolated corner of the room, a matching bed and wardrobe, and a small window, no larger than a loaf of bread, that faced the retreating sun. Returning to the window, Behta looked at the surrounding buildings, concluding that se was in the attic of the tallest building that she could see, but she was no more than four floors above the ground.
Behta decided that, since no alternative presented itself, she might as well get some rest. Today was turning out to be a very rough and unpleasant one. She lay atop the well-made bed, letting her mind relax and reflect on her bakery, her capture, and especially her captor. She drifted to sleep with his stony eyes watching her from deep within her own mind.

Three concussive pounds on the door threw her out of her dreams of fruit pies. A fourth blow cast the door ajar, pouring light into the since dark room, spilling around a shadowy figure at the mouth of the room. Taking two steps forward into the black room, the figure laid his hand on the foot of the bed, and said, “My name is Coran. I am the leader of these people. You, and your friend, are trespassing in our home… You will be released, eventually. If you ever return, you will be killed.”
Behta rubbed her eyes, hoping that this was some nightmare. Coran took that as an acknowledgement, nodding his head with turning about to the door. The light source had already left, heading down the stairs, and leaving only the ambience from the tiny window to show him lingering at the door. “He asked about you… Road obviously saw you as valuable. I wonder, what value are you to me?” he asked, speaking more to himself and the darkness than his prisoner on the bed. After a brief hesitation, he continued, “don’t bother asking about him. His execution is being carrier out as we speak… Good night.”
Now Behta was speechless, hoping that this was somehow a bad dream. She did not know if he was lying, where Road was, or if she should even care if Road never came back. But she did know that she was tired. Sinking back into dreams again, Behta found no pie, only death.

It was brighter now; dawn had come. Behta straightened her dress and sat on the edge on the bed, waiting. Waiting for what she was unsure, but she knew that alone, she could do nothing. At sometime during the night, a platter with a pitcher of water and a quarter loaf of bread had found its way onto the wardrobe’s shelf. Behta quickly partook of the feast; she was definitely hungry, having eaten no meal since she was stolen. Time had passed midday with still no visitor for the bored baker. The sound of a heavy rain struck suddenly, stopping only moments later. Rising and walking up to the window, there was no trace that any water had fallen, although the sky was overcast. She did notice a tiny clump of grass resting on the sill that had not been there the evening before. Opening the small pane and holding the small hunk of leaf and soil curiously, she saw him.
Road, looking extremely ragged and dirty, was trudging towards her building, when an arcing blot of lightning shot across the mysterious and ominous dark sky. The following roar of thunder startled Behta, who ruined towards the door. Pausing a moment to consider her options, she grabbed the pitched, emptying its contents onto the floor. Her first attack on the door coincided with a massive rain that sounded like gods starting a waterfall.
The air was saturated with the scent of magic. The Jhen had been begging for blood and death, since the last war ended. Behta knew she should escape this massacre before it started. She hoped that Road knew the price of Jhen… or was it the other way around?

Chapter 10

Road saw her on the top floor window in Coran’s house. It had to be Coran’s; he was the only Annan ostentatious enough to build a full sized house in the middle of a forest. There were two things that troubled Road now: Behta, was she a prisoner or a guest? And the rain, did he take on more Jhen then he could possibly cope with? By the time Road reached the front of the house, he matched his environment completely, a large, muddy mess.
Road paused beneath a tree, with the cold, dark water falling heavily around him. The branches creaked, rocking about him from a heavy gust of chilled wind flowing past. Road shivered instinctively, although the frigid air barely penetrated his skin. Road knew that Coran was inside, and that he must die. This death, unlike the others, would be a great personal satisfaction.
Hearing a thunderous crack, Road expected to have seen that flash of sky energy fairly close, until he realized that the noise spawned from inside the house. Creeping up the slick branches on the tree above him to a limb near a second level window, Road saw a room bare of any furnishings, but through the open door, he saw a body roll down the chandelier lit stairs. Two men approached the landing from both directions where the figure had come to rest, with their staves poised to attack. The mound of wood debris and flesh began to stir. The Annan grew closer and more anxious of their prey. Lifting its head, Road saw her hair, in all of its dark wonderfulness, fall off her shoulder. “Behta,” escaped his lips and worry gave a sprint across his brow.
Another figure emerged from up the stairs. He simply shook his head as he passes the fallen woman, who had managed to lift her head and glared scornfully at the figure. Road could already guess that the man was Coran. Coran walked past her, continuing down the stairs. After his head disappeared from sight, an Annan grabbed her upper arm, yanking her from the floor.
Coran retuned, appearing to be in some noble soliloquy. Standing on the stairs below the landing where the guards had re-erected the baker, Coran produced a knife, Road’s knife. Road knew that he had to act, since it was a rare occasion that all three of his current desires resided so close together. He carefully rose on the branch that he had been perched upon, painfully aware of his hand still throbbing where the broken blot shaft still lay imbedded. He gave the branch a jump-like push, testing its strength and hoping that it would hold. Road began a dash towards the window, envisioning an effortless flight through the glass, rolling up from his landing, and ready to accomplish his mission. Rather than going perfectly as planned, Road had forgotten the miserable rain storm. He slipped on the bark of the soaked limb, sending his flight much closer to the ground than he expected. His hands lashed out, clinging to the slick ledge. His cold reasoning demanded that he regain the surprise on his foes, so seeing a lightning bolt streak across the sky, he smashed the glass as the thunder echoed throughout the air. In one straining, jarring heave, Road flung himself up into the empty room. After two brief pants, he rolled over and crept in his water sodden clothes to the doorway. Coran was still going on with his probably prepared speech, thrashing the blade to emphasize his points.
“The Annan will take Lanic back to its rightful path. We shall expel the Faln. We shall return the Lunz back to our heritage. We shall show that nature always wins, no matter what those obsessive Jhen addicts say!” His voice fell from a zealotous rage to a melancholy whisper, “It’s a pity that you, and Road, and countless others, will never see the new age that I will usher in.” Coran then raised the knife high overhead, prepared for a single finishing downward stoke.
Road took that classic maniacal pause at the height of the attack as an opportunity to burst from the doorway. He vaulted over the railing, bringing his worn, muddy shoes down atop Coran’s clenched knuckles. Coran shrieked, dropping the knife, and fell backwards, sliding down the last flight of stairs to the ground floor.
In the time it took for Road to regain his footing on the polished wooden steps, the two Annan flanking Behta had brought their poles to the ready. Unfortunately for Road, these men knew how to use such bulky weapons at close range, both bringing their staves down at Road’s location.
Behta recovered, surprise draining from her face. She grabbed both staff butts, preventing them from descending the tiny final distance to Road’s head. One guard attempted to carry his attack through, losing his stance. Road saw the flaw and his hand shot out and snatched his pants by the knee. Road gave Behta a quick glance of appreciation, and then pulled. The captured guard fell, releasing his rod and bounced onto the first step down from the landing.
The second guard, however, had ripped the staff from Behta’s grasp, and in the same rotating movement, he brought the other end to the side of her head. Jumping backwards, Road precariously landed three steps lower and reclaimed his weapon. In a sudden rush, he drove the blade upwards into the back of Behta’s attacker.

Road clutched the banister and gave a pleading glance to her. Her face had begun to produce a bluish tint when she had draped his arm over her shoulders. The sun began to break through the sky as both of them limped upstairs. Upon reaching the room where Road had broken in, Road fell to his hands and knees, vomited, and then rolled onto his back.
Behta grimaced as she stepped over Road and his mess. Avoiding the broken glass, she went to stare out the window.

Chapter 11

It was a long, self-reflecting stare. Behta was watching an inspiring sight of the sun bursting from the dark clouds like small holes in a dam, but she did not see the majesty. She felt cursed and perplexed by the man that was her captor, her savior, and the villain. She turned towards the collapsed man. Leaning on the window’s frame, she knew this man was unique, following some special path, but did she want to go with him? Or would she return to her concealed, controlled life as a baker?
Sensing some change in the room, she looked around, finding Road had stirred. He was now slouched with his back pressed on the wall near the open door. His eyes were closed, and relaxation was the mask that he now wore. Behta wished that she could read this man more easily.
A small crash carried from below. Behta turned slightly, looking out of the glassless frame, and she saw a figure sprinting away from the building. ‘Oh no,’ she thought as she turned towards Road and spoke a word in utter dismay, “Coran.”
Road latched onto the entryway and pulled himself up, still apparently as exhausted as before. He surrendered a deep sigh and disappeared from view. Several moments later, he walked out of the front door, knife in hand. He stopped a few paces in front of the house, turning and looking at Behta, who was still lurking in the window. As he sunk into the mucky grass, he gave her a smile, then turned with a quiet sloshing noise, and chased after his target.
Behta turned back to the empty room. “Well, she said to herself, “I’d better make the best of it. I have no idea where I am, but this is a house, so it must have a kitchen.”
She bypassed the damage in the room again. As she crossed over her now deceased attacker, she realized that she’d probably have to clean it up. Something else the found odd though. The other attacker was no longer on the stairs. She doubted that his fall killed him, and she had not seen him leave.
She slowly bent over, scooping up one of the two staves on the landing. She crept as quietly as possible on the wooden stairs, wielding the staff in an awkward, defensive position.