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A fantasy in a northern land, a young man grows to face his peoples greatest threat. |
| Chapter 1 Bells rang all across the city tolling the hour. Snow falling, gas street lamps lit white islands of safety and security on every corner of Miller’s Road. The snow gleaming with the light, the very air seemed aglow with it. To the outsider, the city of Avalla at midnight looked to be one in the middle of a deep, brutal winter. Snow everywhere, it lay more than a foot high on the roads while piling in mountainous drifts against the buildings. Long icicles hanging from every inch of eaves some were as long as swords. During the day the city’s inhabitants went quickly about their business, rushing from one warm building to the next. They did not go too quickly though, as they were all wrapped in clothes of heavy wool and soft goose down and were rather accustomed to this kind of weather. For this night was not one of deepest, darkest winter but, rather, only one of mid-autumn. A small kingdom lying in the far north of the world, Avalla was used to winter. It knew winter. That which others called winter—months of cold, incessant rains or snow that fell in flurries or even blizzards that might last for days, that was what Avallans called early spring. Their winters, here in the north, annually froze the waters of their harbor solid for five months out of the year and blizzards that lasted over a month were not uncommon. Living in such a place for long ages, the people here know how about winter. They know how to survive it, how to live in it. Still, to an outsider walking along Miller’s Road in the city’s northernmost district of Green Boughs—which was named for its quantity of factories and similar industries and not at all for the color of its trees, it was still difficult to comprehend all of this. How a people could live here, let alone achieve the quality of life that allowed for kings and princes, merchants and bankers, doctors and laborers…it was quite astonishing indeed. However, Avallans were an industrious, highly creative people: the secrets of chemistry and science were known to them, and they had achieved the means of heating their homes and businesses many years before. Survival was not something they had to struggle for. Not many of them, anyways. Still, the outsider would be quite astonished at everything he saw in the city. One thing he would be surprised to see while on his midnight walk would be the appearance of another human being. A good sized city, Avalla housed many thousands of people. During the day crowds were always present on the city’s major thoroughfares, of which Millers’ Road was one. But midnight was a different story. At midnight one might expect to see the occasional party of guards pass down the street, waving their arms and jogging slowly but vigorously in their light armor and heavy cloaks, but not anyone else. And should someone else be found, they would be someone to be feared. A murderer, an assassin, a thief or some other criminal, their appearance would strike fear into the heart of even the hardest of men this late on a cold snowy night. Therefore, when our supposed outsider witnessed the emergence of four pairs of eyes across the street from where he was walking swathed with numerous furs and layers of down-padded coats, he would have stopped and quickly taken shelter in some nearby shadow. His eyes wide, he would watch as the eyes turned into faces, the faces into heads and the heads into bodies with arms and legs. Four of them, they looked this way and that as they slunk into the light of a corner lamppost. Boys, two were of a height as to be fifteen or sixteen while the other pair looked to be several years younger. Huddled beneath the lamppost, they kept their backs bowed and their legs bent, ready to run at the first sign of trouble. They were not far from the Towers here, the boys knew. They could see the western gate of that walled fortress from where they stood beneath the lamp. And they were deep within Green Boughs. And along Miller’s Road, the district’s largest street no less. If anyone were to appear now it would spell disaster for their dark venture. “Quick, which way?” asked the tallest. Called Sticks, he was tall and gangly. His voice deep like a man’s, it nevertheless carried the half worried, half exhilarated tone of a fifteen-year-old who was about business he knew to be dangerous. “Follow me,” said Damien. Shorter, he was of average height for his fourteen years of age and his voice held none of the worry of Sticks’. Confidently he straightened up and beckoned to his comrades. The others following, he led them to the thin strip of darkness which occupied the middle of the broad street. Taking to it, they jogged single-file down its narrow breadth. Damien had spied out this place almost a fortnight ago. Using the excuse of needing to purchase flour for his sick mother from one of the many millers who made the street their home he had taken a walk around the nearby neighborhoods. That was, until a gang of local thieves had caught him in a side street. He was not from the area, he had told them, and had become lost. Roughing him up a little, they thieves had taken a modest fee for their trouble and led him back to the main street and pointed him towards home. Damien had found what he was looking for however, and was now leading the others back there. Should all go according to plan tonight’s endeavors would be well worth the bruising he’d received. Deep brown eyes swiveling from one side of the street to the other, Damien never stopped searching for trouble. Presently they came to the street. Turning, he led them into its shadows. At the end he halted, taking refuge behind a stack of old crates. “The house is the third on the right, just down there,” he whispered. Listening for a moment, he stepped back into the street and approached the house as quietly as he could. The home of a prosperous merchant, it was surrounded by a ten foot high wall, not unlike those found in that area of the city called the Banks. However, where the houses in the Banks had smooth, flat walls topped with steel or cast iron spikes to deter intruders, this one had no such added precautions. Roughly built, it was easy to scale and in less time than it took to talk about all four of them had dropped into the yard beyond. Crouching low, they all listened once more. Sticks beside him, he leaned close to Damien and whispered in his ear. “D-Man? Your call.” No sound had greeted them as they had fallen into the soft snow. No alarm had been raised. And no dogs had begun to bark. That was a good sign. Pointing to the two smaller boys Damien said, “Chimney, north corner.” The two nodded and dashed away. The night’s cold beginning to seeping into them now they were no longer moving, Damien and Sticks edged closer to one another to wait. It was several minutes before the house’s rear door was opened. Too large to use the chimney themselves, Sticks and Damien were blowing on their hands and rubbing their chests furiously when they ran inside. Breathing heavily, they listened as the others informed them of the situation. “Husband and wife, sound asleep in bed,” said the younger of the pair, who was called Feather for his small size. He spoke in a soft voice, barely even a whisper. “House is ours.” “Good,” said Sticks, his voice just as soft. “Anyone else we should know about?” asked Damien. The taller of the younger pair grinned. Two years older than Feather, he possessed a strange twitch in his right cheek. “Yeah, there’s this girl,” he said. “Really pretty. I’d like to get into bed with her.” Sticks rolled his eyes but smiled nevertheless. Twitch had only recently discovered girls and couldn’t seem to get enough of them. “Maybe later,” he said. “Aw, Sticks! You never let me have any fun.” Though very softly, Sticks chuckled despite himself. “That’s my job. Now, come on, we’ve all got work to do.” Smiling, the leader of their little gang led them all into the house. Working primarily by touch, they followed Sticks as they crept through the pitch black hallways, extending every available sense to aid them in their work. They had done this a hundred times if they had done it once; each of them knew their roles and just how much noise they could make without waking their sleeping marks. One hand on Twitch’s shoulder, Damien followed the others while, single-handedly, he pulled a burlap sack from inside his coat and shook it open. Emerging into what they discovered to be a large room, Sticks pulled several candles from a pocket. The chimney’s fireplace here, he found a still warm coal with which to light them. Passing out the candles, they all got to work relieving the house of its valuables. Twitch kept looking towards the hall and the staircase they had passed there. “You know,” said Sticks, “if you do really well tonight Twitch, I just might introduce you to some of the ladies down in South Gardens.” The boy’s eyes widening, Sticks almost betrayed them with a loud laugh. Twitch staring at him he said, “What? You mean it? You’ll really take me!” “Sure, next time I go,” said the still laughing Sticks. Their voices low, it was evident to the other two in the room that they were having trouble containing themselves to a bare whisper. “And, if you ask nicely,” Sticks continued, “Damien might even introduce you to that girl of his that he’s always going to see. Won’t you D-Man?” “I most certainly will not,” said Damien, from his chosen place before a bookshelf. Pulling down a book he flipped its pages briefly before replacing it on the shelf. Then, smiling sadly, he glanced over his shoulder at Twitch. “You wouldn’t like her. She’s ugly and much too old for you.” With Feather joining in, Sticks again had to stifle his laughter. Twitch scowled. “You guys are no fun. I’m gonna go look in on my princess.” this time accompanied by Feather “Your princess?” asked Sticks and Damien together. Twitch already disappearing down the hallway, Damien shook his head and went back to perusing the bookshelf. To the boy’s retreating back he heard Sticks whisper, “Be a good little peeping tom now and don’t wake her up!” Presently they moved out of the room. Sticks going to the parlor and Feather to the sitting room, Damien entered their mark’s study. More books here, he gave them only a cursory glance before proceeding to the desk. Hoping to find a secret panel or some other hidden spot he began to open the drawers one by one. D-Man, it was the title he’d been given when Sticks had found him, it designated him as the most learned man of their gang. Therefore, anything that did not directly involve picking locks, sneaking into homes and businesses and relieving them of their valuables, was his responsibility. Day Man, it meant. The one who takes care of the daylight affairs of the gang. There came a noise from the hallway. Rather loud, it sounded to Damien like someone had jumped and landed hard, or maybe been thrown into a wall. Pausing in his work he went to investigate. A single step into the hall, Damien jumped back as Twitch shot past him. Looking back the way the boy had come he heard that sound all denizens of the night fear. “Thief! Thief!” roared the master of the house. “You dirty, rotten scoundrel! Thief! Damien’s eyes widening, he stopped listening and started moving. Running down the hall, he glanced into every door he passed, looking for the others. Upstairs he could hear a girl crying, her father cursing as he stumbled about in the dark. Where were they? Where could Sticks and Feather be? Had they fled already? He knew Twitch had. Finding the last room to be empty, the one they had started in, he hurried back towards the door they had entered by. It stood open, the house’s heat rushing out while the cold and snow blew in. The mark was on the stairs, his heavy feet booming as he all but leapt down them. Breaking into a run Damien passed the stairs, catching a glimpse of the fat merchant out of the corner of his eye. Tall and heavy, the man looked like he could crush Damien with but a single hand. Twitch was there, suddenly darting out in front of him. A yell escaping his lips, Damien jumped to the side of the hall just in time. The boy running too, they sprinted for the door. Outside, across the small yard, up, over the wall, down the street. Go, go, go. Their feet pounded against the hard packed snow and ice. “What the hell did you do?” Damien shouted, coming astride the boy. “Nothin’! I didn’t do nothin’!” “Oh yeah? Then why are we running?” “Stop! Thief! Thief! Stop them! Somebody stop them!” “Don’t know about you Twitch,” said Damien, sparing a quick glance for the boy. “But does that sound like nothing to you?” “I didn’t do nothin’!” Twitch shouted again. “Really. I didn’t do nothin’.” Damien shook his head. “Well, we’ll just let you be the one to explain to Sticks why this mark just decided to start shouting thief. Seriously, what the hell did you do?” “Don’t you think we have bigger problems to worry about right now than that?” “Bigger problems? Like what?” “Oh, maybe like the guards chasin’ us.” “What?!” Glancing over his shoulder Damien saw five men following them. Clubs in hand, the black tower of the Avallan guard gleamed on their chests as they passed a street lamp while their spiked shoes ate up the snow like it wasn’t even there. The fat merchant nowhere to be seen, Damien could hear his cries fading into the distance. “Aw, shit,” he said. “You can say that again,” said Twitch. Having slowed a little as the merchant’s cries faded, Damien now began to pick up the pace again. “Step on it Twitch,” he shouted as the boy started to fall behind. “And stay close. This may get real dicey, real quick.” Behind them the guards too began to pick up their speed. Lowering their heads, the guards shifted from the loping, long distance stride they’d been sustaining and shifted into a full out sprint. His heart pounding, Damien skidded as he turned left onto another wide street. Grabbing Twitch to keep himself from falling, he pushed the younger boy ahead of him. The street leading straight on all the way to its forked end, the two ran as fast as they could down into the district called the Meridian. |
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