Emblems of Power
A Tale From
The Silver Sheen Chronicle
By C.L. Patterson
Edited by Karen L. Schwarze
Cover Illustration by McKenna Cook
Copyright 2015 C.L. Patterson
https://cpap244.wix.com/silversheenchronicle
www.thesilversheen.blogspot.com
Table of Contents
Prologue
Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
Chapter 4
Chapter 5
Chapter 6
Chapter 7
Chapter 8
Chapter 9
Chapter 10
Chapter 11
Chapter 12
Chapter 13
Chapter 14
Chapter 15
Chapter 16
Chapter 17
Chapter 18
Chapter 19
Chapter 20
Chapter 21
Chapter 22
Chapter 23
Chapter 24
Chapter 25
Chapter 26
Chapter 27
Epilogue
PROLOGUE
Blackened corn fields were the first warning sign. 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. The second warning sign was the dead stillness and silence of the morning. 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 began to turn black and wither. The barn was tilted from the constant blowing of wind, which now was also absent. The faded brown boards seemed to be all that held the structure intact.
Inside the barn was a cacophony of noise. The jersey cattle bellowed and mooed, kicked at the gates, and butted their heads against the walls. The farmer 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 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, wispy 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 farmer 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 could 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 Olfstead, 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 one horizon to the other. The farmer focused on the road. He knew what would happen next. 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 cracks.
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 the road with her ears covered, screaming, but the farmer couldn’t hear her. Staggering, and beginning to catch his breath, the father walked over to her, picked her up off 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. The daughter read his lips, still unable to hear her father over the sound of the earth breaking.
“No!” the daughter yelled.
The simple distraction lasted only a few seconds. The earth shook violently tossing both to the ground a second time. The cracking 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 chasm, wrapped around the rotating segments, forming a multicolored web on a pitch-dark earth. The next instant, the web contracted, slicing through the immense portions of stone and dirt. As the portions of dirt, boulder and rock tumbled into the fissure, streaks of red fire shot out, weaved in and out of the falling 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 fled. Whatever pain was in his back from the fall, was now blocked with fear. Trees and surrounding crops blurred in his periphery 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. She 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 plumage 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. Pain shot through his legs and back. Every stride, every step, every motion stabbed at his muscles and bones.
Behind them, a massive stone hand the size of the house reached up from the fissure 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 water pushed 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 curved underneath its jaw. When the wave and creature slammed into one of the oak trees, the horns broke off like toothpicks. When the water subsided 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 and ducked when the boom of thunder struck him in the chest. 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 neck. 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.
“Nothing I can’t manage,” the farmer said with a grimace.
“My dad fell from his horse,” the daughter replied.
“But we don’t have time. I’ll be fine until we are safe.”
“Good,” the lieutenant said. “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 frantically.
“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!”
[][][]
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. “At least one of us should try to eat before the day is done.” Joren started up the ladder to the hay loft, but stopped. Someone was running towards the stable. He turned and saw a woman running, but towards the barracks. Joren watched as she ran up the entrance of the Barracks and pounded on the large wooded double doors.
“Open up, open up!” she screamed. “Captain! Someone, anyone, open up!” Joren started towards the woman.
“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?” Joren asked.
“It’s the Captain,” she said as she continued banging on the door. “I need to see him. It’s an emergency. Captain!” She yelled towards the Barracks again. 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 do
or 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 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, the insignia of his office, title, and name. 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.” The Captain started to shut his door.
“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, skin as tan as the desert, olive shaped eyes, a scar across her right eyebrow. She stared at the Captain, torch and candle light reflecting 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 yelled. “I took you out of the brothel, I put a good roof over your head, food on your plate, made sure you had everything, 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 softly, 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.”
The Captain was silent for a moment, looking only at the child in the prostitute’s arms.
“I concede that I am his father, but I do not and will not allow you to walk away. Who is hunting you?”
“I am unsure but I will be able to elude him easily enough. I am a woman of the night, and the night knows me. It will hide me away safely.”
As she finished talking, ten other guards jogged up and stood at attention. Each wore chainmail shirt, helmet, armor plated leather pants and boots, with a short sword attached to their hip and a small shield strapped to their back. The Captain smiled at their quick assembly and then pointed at the guards.
“Who hear has taken care of an infant before?” the Captain asked the group. One of the guards stepped forward. The Captain smiled again. The guard’s name was Osguud. He was of average height, younger than the rest of the Senior Guard members, and came from a family of eight.
“Osguud, take the infant for the evening. You may stay in my quarters until I return. If you need anything, ask Joren for assistance. Osguud removed his chainmail shirt, sword, shield and helmet and handed them to the guard at his left. He then walked up to Anna and held his arms in a cradle like pose. Carefully Anna transferred the infant into the guard’s arms, her tan, smooth skin brushing his. Osguud blushed from the contact, but focused on the task. He ensured that the infant’s head was supported and that he held the full weight of the child in his arms before moving away.
“Your equipment will be placed in my quarters as well, for the time being. The rest of you will follow Anna, but not too closely. She claims that she is being hunted. Your task this evening is to find that hunter. If she is yet alive by day break, she will be let go and you will return here.”
“Yes sir,” the guards replied in unison. The baby cried from the sudden noise. Osguud shook his head, rocked the infant gently in his arms, walked into the Captain’s quarters and shut the door.
“He must never know of me,” Anna said. “I fear that his life will end if ever he finds out. Swear to me on your life and the life of your Guard that he will never know of me.” The Captain looked down at his quarters. The infant stopped crying.
“Swear to me,” Anna said again.
“I swear it,” the Captain said. Anna wrapped her shawl back around her face and turned to leave.
“Wait,” the Captain said. Anna stopped and the Captain walked up to her. He pulled a loose string from his shirt and handed it to her. “For safety,” he said. “What is his name?”
“Kosai.” Anna wrapped the string around her finger and held to it tightly. She didn’t say goodbye, but looked back once before disappearing into the night.
“Let’s go,” the Captain ordered. “And take Joren with you. I think it’s about time he understood what we do.”
Joren smiled, nodded, and jogged out of the Barracks behind the Guard. It was a moonless night. Light from small homes slightly illuminated the streets and Anna was nowhere to be seen. The Captain looked in all directions, searching for. The Guard split up, looking for any sign of the woman. Joren walked behind the stable and looked south, down Outer road. A few squares of light shone on the dusty road, but the road was empty. He looked north and saw Anna running towards the Gate.
Joren drew a large arrow in the dust with his foot pointing towards the Gate, gave a short, high pitched whistle and ran after her. The Guard caught up to him quickly. Anna stopped at the Gate. Her arms flexed and then went rigid to her sides, as if she were coiled by a large serpent. A low dark cloud, carried by a cold wind, slowly rolled over the wall. Purple lightning flashed in the dark mass as it passed the Gate tower. Thunder boomed, shaking the walls and creating a wind of its own. Joren lifted his hand to protect his eyes.
The cloud descended into the street and surrounded the harlot. Lightning flashed again, followed by another boom of thunder. Then, as quickly as it appeared, the dark cloud lifted like old smoke into the night. Anna was gone.
Joren stared at the gate, unsure of what he had seen. He turned to run towards the Barracks, but stopped. The Captain stood behind him, his face without emotion as he stared at where Anna had once been.
“Sir, did you see that?” Joren asked, shaking.
“Yes,�
� the Captain said fearfully, almost in a whisper.
“What are you going to do?”
The Captain was silent. He looked up at the towers and a look of concern finally appeared on his face.
“Go to the Barracks, check on the child. Tell no one what you have seen. There’ll be an extra piece of silver for you in the morning if you keep your mouth shut.”
The boy nodded and ran back to the Barracks, but the Captain remained. The Captain looked up at the tower next to the gate. Shortly after, one of the senior guards walked up to the Captain.
“Your orders sir?”
“Hand me your sword and stand watch. I don’t want any civilians coming anywhere near the Gate.”
The Guard saluted and gave the Captain his sword. Shortly after, the guard started giving orders for each guard to set up a perimeter around the Gate. The Captain went through a small door next to the Gate and walked up a set of tight-spiraling, stone stairs. When he reached the top of the stairs, he pushed open a trap door and pulled himself onto the viewing platform, and then drew his sword. His eyes widened with anger.
Blood was smeared across the floor and walls and the guard that was supposed to be on duty was missing. The Captain turned, examining the platform, searching for foot or hand prints, but only found his own. The dark cloud reappeared and settled around the tower.
“Captain of the Guard,” a deep voice crackled.
“Show yourself,” the Captain hissed back. Suddenly, a black-hooded figure materialized from the shadows a few inches from the Captain’s face. The Captain stabbed the figure through with his blade, but the figure didn’t flinch.
“You cannot kill me,” it said, as it pushed the Captain away, the sword passing through the figure as if it were cutting air. The figure held a thin brown leather strap that was connected to a vial filled with black liquid. The vial dangled beneath the figures hand, swaying slightly. “I have a need of you and your Guard.”
“We serve only the people,” the Captain said.
“You will serve me in time. I will call on you again.”
As the figure turned, the Captain swung at the figure, but the figure vanished. The cloud lifted, and the Captain was left standing on the tower in the blood of one of his men, overlooking Noiknaer.
CHAPTER 1
Sixteen years later…
The Silver Sheen Chronicle - Emblems of Power Page 1