The Silver Sheen Chronicle
Emblems of Power
By C.L. Patterson
Edited by Karen L. Schwarze
Published by Christopher Patterson at Smashwords
Copyright 2015 C.L. Patterson
http://cpap244.wix.com/silversheenchronicle
www.thesilversheen.blogspot.com
PROLOGUE
The dead corn fields were the first warning sign. The lack of morning bird calls was the second. Crops that were lush and green the day before were now flat and ashen-grey, the chlorophyll seemingly sucked from their stems. The dried stalks looked like twitching, rotted silica on its last portion of life as the stiff northern wind brushed over the fields. Hawks, sparrows, and other birds lay lifeless on the fields with their once rodent pray buried in the grain. A soft stench of decomposition traveled south with the wind. A fissure would soon form, splitting the earth for miles and miles, engulfing the entire blackened landscape in seconds, with worse things coming out.
In the early hours of the morning, before the sun had risen, the farmer who owned the crops started out to do his morning chores. Before he stepped off the porch, he noticed the fields. Quickly, he rushed over to the barn. As he ran bushes, trees, and other shrubbery that were planted long before he purchased the farm began to turn black and wither. The barn was slightly tilted from the wind with large slivers of wood peeling off the paneling from years of exposure. Inside was a cacophony of noise. The jersey cattle bellowed and mooed, kicked at the gates, and butted their heads against the walls. The farmed quickly opened the gate and climbed up on the panels for protection from the small stampede. The cattle ran out of the barn and then away from the still blackening ground. The pigs grunted, squealed and bit at each other until their gate was opened, and then followed the cattle, snorting as they ran.
The two brown quarter horses were in the attached paddock, rising and rubbing up against the fence. The farmer grabbed the two bridles off of the wall before walking cautiously out into the fenced field. The horses calmed at the familiar scent and face of the farmer and trotted up to him. They nuzzled his shirt as he fit the bridles onto each horse. As he led them out of the gate at a slow run towards the house, most of the family was already up having heard the animals escape the barn.
“Go out the back! Go out the back!” yelled the farmer. His three daughters stared at him drowsily. The youngest, a four year old with blond, whisping hair whipping about her face started to walk towards him. The wife picked her up just before she stepped onto the blackened ground.
“C’mon girls, out the back,” the wife ordered. The children seemed to understand the eagerness of the situation, but their confusion was apparent in the slight hesitation as they turned back into the house and looked back repeatedly at their father. The blackened ground was not stretching evenly towards the house, but lashing out in segments like an uneven wave, eagerly searching for any portion of life. The farmer walked around the expanding blackened grass and dirt to the back of the farm house.
The farmer met his family at the back steps and gave the reigns of the horses to his oldest daughter of sixteen. Without saying a word, he helped his wife onto one of the horses. As soon as she was set, he lifted his youngest daughter up to her.
“What’s happening daddy, why do we have to go?” the middle child of eight asked as the farmer lifted her up to the first horse to sit behind her mother.
“No time to explain,” he said softly, trying to hide the fear of the events that would follow. The oldest daughter handed the reins up to her mother.
“I will see you in Varlette,” the wife called as she kicked the horse into a gallop. She held her youngest tightly against her with her left harm, while the other daughter gripped her mother’s waist with both arms. The oldest daughter’s knuckles turned white as she continued to grip the reins of the other horse. The farmer tried to convey to his family that he was controlled and not afraid, and hoped that his calmness would ease the fear and tension of the morning. The white knuckled grip of his daughter on the reins showed that she, too, was attempting to hide the fear that was growing within her.
“Up you go now!” the famer said as helped his oldest daughter get atop the horse. She held out a hand for her father. With her aid, adrenaline, and a little of a running start, the father was able to pull himself up on the horse. He grabbed the reigns and kicked the horse firmly.
The horses’ hooves pounded into the earth. Dirt clods and tuffs of grass flung backwards as they charged down the road. Old oak trees grew along either side of the road leading away from the farm and towards the main highway. There was enough space between the trees that their leaves and branches didn’t obstruct the view of the sky or surrounding scenery. A mile ahead, the road turned to the southwest and connected to highway that would take them to Varlette. Tears formed in the daughter’s eyes and mixed with the dirt on her face creating brown, muddy trails down to her chin. Soon enough, the farmer caught up with his wife and other daughters. The wife was focused ahead as she held her youngest close to her in one arm and the reigns with the other hand. The second daughter cinched her hands around her mother and kept her head down, out of the dirt and wind.
There was no time to ask how the other was doing. All attention needed to be focused on getting as far away from the coming fissure as possible as fast as possible. The farmer stole a look back, past his daughter, and towards their farm. The grayness of early dawn’s light faded as the crest of the sun rose. The vastness of the fissure was reminiscent of the one that destroyed the western lost city of Ofstead, where he had lived prior and what had given him the experience to know to flee with his family by horseback.
The blackened ground and vegetation stretched from left to right horizon. The blackening earth ceased to spread, but the farmer continued to push his horse on. Now was not the time to slow their slow their pace.
Far behind them, there was a deafening boom. The wife’s horse bolted, galloping even faster than before. The farmer’s horse reared up and turned, throwing both he and his daughter from its back. The daughter had let go and rolled away. The farmer took fell squarely on his back. Pain shot through his spine. He tried to breath, but only a sharp wheeze came in. As the sound of the boom reverberated in the air, it was followed by a series of sharp and nearly as loud cracks. It sounded like the iced over falls of a river finally giving way to spring’s warmth, but more sharp, and much more violent.
The farmer struggled to breathe and disregarded the pain he felt through his body. He scanned the ground for his daughter. She was kneeling off of the road with her ears covered. Staggering, and beginning to catch his breath, the father walked over to her, picked her up off of the ground, grabbed her by the hand and started running again.
“Do you see your mother anywhere?” He asked this question not looking for an answer, but to keep his daughter’s eyes focused ahead. A look back would slow them and they would waste precious seconds.
“No!” the daughter called.
The simple distraction lasted only a few seconds. The earth shook violently tossing both of them to the ground a second time. The crackcing continued followed by a second and third boom that was more felt than heard. Mountain-sized sections of black earth rolled and turned in place, cracking and breaking away from other portions of land. Red and green arcs of light shot out from the giant forming casm, wrapped around the rotating segments, forming a multicolored web on a pitchdark background. The next instant, the web contracted, slicing through the emmense portions of earth. As the portions of dirt, boulder and rock tumbled into the fissure, streakes of red fire shot out, weaved in and out of the fallind debris and began a graceful arc back towards the ground.
“Run!�
�� screamed the father as he pushed himself up. He raced over to his daughter at a crouch, picked her up, took her by the hand and ran again. He couldn’t feel his legs as he fleed, and he couldn’t tell if his feet ever touched the ground. Trees and surrounding crops blured in his peripherary vision, the only clear mark was the path ahead.
Fire cracked closely behind him. A phoenix, one of the many that raced out of the fissure, was diving towards him. It opened its mouth and cried. The cry sounded like billowing forge fire. The farmer jumped forward and lay on the ground, covering his daughter. The phoenix snapped its jaw shut, just missing the farmer’s neck. A searing heat followed and quickly passed. The phoenix banked right and shot up into the sky again.
He looked briefly down at his daughter. She was still alive, and was looking up at the phoenix. The farmer followed her gaze and saw the creature. It cried again and turned back down towards the farmer, eyes locked on its fallen prey. It was no larger than a common eagle, save for the two elongated tail feathers that turned to fire towards their tips. Its orange, red, green and other flame colored feathers rustled were laced with fire that peeled off with each wing beat. The ground and crops that hadn’t been turned black were now ablaze from the fire of the phoenixes.
Something had caught the phoenix’s eye. It opened its wings spiraled and flew back in the other direction, flapping its wings frantically and sending more arcs of fire into the air. The farmer stood up with his daughter and continued to run, this time without the aid of adrenaline. His muscles cramped and tightened as he began to sprint.
Behind them, a massive stone hand the size of a house reached up from the fissure and and slapped down on the ground, sending up a cloud of black and grey dust. Shortly after, another hand reached up and slammed down. A head soon followed that had hollow eyes and slits for nostrils. The body continued to rise out of the fissure as the rock golem pulled itself up. When it swung its legs up and stood on the ground, it promptly got on its hands and knees and started to smell the ground.
The turn was just ahead. The farmer made a mental goal to reach that turn, thinking that perhaps the horse had stopped and was waiting for him there.
Suddenly, a wave of water rushed from around the turn, carrying in it debris and a green wyvern. Its only two legs thrashed in the current. The sharp talons cut through the water but the force of the current continued to push the creature forward. It gurgled and howled when its head was out of water and flapped its thin leather wings to escape the liquid prison. Two horns grew from the back of the head, just above its ears and cureved underneath its jaw. When the wave and creature slammed into one of the oak trees, the horns broke off like toothpics. When the water subsideded and the creature began to stand, a white lightning bolt shot out from around the turn and struck the wyvern. The farmer blinked from the flash of light. The wyvern was dead when he opened his eyes.
Two groups appeared from around the turn. One he recognized as the Guard, and the other as Conduits. The Guard wore chainmail over white shirts, holding a small buckler in one arm, a spear in another, with a sword tied to their hip. Metal plating was sewn into their trousers and shirts, protecting their shins, thighs, arms and shoulders. The guards also wore leather gloves with similar plating along the back of the hands and phalanges.
The Conduits wore white shirts and pants with lace-up sleeves and a blue, green or purple stripe down the side. The father grabbed his daughter’s hand and together they ran towards the group. As they ran, a portion of Guard and Conduits charged towards golem.
When the farmer reached the Guard, the Guard surrounded him and his daughter with their backs turned towards them. Within the circle was one of the Guard and a female Conduit. The Guard was a large olive skinned man and wore the three pronged iron amulet of the lieutenant around his nect. The Conduit wore a white uniform with a purple stripe down the side. The Conduit had braided, shoulder length red hair, fair skin, and blue stormy eyes.
“My name is Lieutenant Nuevon, this is Mearto, a healer. Is anyone hurt?” the lieutenant said. He spoke in a deep voice, but it was soft and concerned. The farmer looked at his daughter. Each shook their heads.
“Good. There is a caravan in Varlette waiting to take you to the Capital.” Nuevon whistled and two of the guards turned to face the family. “These two men will ensure you get there safely.”
“My wife? Did you her and my other two daughters?” the father asked.
“They are currently being escorted,” Mearto said, pointing down the road. “Continue down the road and join the caravan. It will take you to safety. Hurry!”
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The evening air of Noiknaer was unusually damp. The cold, wet winds from the south were heated by the desert sun and traveled north, where the sappy air stuck to the cement walls and buildings. The moisture settled in every alleyway, crevice and corner of the capital city. On the east side of the city, just south of the Gate, were the Capital Barracks. Next to the Barracks were the horse stables. The stable boy, a small twelve-year-old named Joren, returned from his last trip to the fountain at the center of the city, carrying water buckets with a pole laid across his shoulders to fill the water troughs for the horses.
When the water troughs were filled, Joren dipped his hand into the water, took a quick sip and splashed his curly blonde hair, the taste of sweat and hard water tickling his tongue. A white horse nudged him and nibbled at his shirt.
“All right, all right,” Joren said softly, rubbing his wet hand down the horse’s neck before scaling the ladder to the upper level. He was halfway up when a woman rushed up to the Barracks and pounded on the large wooded double doors.
“Open up, open up!” she screamed. “Captain! Someone, anyone, open up!” Joren jumped down the ladder.
“Dinner will have to wait,” he told the horses before he ran to the woman. She wore a brown dress. A red shall was wrapped around the lower part of her face and draped over her right shoulder. An infant cried in her arms.
“What’s wrong?” he asked.
“It’s the Captain,” she said as she continued banging on the door. “I need to see him. It’s an emergency. Captain!” As the woman yelled, the infant cried louder. She held the child tightly against her breast and turned to Joren. “It’s the child. His life is at stake. It cannot wait.”
“Ok, calm down, I’ll get you to him,” Joren said. He took a key from his pocket, unlocked the door and led her in the Barracks. Her bare feet slapped against the tile ground as they rushed down the hallway towards the Captain’s office. Joren knocked on the door twice.
“Captain, it’s me, Joren. There is an emergency that you need to attend to,” he said as he knocked a third time on the heavy wooden door.
The door opened and the Captain looked at him and the woman. He was much taller than the both of them, with sandy hair that went to his broad shoulders. Well sculpted muscles bulged from beneath his shirt. He wore a four pronged silver amulet around his neck. Sweat rolled down his square jaw and beaded above his upper lip.
“What’s the matter,” the Captain said in a deep, soft voice.
“Take my son, take him and protect him,” the woman said, cradling her child in her arms tightly. The Captain leaned forward and looked at the child.
“And who are you that I would take your child?” he said, taking a couple cautious steps backwards. The Captain looked at her again, seeing her bare feet, brown dress and red shawl. Most every man knew of that garb, and of the women who wore it. Their children never fared well in the world.
“You’re a harlot. Do not pass him onto me!” the Captain said. The woman backed away and held the child even tighter. “He will grow and work in the gates like every other bastard that comes from the brothel.”
“But the child knows his father,” the woman said. She slowly removed her shawl from around her face and let it fall to the floor. The Captain’s eyes widened. Her hair was black as the night. She stared at the Captain, torch and candle light refle
cting off her stern and forceful blue eyes.
“Anna!” the Captain said, almost in a whisper.
“And you at one time knew me,” Anna said.
“That’s putting it lightly. The months and days you spent seducing me, luring me to you. And how did I repay you? I took you as a wife!” Anna lowered her head as the Captain spoke. “I took you out of the brothel, I put a good roof over your head, and made sure you had food and were comfortable, ensuring that you would never be there again. I more than lusted after you, I loved you! I’d say that is more than knowing you. And then you left. There was no reason--”
“I had my reason,” Anna said, looking down at the child, speaking more to it than to the Captain.
“And was the child, our child, the reason? Tell me it wasn’t so.”
“That doesn’t matter now--”
“It does matter. You will answer me as Captain of the Guard.”
Anna looked up at the Captain.
“For the briefest of moments, Captain, trust me as you once did. You are the child’s father. A man is hunting me because of my heritage, and if he discovers that I had a child, my son, our son, will also be hunted and killed. The child must never know that I am his mother, and you will never speak to him of me. He is your son. Look at him and you will see I speak the truth.”
The Captain looked down at the infant. He had his mother’s eye, nose, lips, and hair, but had the Captain’s jaw, forehead and ears.
“What is in the past is done. I believe and trust what you say. Who is hunting you?” the Captain asked. He looked at Joren. “Go gather my senior guard--”
“No,” Anna said softly. She put her thin hand on the Captain’s arm. His skin chilled at her touch.
“Do as your told Joren, she has no authority here.” Joren saluted and ran down the hall. “We can protect you,” the Captain said to Anna.
“No. For the sake of the child, no one can ever know I was here. Please, as a last act for my child, our child, let me go and do not follow me.”
Emblems of Power Page 1