The Fable of Dereniam

The Fable of Dereniam



Introduction



The diamond door of the vault whirled and clicked as the faint light of a flickering torch danced, casting strange shadows and reflections. Prince Zia smirked as it came to a halt against the stone wall of the cavern now revealed before him. Without turning the prince reached behind him and one of his two guards handed him a long thin white cylinder which he snapped against his thigh and threw it into the cavern. It burst into light filling the enormous chamber with a radiant white glow revealing a large black lake, its surface as smooth as glass. The air was old and dry having been sealed within for thousands of years.



Like a white wraith Zia entered the chamber followed silently by his two guards carrying between them a white leather case gilded with silver. At the lakes edge Zia stopped, and removed his white fur cloak allowing it to pool at his feet and flicked his long beautiful white hair so it fell gracefully behind him. “They say…” he began wistfully, “that nothing can withstand the lakes power but the purest diamond…” turning to his guards he demanded for one of their swords. Obediently one was produced, and Zia took the blade into his long white fingers and cast it into the black lake watching it as it fell. But as the point was just about to break the surface of the water the sword evaporated into thin air.



“Pass it to me” he instructed his guards and quickly they flung open the case they carried between them and produced a diamond goblet. Carefully it was handed to their master who, with it in firmly in his grasp knelt before the lake and attempted to scoop some of the water into the cup. At first it was reluctant but eventually a mouthful dribbled into the chalice and rising to his feet Zia held the glass before his face, a slender white eyebrow rising before he drank, draining the goblet of all its content.



At first he felt nothing, but as he was about to curse the scriptures he had spent years studying he found he couldn’t speak. Then he couldn’t move. Suddenly a great force came crashing down on him like a great wave forcing him to his knees. He grasped at his throat as air failed to enter into his lungs. He began to shake as alien whispers began to caress his ears. At first they were indeterminable, but as they grew more dominant the words of the ancient tongue made themselves known. Pain seared through his body, forcing him to wince and writhe. He was thrust forward onto his hands by some invisible force and he could feel his fingers dip into the dark fluid of lake. He was being dragged down into the strange water, he felt the cold fluid grip his fingers then hands, arms and shoulders dragging him deeper into the murky depths.



As much as the guards wanted to help they to found themselves incapable of movement or speech, panic fixed them to the floor. They stared as their master vanished beneath the waters surface. Behind them the diamond door to the vault began to shut on its own accord. The mechanisms wound back to lock as if enchanted and sealing the visitors within. Gradually the light of the glow stick dwindled till finally darkness prevailed once more…







Chapter 1



Fable was crouched upon a roof of one of Dereniam’s many warehouses, his jet black eyes scouring the streets below him. He moved along the steep tiles like a cat, his black garments making little noise. About him soft flakes of snow drifted down collecting upon his shoulders and cowl. The night had been slow, the cold making people reluctant to leave the warmth of their homes, but as he came to the corner of the rooftop his keen eyes spied a likely target, a drunkard.



He was a much larger man than Fable, and he was staggering towards a secluded doorway. Like a ghost Fable dropped the twenty foot to the street, landing silently on his haunches some twenty feet away. A sly grin crossed his face as the man began urinating against the door, the liquid steaming in the chill night air.



Fable approached quietly and waited a short distance from the doorway. He hadn’t been noticed he knew that, he was too good for a drunk to hear him. The target finished and turned stumbling slightly taken aback by the small hooded figure stood before him. Wide eyes like polished balls of coal stared at him from beneath the hood, they were haunting, even the cornea was black. In stature Fable was tiny compared to the pillar of muscle in front of him, “Excuse me sir,” Fable said softly and politely.



“Urh… piss off” Mumbled the drunk man, Fable’s composure did not change, he merely repeated himself. This time the huge drunken man tried to barge his way past, but Fable, light on his feet shuffled through the snow to remain just in front of his target.



“Oh dear… It would seem you’ve forgotten your manners!” Fable retorted, his voice dripping with indignation.



“Look get lost! I ain’ interested in your sort!” The drunk spat angrily as he tried to push past Fable again who stood back casually watching as the man tried to stagger off. He got to about ten foot away when he stopped and leaned against a gas lamp post for support.



“It would appear you misunderstand the situation completely!” Fable announced, “You seem to think I’m a prostitute, I assure you I am not!” Fable gently chuckled at the idea, “And if I were I doubt you would be my “sort” of client. I just want you to hand me your money and any valuables and I’ll let you get on your way”



There was a moment of silence as the mans drink riddled brain contemplated the words and as they sunk in he burst into loud laughter, slapping his thigh with mirth he slurred “I’d scram mate, before I have to teach you a lesson!”



Shaking his head casually Fable sighed, “I’m afraid…” then, moving with a speed the eye can barely comprehend he cast a white feathered dart into the thugs neck. “the lesson will be on you” concluded Fable.



With a cautious hand the drunk explored his neck and found the small projectile, he gripped it and tore it from the skin where the little barbed point had made its home “That dart is loaded with an extremely potent poison which shall send you off to sleep in a matter of seconds. Good night”.



Cursing the drunk wobbled through the snow, a trickle of blood snaking its way down his neck. As the darts payload took affect his movement grew clumsier and when he was just a few feet away from Fable he tried to throw a punch at him, the force of which spun him on his heel and he collapsed bodily onto the thin blanket of snow. With a casual kick Fable confirmed the man was unconscious then began searching his pockets, finding a bundle of notes, a bag of coins and a keychain for Biddleton’s Lodgings, a broad smile crossed the thief’s face as he held the keys in his hand, “What a stroke of luck” he thought to himself. Taking the money he replaced the keys in the mans coat.



It was some years ago when Fable first met Elsie Biddleton, she was a sweet old lady with a kind word for everyone. It had been a night similar to this when he had run across her trying to defend herself from two large men brandishing bludgeons. The old lady was cowering against a wall with cuts and bruises marring her aged face, tears falling from her eyes as she pleaded with them to stop. Fable ascended on the aggressors rapidly and mercilessly. They didn’t live much longer.



That night Fable tended to her wounds and stayed with her to make sure she was well, and ever since then he had been regularly visiting the old lady, and it had been a week since they last “got together”. As he stared at the unconscious body he decided to pay her the visit he owed. He ambled off down the road; Fable rarely took to the streets, preferring the rooftops and high walls, he loved the sense of freedom the sprawling mass of tiles offered. Where as the streets felt claustrophobic, lined by the tall buildings that leered high above, and yet as the snow danced through the air, coating the dark stones of the pavements and roads there was something temporarily beautiful about the world “down here” and Fable took his time to enjoy it.



Elsie Biddleton was happily tucked away in her little private living room. It was the only room other than the kitchen she had to herself. The rest of her town house was used by her paying guests. She was sat knitting yet another black scarf when she heard the gentle tap on the frost clad window. With creaking bones she rose to her feet, set her knitting down on a little rickety side table and shuffled off into the narrow hallway that doubled has her reception. Her establishment was a small affair. There were three small rooms on the ground floor, a kitchen, living room and the reception, each opening into each other. It was a compact little world but one Elsie adored. The staircase in the reception wound right up the four floors to the very roof, and she only very rarely ventured that far, instead she invited some of the local girls to come round and clean the rooms for her, their payment a few coins and a cup of Elsie’s special blend of tea.



The air was cold in the reception, as Elsie very rarely light the fire in there. Her small breath hung in the air momentarily as she fought with the dead bolts on the heavy front door, pulling it creakily open to reveal the dark figure of Fable standing against the moon lit snow.



“Oh Fable!” Elsie cried happily, reaching out and grabbing his wrist, “Come in! Come in, before you catch your death!” She tugged him inside, tutting as she knocked flakes of snow from his shoulders. She smiled as she peered into his jet black eyes, “It’s good to see you! But what brings you here at this hour?” She asked as she bid him to follow her into the cosy living room.



“Sadly, business, I ran into one of your customers this evening” The clock struck midnight, as Elsie began to pull a cast iron kettle from the fire and pour the hot water into a teapot. She frowned gently as she pushed the kettle back into the flames.



“Rude was he?” she enquired casually as she flopped back into her chair, she arched a pale eyebrow as she studied Fable perched cautiously on the edge of a seat, “who was it? And for gods sake Fable relax and have a cup of tea!” with a cheeky grin, Fable reclined into the seat, they were deceptively comfortable and he sank deep into the cushion. Quickly describing his evenings prey Elsie nodded in understanding, “Been a quiet night then? No Syndicate thugs about?” She leaned back resting her head against the back of her chair and smiled softly at Fable.



“No… Sadly not, I’m starting to wonder what’s going on they’re street operatives are nowhere to be seen!” Fable stated, the idea suddenly dawning on himself as he said it. What was going on?



They sat in silence for a while, before Elsie set her tea mug down and picked up her knitting needles and resumed the scarf, “So what did he have on him?” She asked eventually, Fable in silence removed the money he had looted and placed it on the side table, “That’s your half” Fable said as he pushed the whole quantity towards her.



“That’s never half!” She stated, as she picked the tightly rolled bundle of notes up, before placing it back down on the coffee table.



“It is I promise… he must have won big” he answered with a grin. Fable often lied to Elsie to make sure she took the money he offered, he hated seeing her without especially during winter, and fire wood and tea wasn’t cheap. Removing his black gloves and hood he exposed the cobalt blue shells of the Drami beetles embedded into his wrists, they glittered like gems in the fire light. Elsie eyed them suspiciously as she always did, she could never quite understand why Fable’s people would do such a barbaric thing to their children, but then that’s why it had been banned she supposed.



Throughout Lander there are fourteen Great Families, each one with its own traditions and faiths. Fable was a Ramadonian, a nomadic family that travels the Great Plains of Lander, worshiping the sisters Lith and Shade, the Goddess’s of Life and Death respectively. Each of the Goddess’s had a process, by which their priests were selected, but fourteen years ago the government of Lander, the Argarian, deemed the selection processes to be barbaric and banned them. They called the law the Dissolution of Barbaric Faiths, and it included various other rituals of the religious establishments throughout Lander. Fable was one of the last Sons of Shade to complete the initiation process, and join the Priesthood of Shade. It was at this time, when he was just five years old,  his corneas and irises were stained jet black and the twelve Drami beetles fused to his nervous system.



“I’m making you another scarf” Elsie began, shaking the thoughts of the ritual from her head and throwing herself into chatting and knitting instead “I just don’t think you’re warm enough up in that tower of yours! And you’ll never guess what next door have been up to…” and so it began, for the following few hours Fable listened intently to her ramblings and gossip, he knew she didn’t get out as much anymore and was increasingly relying on those around her, eventually she fell asleep, dozing quietly except for the occasional husky snore. Standing Fable gathered up the knitting resting on her lap and placed it carefully on the side table and took a thick blanket and cast it over her knees. Taking a few logs he placed them on the dying embers of the fire, with a careful blow he encouraged the flames to catch and he slipped out of the living room. Quickly checking both the front and back door were locked he sprinted like a shadow up the stair case to the small window at the very top that looked out over the rooftops of Dereniam. With a precise hop he pushed it open and slipped out onto the cold slippery tiles, his soft leather boots gripping the slate like glue.



The snow was falling thick and fast now across the city. It gathered on and accentuated the eccentric shapes of the architecture that was the city. Once long ago, Dereniam had been just a tiny fishing village on the banks of the Arkmortine, sandwiched between the Forest Lands and the Great Plains. Its relatively central situation made it a popular resort for traders and over the centauries it had been transformed into the bustling unofficial trade capital of Lander, and as a result countless people flocked to the city seeking their fortune every year.



To meet the housing demand, many enterprising citizens began extending and creating property from anything they found, adding them on top of previous buildings. It wasn’t unusual to find an old barge or some other curious construction incorporated into buildings. Often small communities built up amongst these peculiar abodes, and makeshift bridges, gangways, lifts, gardens, balconies and so on, crop up between them. As a result the city changes so often that cartographers have abandoned all hope of producing a concise street map. Many locals in fact make their living by operating as guides to visitors to the city, merchants often find that the change can be so dramatic from one visit to the next they cannot find any of the people they usually do business with. Fable loved this aspect of Dereniam, to him it was a giant play ground in which he could run, climb, jump and swing through like a monkey.



There was however one part of the city that never changed, it was the hub, the heart. It was the Grand Bank, an enormous monstrosity of granite and steel that rose like a pillar from the centre of the city. It was a formidable towering fortress that dominated the skyline like a dark lumbering bully. It governed every service in the city, from the Guard to the Waterworks, it controlled everything. It was the be all and end all in Dereniam, and it worked… very well.



It was late night, or rather very early in the morning and Fable was growing tired. Despite the countless cups of tea Elsie had forced upon him, sleep was beginning to rear its ugly head. He crept along the apexes of the roof tops heading west, leaping and crawling along where he had to; aiming for a rickety old stone tower with an ivy riddled structure atop of it. It had been before the opening of the Waterworks a primary water tower for north western quarter of the city, then it became an aviary and now it was Fable’s home. It was quiet and solitary, known only to a few.



As he came to the foot of the tower he noted the tell tale signs of a common visitor, rogue pigeon feathers scattered about the place. It was a tricky climb up the ladder to the top, but Fable had done it countless times and made quick work of it. As he neared the top he could smell the sickly sweet smell of his friend’s favourite smoking tobacco.



Harry had been visiting the Water Tower since a little boy, and was possibly one of the main reasons why birds refused to nest in the aviary. Harry was an eccentric inventor who had created in his youth the Bird Fisher. A device based on the same equipment and principles as fishing, but instead of catching fish, it was birds. Using a customized rod Harry would dangle a fat ball over the edge of the tower and wait patiently for one of the cities thousands of pigeons to take interest. Once one had settled to peck at the fat ball a cage of sorts would close about the ball and the bird, trapping it inside leaving Harry to reel the startled creature in, kill it and set it aside to either sell or cook later. It was a time consuming and sometimes fruitless practice but one that brought the aging man a lot of quiet joy.



Fable climbed onto the parapet that surrounded his home, the icy breeze whipping at his face and hood, his black hair danced before his eyes as he approached his friend.

He was perched upon a little stool huddled around a hurricane heater with the Bird Fisher resting between his legs. Fable hopped up onto the little battlement and knelt down, “Good evening Harry, how’s it going” Fable asked in his usual quiet tone removing his own tobacco pouch and began rolling a cigarette deftly.



Harry who had been deep in thought, jumped slightly at the sudden appearance of Fable, he had been completely oblivious to his approach, “Slow but steady, my friend slow but steady” He muttered removing a dwindling rolly from his lips and casting it over the side of the wall, “there’s one for you over there if you have any of that special brew left!” his teeth chattering slightly from the cold.



“Of course I do!” Fable proclaimed with fake shock at the thought he had run out, “Your Cold, here take this” he removed his cape and cowl and hung it over the shoulders of his old friend, “and I’ll just finish this smoke first” he added lighting up from a match. Harry studied Fable a moment, before turning his attention back to the rod.



“Something troubling you Fable?” He asked eventually, Fable turned his head slowly towards his friend. Harry had this strange ability to know something about you before even you did, it could be quite unnerving at times. Fable’s thoughts returned to the realisation he had at Elsie’s. Where had the Syndicate gone? “mmph” Fable grunted as he exhaled a long tendril of smoke that whipped through the breeze before vanishing. There was a click from below, followed by a quiet chuckle from Harry as he began to real in his catch.



“Been a dull one?” Harry removed the cage from the line and took the squirming pigeon carefully from the trap before snapping its neck between his fingers.



“Well…yes that’s it… there is nothing out there but for a few drunks… I visited Elsie though, she’s in good spirits, I’m sure she would love a visit from you” Fable added before taking another drag of his cigarette. Harry nodded as he reset the trap and cast it back out. They sat there in silence for a while as Fable smoked and Harry fished for birds. With a final deep inhalation Fable drained the rolly of its last drags and dropped it over the side. Hopping back down onto the parapet he slid aside a panel that revealed the complex combination lock that opened the hidden door to his little home. Fable trusted his friends completely but there were other thieves in the city who would be all to glad to see Fable hang.



Like every major city Dereniam had its problems, and even though the Grand Bank maintained a tight control over the city, there was a rife criminal underground, known as the Syndicate. There were many rumours about who was at the top of the Syndicate, some speculating it could be one of the directors of the Grand Bank.



The Syndicate was powerful and wealthy, as a result its members were usually Fable’s main targets, he enjoyed the irony of robbing a thief after they had just turned a place over. It was only occasionally, when Syndicate activity was very low that Fable would attack a citizen. This had somehow earned him a strange appreciation from the citizens of Dereniam, many nicknaming him the Dark Demon and idolizing him as some sort of hero. But the Syndicate had never completely ceased all street operations before, and the more he thought about it, the more troubling it was.



His home was plain and simple, a small bed of blankets and pillows to one side, an over crowded bookcase beside it with a very tatty armchair near by. There was a small stove in the centre of the round room and kitchen of sorts to the other side which had many random bottles and jars scattered across it. Hanging from the ceiling was Flains, Fable’s pet magpies, nest.



Rummaging through a cupboard Fable produced a number of large wax sealed bottles. He grinned wickedly as he clambered back outside; he presented a bottle to Harry as he hopped back onto the battlement and popped the seal. There was a faint hiss and a quick whiff of strong ale. They clinked bottle necks and took deep swigs, Harry laughed quietly to himself after he swallowed and placed the bottle on a battlement. “You know one day I will find out where you get this stuff!” He said.



Fable smiled toothily as he stared out across the city sipping gently from the bottle watching the world sleep. They often sat, Harry and Fable, looking out across the cityscape, it was quiet and peaceful and at this time nothing but the birds and alley cats moved. Occasionally the two men would roll new cigarettes and blow the blue smoke to the gentle wind or pop another bottle but eventually the sun began to climb the horizon and sighing softly to himself Fable turned to his now slumbering friend and gently shook him awake.



“Time to go my friend” He whispered fondly as Harry regained consciousness.