Shattered Skies chapter 1

Estlandis, year 759 of Day Era

The sky has shuddered again and the ground has as well. Thorel gazed upwards and saw a long, branchy line. Like a black scar it surged through the whole sky and ran far beyond the horizon. He knew it, despite tall buildings not allowing him to see the horizon itself.
It's the second shatter this day. Although they became more and more frequent they always lasted same short and after several tens of heartbeats those scars began slowly erasing. It was a long time since people got used to it and now they didn't pay attention to that. Well, just a common weather phenomenon, such as rain. Thorel hasn't even stopped to pay it a longer glance, however on normal conditions he would do so. Sadly these normal conditions were not today.
He still was running the street of Kharabreth, arguably the biggest city of southern Estlandis. Passed by him people turned their heads wandering where, the shatter, this local medic cannot wait to be. He elbowed through the group of as well surprised as random bystanders, judging from the looks street-urchins and loafers, which slums of every major city were full of. One of them moved up his fist insulting him somehow, but Thorel hardly heard the words in his rush. However, he supposed them to be truly urchineezish.
If there was one thing Thorel hated about a crowd it would be its namelessness. The crowd itself appeared to be dull and idle. People making it appeared unable to take any action until someone would lead or frenzy them. But in most cases it would ended as this time.
He saw him again. The Observer, as He called him In his thoughts. The not-tall black figure against the face of sun, standing on a rooftop of one of densely cluttering the city buildings. When he saw him for the first time the Observer was against the background of the Silver Moon, while the Scarlet Moon casted at him a faint afterglow, which still cold not enable details to be noticed. And yet adding to the figure an unique bloody aspect. Whoever the Observer was he surly was of discriminating taste.
Have I lost him? Thorel was not sure about it. He was in one of the least decent backstreets of Kharabreth. It was so easy to lost someone in this web of narrow and twisting passes. Thorel knew them all at least good enough. Many times walked he by them while curing homeless and beggars for free. Just a gift of his goodwill and the next reason why was he commonly taken as an oddball. And the next desperate try to make this world the better than it was. He didn't complain that it requires coming down to the most dangerous districts of the city and overextend his funds for medicines and bandages. The paupers did not care about them properly. They had no possibility.
Somewhere in the front he heard the sound of fight and few threatens as well. He really doubted, that the Observer would speak the urchineese slang, therefore he hasten towards the sources of the sound. While running he pulled from his back a wide longsword with curved blade. The blade was still covered with medical bandages, as carrying bare sword in the city was illegal for civilians. However the guards seemed to turn a blind eye on the covered one. This blade was a keepsake of his past life, without which it was dangerous to walk through some parts of the city. Thorel supposed, that it was thanks to the Dancer, that he have been robbed only four times yet.
He turned after a corner of decrepit alehouse where for few scraps you could get drunk with so called pudding-alcohol, a mixture of random kinds of alcohol which were accidentally surplus in higher districts. Get drunk and forget for a moment of your miserable life. The disappointment always came after. On perpendicular alley he saw a group of four teenage urchins in ragged trousers. Three of them had still something of shirts, one had even boots. They looked down to bleeding out young fifth boy, who kneeled back to the standing across the backstreet wrack of wagon, while one of its planks had transfixed through boy's chest. A plenty of blood was also here.
I suppose that's why all slum livers are relatively juvenile. The do not live to be elder.
One of the oppressors saw him. Thorel with a little astonish realized, she was a girl. Even not so ugly as he would expect. She let the other know, who stands behind so that they looked in his direction. Young Ani of hair and eyes in the same shade of brown, with pulled out sword should be indeed terrifying, even when the blade was still covered by medical bandages and his face was really handsome. The burnout scars around his forehead, only partly covered by hair probably also had some apparent effect. After a short while of staring the whole four-pack made away leaving the boy dying on the street and throwing the last curses upon him. Fatally wounded he probably had not even heard them.
In least than a full heartbeat Thorel covered the distance dividing him from the injured and kneeled nearby studying the wound. It was lethal. The broken plank had to damaged the liver and probably the right kidney. Pulling it out would cause fatal loose of blood. He made a wry face thinking how painful had to be the impaling.
Thorel's hand reached the vein on limply hanging boy's arm, measuring the blood pressure and pulse. His heart was still beating, but many times slower than it should. So slow heartbeats. So slowly passing last moments of one's life.
With one move he pulled the boy out from the plank and put his hands on the both sides of the wound. Thorel closed his eyes gathering the Fate. He needed to stop the bleeding somehow. He literally felt the developing under his fingers net of clotted blood taming the flux of live-carrying liquid. But it would not be enough. Internal organs destroyed by the plank will need to be fixed, and also...
The boy opened wide his hidden under the silver, almost white fringe eyes. They had deep red tone, such as the redness of setting sun.
'Have I died?'
'Nope. You lived' Thorel answered 'And you should feel better soon.'
Unfortunately he wasn't that sure about it. He could feel the structure of the tissues of boy's organs. The damages were indeed grievous. Into some places splinters came in and remained still. Architects, he is really up to die. I need to do something about these splinters. Maybe I will manage to decompose them into cellulose? I will need more Fate.
Still touching the wound with his right arm he reached with the left to his sack and pulled out one of his malachites. He has charged him last evening and the stone was now glowing with live green glow, which couldn't be suppressed in clamped fist and streamed through the skin towards the external world.
'So it is true, what they keep sayin' about ya?' The boy opened his red eyes once again. 'That ya're a Fatecaller?'
Thorel didn't give any answer. The readymade one was just on sight. He would never manage to save that many lives if he weren't. He would also haven't that many taken away.
'You shouldn't be saying that much, Chase. What was that this time? Have you scammed one of them lately, and now he brought blokes with him to take his back?'
'Her back' Chase nodded his head with a vague smile of contentment, but soon his face twisted in a scowl of pain.
'I won't always be able to help you. One day you can die for real. I know, I have barely suffered that much as you did, so I am in none position to judge you, but maybe...
'No' the boy cut him short. As always he wouldn't listen him, nor he did in medical matters 'I cannot be livin' with ya. He said I must remain hidden, remain no one. Medic's disciple would attract too much attention, and the they will come and kill me. They will. For real.'
Thorel turned his head with resignation. He didn't want to strain boy's strength for pointless talking. Chase had told him once, how had he to escape from Sodeon in westward Thaleath Empire an as a result he moved from one slum to another, probably much worse. And the whole time one mysterious man was to watch him. Chase never wanted to reveal his name, but kept saying that man actually cared about him. Probably he was the only relative he had. To Thorel it only seemed like the boy had to be very important for someone, but felt frustrated by the fact he does not know for whom, and why. Chase also didn't appear to know why.
And how could be one that soulless to make an innocent boy to life among the streets on the social margin of Estlandis? And how could Chase still defend him?
As the malachite was losing its glow the boy's body was regaining its health. Eventually when his breath achieved the normal frequency Thorel decided he can resume the conversation.
'I'm not going to live in this city much longer. For a while I was intending to move to Lirion, because... let's say some bothersome guy keeps on irritating me. Well, you know, why won't you just go with me? No one should be seeking you there.
Chase opened his mouth wide, but said nothing. Lirion. Almost mystical land of Ani lying on the south. For this boy it could incarnate a place straight from the dreams. And Thorel strongly doubted the Observer would follow them there.
'Lirion? But why would ya... Well, they're always tellin' ya're weird, but that's why I like ya so much. Why do you always help all those beggars and urchins, knowing that if not next maybe next month they're goin' to die anyway?'
'I will miss them in Lirion' Thorel admitted with sadness, 'but in Lirion I still will be able to help someone. Someone to cure, someone to protect.'
'Wait. Ya're a Fatecaller. But are ya also... Ya know, this scar, are ya a Protector?'
'I used to be. You see, back in times I was Protector I believed in the fight for the greater good. And as many before me, I have realized that achieving the greater good is impossible, and I bring only more suffer to this world.
'So ya resigned?'
'No' He answered calmly not stopping the energy flux. He had to control it carefully and sensitively, so that subtle freshly regrown tissues won't burst because of it, but to be ensured that they are provided enough energy for their regeneration. 'I've chosen another path. I've discovered, that the evil, whatever would it be, does not fear heroic fights and grand acts. It is everyday life what it's scared of, the everyday deeds of common people committed from love towards the others. Everyday self-sacrifices from looking our own advantage for the sake of the others. That is the path I've chosen.'
'Even if it won't lead ya to anywhere?'
'Even. But it is like sailing a ship' Chase opened his eyes wider. He has always liked tales about things, that seemed so distant to him. 'Sole person will not be able to steer it and will sail to nowhere. The ship needs pilots, oarsmen, people responsible for sails and lines and, definitively, cooks. However, they will never enter the ship if the first person won't make the first step and set the food on the deck. Not because others are already waiting there and the course to the aim can be already started, but because it has to be so. Even when you can sink while that.' He remained silent for a moment. 'How do you feel now?'
'Great! And ya know what, I gonna go with ya to the Lirion. How will we get there?'
'I thought about renting a wagon or a vivera'
'Vivera? I hate amphibians. Why no fly by a griffon?'
'Are you sane, boy? Vivera is a reptile. And I'm not even half that rich as handsome I am.'
'I see, pity. I will only need to tell him about our departure. I think he would tend to agree. He has always tried to protect me'
Thorel was not sure about the truth of the last two statements, but judging from the enthusiasm in the boy's voice he was sure that Chase will escape, even against his guardian's will.
'Tomorrow morning I will rent a wagon. We will meet under the South Gate' he said wrapping boy's torso with the bandage. 'Just try to not make the patch dirty until then. And try not to get into any trouble' he gave him the malachite he was using previously. The stone was almost totally drained and around it remained only a vague band of light which will last a few hours before it will finally disappear entirely. 'You needed something you shall go to the pawnshop and sell it for not less than six hundred scraps, which you are to spend as quick as possible. Now hide it safe. Farewell.
He patted the boy few times on his shoulder and tousled his silver-white hair. Chase set off and dashed before. Thorel sighed.
'Chase!'
'Thank ya!'
'Much better. It's good to thank others, and one day you're going to be grateful to me for that piece of advice.'
'Thank ya again. And ya know, one day I gonna enter that ship with ya. Together we won't sink!'
Shattered boy, I perfectly know how to swim by myself. Thorel smiled sitting still for a while watching Chase running away and disappearing around the corner. In the moments like this the hope, that his efforts are not meaningless was becoming something more. The faith. He got up and moved back to his home standing in a pretty better district of Kharabreth. He still had a few unclosed matters. Before his departures he had to end several patient's treatment and pack his medicines and the rest of medical stuff. They were often more efficient than fatecalling and were not so striking. He did not intend to abandon them. Anyway, he has already sold a big part of his assortment to raise funds for his journey. The next day also his house was to be passed to a foreign merchant who recently moved to Kharabreth and grew sick of sleeping in flophouses. Thorel was still smiling recalling their full of exaggerated and desperate worlds talks.
He went out of slums and appeared in a busy market area. It was nothing to the market district in the city center, where wealthy merchants offered their goods to aristocracy, but was still the heart of lower districts and during pre-evening hours there was quite a variety of people hanging around. Bystanders waved at him often and greeted him. He was answering with the same. He had helped many of them and their relatives.
'I was wrong about you' Thorel heard a mild voice from behind 'At first I took you for a Stoneshatterer, and you are an Earthwarden. Umm?'
A thrill moved through Thorel's back when those worlds sounded. Rapidly he turned around and looked on the speaking one. Not tall male Ani with black hair pulled back into a short ponytail, but leaving a straight fringe covering the whole forehead down to the black eyebrows covering the eyes of the same color. Having both hair and iris in the same color was common for Ani, but this guy's iris were such dark they were barely distinguishable from his pupils. In his hand he held bare sword of a narrow straight blade. Its blackness was contrary to the silver of the sword's hilt. Thorel had no doubts. The Observer. And probably the one who pretended to be a merchant going to buy his house.
Two city guards wielding those huge Estlandish waraxes moved towards the stranger who dared to pull out a sword in a civil place. Black wearing Ani moved twice his hand casually and two people fell damping the cobblestone with narrow streams of blood flowing from slits between their helmets and breastplates.
I must help them... I must...
But the reason outcompeted. He will not manage to help them if he would just let himself be killed. He turned around and ran away through the market. People before him moved aside with terror in their eyes. The observer moaned protractedly with a pitch voice, as if he was disappointed by this situation, and walked slowly after him.
'Please!' Thorel cried. 'I have ended with that. We are not born to be killers!'
There was no answer.
In the next heartbeat the Observer appeared just before him holding dripping blood black sword behind. Stunned by the sudden shock Thorel reached with his hand towards his left side and felt the swallow damp wound.
He understood, he had no choice. In next heartbeat the bandages fell from the Dancer's blade showing two layers of steel-eldanium alloy of different harden levels. A sword made entirely of such dense metal as the cutting side of dancer would be so heavy that unbearable. That's why the curved blade was made of lighter metal from the inner side.
He will soon need more energy. The Observer was circling around him slowly waiting for the first attack. Thorel closed his eyes activating lowcall.
Now here was standing the Thorel he was once. Thorenell Fatedancer, the Protector. He was half head and shoulder above his opponent. From his body glowed a lime green light, as a halo over the Moons. The wound in his side got sealed up in less than a heartbeat. He felt the energy gathered around, felt how this energy flows through him exceeding and thrilling him. Like a rising earthquake inside. The feeling, he hadn't feel for so long. Te feeling he was so scared of. The feeling which commanded him to carry death instead of life and which he renounced as he renounced the fight with armed hands.
But this day he did not feel any murderous thoughts, just calmness. And this day he had what to fight for.
Let's do it once again! A female voice said, almost sang, in his mind.
And let it be our last joint dance. He answer in his thoughts.
He felt the curvature of the gravitational field under his foots. The force, which bind objects to Erb's surface. And with a pinch of Fate the same force launched him upwards. The Observer did the same. They got past each other in a middle of the air and by a few heartbeats circle one around each other. If the Thorenell's opponent guided the Gravity Fate it meant one. He was also a Protector. But dark and twisted one. Death would be a deliverance for his balde's Ignis.
Their swords crossed few times with the sound of metal hitting metal and joyful exclamations of Dancer in Thorenell's mind. He leaved his hand down commanding the potential minimum to move backwards and temporally sliding on a gravitational wave retreated from the fight. All masses were pulled towards the potential minimum, which normally would be on the ground's surface. So was he now.
We need to check what level does he represent. And what Fate does he rely on.
I let you do all tha thinkin' and you let me do all tha cuttin'!
The Observer dashed towards him and their blades crossed once again. Dancer's 'YyyaaaeeEEY!' Had almost drown the metallic clank for Thorenell ears. Or actually the mind? He wasn't sure.
Focus on tha fight, Thor! Told ya, ya do all tha thinkin' and I do all tha cuttin'!
'And all tha talkin'! And at last try to learn how to pronounce properly!' he replied loudly as he was irritated. It was a long time since he danced on fields and now it didn't come so easily.
People below were gathering torn apart their instinct commanding to escape and the curiosity which spurred them on to watch this extraordinary fight up to the end. After a few strikes Thorenell and Dancer outdid the Observer and his black nameless sword. But Thorenell felt something in their two was unusual, not as it should be.
What's wrong? The Dancer as always spotted the hesitance in his emotions.
'He is a Dark Protector, remaining of those we have defeated once' He didn't care he was talking loudly 'Do you hear the scream of his Ignis?'
Nope. And I'm very glad of it. Terrible noise.
'Nor do I' he said dodging the next strike and parrying the next two cuts 'Every time we fought one of them their Igni just like cried for relief. I don't hear it from one of his!'.
His next attack threw the Observer of his stroke. The Dancer was much heavier thus had more inertia than the nameless black sword. In the face-to-face fight Thorenell was in advantage. Losing his balance on the field the black blade wielder dashed backwards, but still face to his opponent. He snapped his weapon sticking his bare hand forward. His sword remained still in the same position as before, levitating point to Thorenell's chest, as if it emblemized the extension of Observer's arm.
What the shatter is that? Thorenell wondered. Masterly tamed gravitation or electromagnetism?
Who cares!? Just check that out!
The black sword surged forward and Thorenell barely managed to doge it. But it also meant now the sword was far away from its wielder. Half the heartbeat. Thanks to long trainings only that little time it took him to activate halfcall. The space itself around Thorenell folded making him disappear from that place. In the same moment he found himself just behind Observer's back mounting his attack. In an one word - he blinked from one place to the another.
Interesting. What is the nature of the force pulling objects down? Is that what we call the gravitation Or is it the space itself?
He was glad that he was still able to do it. The abilities gained through long and harsh trainings are not so easily forgotten. Now the only answer the Observer could respond with was his own halfcall and dodge by immediate change of his position. Thorel has already seen him to blink once in this fight. That time he got wounded in his side. This time the Observer put with his back to the wall would need to do this again. It would be unable to parry the attack when you cannot predict its direction. No dodge, no block. He thought smiling, but through the experience he had learned also not to take the win granted until achieved. Maybe if...
The Observer did not blink, nor even tried to parry the attack. He just lightly turned towards him and with sinister smile drew aside from Thorenell's blow. In the only way he was afraid it could be. At the same heartbeat the black blade cut through Thorenell's throat dashing back to Observer's grasp. So quickly...
THOR!
The familiar sound in his mind broke off as falling on the ground from about five meters Dancer fell from his hand. He didn't even hear the sound of her hitting onto cobble. A stark pain in his back made him try to cry, but only more blood has floated into his lungs.
I cannot.... Not now. I CANNOT SINK!
He managed to climb his knees. Spastic try to heal this wound had no effect. He lacked of Fait at the moment. leather strip holding his bag, which got cut with the same blow as the throat, split now releasing the bag's insides. From the sack spilled the malachite gemstones. Most of them were still fully charged. Deprived of any single breath Thorenell's sight got vague, but yet he reached for the closest one.
So far. Architects! Why it seemed to be so far!
THOR! WATCH OUT!
One short blow deprived him of his right hand. Thorenell curled up immediately squeezing the remained stump. The more of his blood flew the more dense fog separated him from the light. But he still could see people around him. Raval had served once as a city guard, until during riots he's foot got badly injured. He still hitched, but Thorel managed to save his leg. Hanna suffered once from hemorrhage fever, but today she could barter with foreign fruits again. Ingerd... Thorel failed trying to save his wife, Aseel, but fortunately their child was born alive. Conrad, Bonet, Enesa... So many names. Names he knew and at least twice that much names he didn't know. And all of them stood as if frozen around the fight, but none of them moved to help. How could they still remain nameless?
'People...' he tried to say but he couldn't get out his voice. 'Please, help me... What kind of world do we live in?'
He turned his sight seeing next faces and the terror painted all over them. Next names... Finally his sight stopped on the back of walking away Observer. His black sword was still hold pointed diagonally right-down. He hummed some melody Thorenell did not know. But it was still the only sound he heard.
With each heartbeat the time he remained was getting shorten. One could say, he was already on borrowed time. The pitiful rest of his strength abandoned him and he fell again on the ground. The ground he used to source strength from. Spending last heartbeats he reached his hand touching lying on the cobblestone Dancer's blade.
'So it was indeed our last dance. Sorry. I hoped to end this otherwise... I hoped..!'
'Thor, I'm sorry! I'm so shatterly sorry!' The only thing for him to see was the cobblestone between him and high legs of walking away Observer's shoes. And a sole green light of one of his malachites glowing in this dimness. If only someone could pass them to him.
Try to not give up! Ya still can live. He heard again the crying voice in his head. But could sword destined to kill really mourn one's death?
Thor, ya still have...
I still have the left hand!
In a sudden surge of strength Thorenell dashed towards the nearest glimmer of green hope. Even before his hand touched its surface the light spurred towards him surrounding his left hand's fingers, just as if it was waiting for this touch. He could again feel again this familiar earthquake inside. He could again breath right. I WILL NOT SINK!
In the next heartbeat the black blade pierced the top of Thorenell's head down to his jaw impaling his head to the cobble.
What kind of world do we live in? Why is it so cold? Why...
The last voice he heard was distraught, heartbroken and heartbreaking Dancer's cry. But none else had heard that. People around stood still for a while before they started to disperse back to their normal live. Some of them burst into tears. The Observer attracted his sword black and still holding it in his reached hand he slowly walked away continuing to hum. The people before him were coming apart as before the death itself.
'At last you have not died sinking. You are indeed worth one song.' He said silently and somehow admirably.
Upon the Kharabreth the sky shattered again, the third time already this day. As if from black wound the sky was mourning the loss of one of its wards.