Rogue - Chapter One

Chapter One

         The sun was bright the day the world exploded.
         Ryssa sat at the table in the little cabin on the hill. The cabin was quaint, made of wood logs with a roof of thatched straw. There were three rooms: an open kitchen on the bottom floor and two bedrooms in the small loft.
         The door swung open with a bang and Ryssa jumped. In the doorway stood a huge, hulking figure, his large frame silhouetted against the mid-morning sun. He stepped into the cabin and shut the door behind him, hanging his fur coat on a peg on the wall.
         “Good morning, father,” Ryssa said. “Home from the market so soon?”
         “Ay.” Ryssa’s father, Attamayus, had a deep, smooth voice that always reminded her of a trickling brook. “There were reports of marauders to the north, so I returned home early.” He scanned the room. “Where’s your mother?”
         “Outside, in the garden. What about the marauders? Are they coming here?”
         “I pray not. Now, fetch your brother, wherever he is. Tell him to head back. I don't want either of you out at a time like this.”
         Attamayus disappeared through the back door leading to the garden. Taking her own coat from the pegs on the wall, Ryssa shrugged it onto her shoulders and exited onto the front porch.
         The day was brisk, the late autumn wind bringing a chill from the north. The sun shone unhindered and Ryssa squinted against its brightness. The light breeze blew swirls of dust from the dirt path, caused the trees to sway like dozens of inverted metronomes.
         Ryssa’s long black hair blew into her face. She swept it away with a jerk of her wrist. Tugged her coat tighter in an attempt to keep out the cold. Pulling the thin hood around her head, she set off at a slow jog down the narrow path leading down the hillside.
         The cabin sat at the top of a thin, shallow ravine. High as she was, Ryssa could see the entire countryside spread beneath her like a canvas. To the east lay a small village, Tergoth. The tips of its wooden houses peaked over the tops of the surrounding trees. Through the centre of the settlement trickled a shallow stream, its waters flooding from the mountain at the end of the canyon. The rest of the landscape was layered with a thick forest of pines and spruces, oaks and willows, an occasional dwelling hidden amidst the trees.
         Ryssa turned left at a fork in the path, heading to the river. Her brother, Daniel, spent a lot of time there lately, fishing or swimming or sitting by the riverbank, staring into the silent water. Sure enough, as the river came in sight, she spotted him sprawled out on the grassy bank. He held a fishing pole in his hand.
         “Daniel!” she said as she approached. He looked up, startled. His long brown hair, the same colour as his father’s, fell to his shoulders, framing a sharp, handsome face that had gotten him out of trouble more than once. “Father says you need to come home,” Ryssa said. “Marauders were seen to the north.”
         “Marauders?” he asked. “How many?”
         “I don't know, I didn't ask.”
         He raised an eyebrow but said nothing, turning to gather his fishing gear. She tapped her foot as he took his time, meticulously packing his things one by one into a wooden box.
         “Come on, Daniel,” she said as he took apart his fishing pole with exaggerated care. “We need to leave.”
         He looked at her and grinned at the frustration she knew was evident on her face. She hated it when he did this. Taking his time when she was in a hurry, rushing only when she wasn’t. She huffed in aggravation.
“I’m coming, I'm coming,” he said and quickened his pace. She shoved him as he passed by, and his grin widened.
Once Daniel’s gear was packed, he hefted the box onto his shoulder and set off down the path at a brisk jog. Ryssa fell in line behind him, her long legs keeping time with his quick pace.
         The day darkened a shade as they crested the top of the hill. Like a cloud had drifted in front of the sun. But no clouds were in sight. As the cabin came into view Daniel stopped short, and Ryssa ran into him. She caught him by the shoulders to keep herself from falling.
         “Something’s wrong,” he said, a frown creasing his brow. “I can smell smoke.”
         Ryssa sniffed the air, catching the acrid scent of burning wood on the wind. She looked out over the valley. Wisps of smoke and ash rose above the trees, hazy claws reaching for the sky. “It’s coming from the village,” she said. Daniel’s face went white at her words.
         “Get father,” he said. When she didn't move he pushed her toward the door. “Go!” She ran into the cabin. Her parents were seated at the crooked wooden table, their heads bent together, talking in hushed voices. They looked up as she entered.
         “There’s smoke coming from the village,” she said, breathless. Without a word, Attamayus rose from his chair and swept out the door, not bothering to throw on his jacket. Ryssa followed him outside, her mother close on her heels.
         Daniel was coming around the side of the house, the reins of two horses clutched in his hands. “The marauders are in the village, father. You can see the fires from here.”
         Attamayus looked out over the countryside, saw the smoke billowing from the village. He paled. “Fetch the swords,” he said, and Daniel ran inside. “Ryssa, you stay here with you mother. Under no circumstances are you to leave this cabin. Do you understand?”
She nodded, numb. As she watched the wind picked up, spreading the smoke across the horizon. The sun was now a hazy golden circle, a faint coal hanging in the sky.
         Daniel emerged from the house as Attamayus finished saddling the horses. He held two swords in his hands, made from folded steel. He handed one to Attamayus, who buckled it onto his belt before pulling himself into the saddle. Daniel did likewise, mounting the second horse.
         Attamayus glanced at this wife. “If we have not returned by the time the sun reaches its zenith, go west to Gearah. There’s a garrison there. Tell them what’s happened and they’ll send soldiers. Do not return until you hear word from me.” He paused, his forehead creased as if contemplating his next words. But all he said was, “I love you both.” He turned and set his horse into a gallop, Daniel following close behind.

         The waiting was torture.
         Ryssa remembered the time a few years ago when Daniel fell off the roof of the cabin and broke his leg. Her father and mother had taken him to the apothecary, leaving Ryssa alone. She remembered the hard knot of apprehension she’d felt in the pit of her stomach as she’d waited, sitting by herself at the table in the small kitchen.
         This was like that, only ten times worse.
         She sat again at the low wooden table, her legs pulled to her chest, her chin resting on her knees. Her fingers drummed against the side of her chair. She glanced sidelong at her mother. Laseia. That was her name. She sat with her back straight, her hands curled in her lap. She looked so calm, her face a placid mask.
         “It will be all right, Ryssa,” she said, placing a hand on her daughter’s shoulder. Laseia was a strong woman with a wrinkled face, weathered from years of hard labour. Her thick, greying hair cascaded around her shoulders, framing a kind, narrow face. Her eyes were bright grey, the same as Ryssa’s, crinkled by thin lines. A testament to times of joyful laughter and warm smiles.
         Ryssa knew Laseia was trying to be strong for her sake but could still see the worry leaking through her mother’s calm demeanor. Like water through a dam. She scooted her chair closer to her mother’s and put an arm around her waist, hugging her tight.
         They waited in silence, wrapped in each other’s arms. For a long time, they heard nothing from the valley save the low whistle of the breeze. Other than that, the world slept.
         The wind picked up, carrying a faint cry with it up the valley. “Did you hear that?” Ryssa asked, wide-eyed.
         Laseia stroked her daughter’s hair, long, smooth strokes that sent waves of calm down Ryssa’s spine. She was reminded of warm nights from her childhood, sitting on her mother’s lap, listening to the cozy crackling of the fire in the hearth while her father read aloud from his precious collection of books. “It will be okay, love,” Laseia said, snapping Ryssa back to the present. “Your father and brother are skilled swordsmen. They’ll be all right.”
         More yells reached the cabin, carried on the wind. Despite her mother’s words, the hard knot of apprehension in Ryssa’s stomach tightened. She couldn't stand this waiting, not knowing what was happening in the valley, fearing the worst. Taking a deep breath, she made up her mind.
         “I need some fresh air,” she said, extracting herself from Laseia’s arms. She raised an eyebrow, and Ryssa hurried to reassure her. “I won’t go far.” A pang of guilt wormed in her chest as she lied. Laseia hesitated, nodded once. After a moment’s pause, Ryssa left the cabin through the back.
         She turned around the side of the house, ducking under the windows to avoid her mother’s gaze, and jogged down the worn dirt path. She glanced back at the cabin before it vanished from sight, tears stinging her eyes. I’m sorry, mother.
         The air turned dark with smoke as she neared the village. She choked as she inhaled ash, the taste rough and bitter in her mouth. Crouching low, she made her way to a dense grove of trees growing on a rise outside the village, where she’d have a clear view of the marketplace. As she drew nearer the sounds of screams and cries mixed with the roar of a blazing fire, a macabre symphony growing louder and louder in her ears. She crested the rise and the marketplace came into view. Her skin went cold at the sight unveiled before her.
         She’d entered a scene from a vivid nightmare. The village was on fire, the wood and straw buildings tinderboxes under the relentless heat of the inferno. The vendor’s stands that filled the square were smashed, their contents littering the ground. Bodies lay strewn about, defeated pieces on a chessboard, their clothes tinged with red, pitchforks and shovels clutched in their cold hands. A line of survivors knelt in the dust in the central courtyard. All that was left of the population of Tergoth.
         Ryssa scanned the scene before her with numb horror, searching each face in the line of kneeling prisoners. Her brother and father were nowhere in sight. Panic swelled in her chest until a group of men entered the courtyard, a pair of large marauders dragging two struggling bodies behind them. Daniel and Attamayus. Daniel had a deep gash on the side of his head, his cheek drenched in blood. Attamayus looked barely conscious. Their swords were nowhere in sight.
         They were forced to their knees at the end of the line as a wide man in thick black armour stepped forward. He had long, tangled hair braided with beads and a massive broadsword strapped to his back. An ugly scar ran down his face. His lips moved as he addressed the crowd, his words lost in the deafening roar of the fire.
         A hand clamped over her mouth, and Ryssa let out a muffled scream. Thick arms locked onto her shoulders and swung her around. She came face to face with a marauder, a repulsive man with a bent, oversized nose and filthy hair. He grinned, revealing a row of rotting crooked teeth. “Well, look what we have here. You're a right pretty thing, aren't you? Dungar’ll be glad I found you.”
         He grabbed hold of her forearm and dragged her bodily out of the trees. She kicked and screamed until he backhanded her across the face, sending her sprawling in the dust. “Shut up, you wretch. Shut up or I'll slit your throat.” Taking hold of her again, he dragged her into the marketplace.
         “Oy, Dungar!” the marauder said. The man in the black armour stopped his speech and turned, scowling.
         “What do you want, Vald?” Dungar said, his voice a low growl.
         The marauder, Vald, didn’t register his leader’s tone. “I found this ‘un lurking in the bushes. She's a pretty little thing, ain't she?”
         Dungar’s eyes raked Ryssa up and down. He sneered. “If you want her, take her, don't bother me with your petty cares.”
         Vald grinned. “All right then. Come on, girl.”
         Ryssa tasted bile on her tongue as Vald dragged her from the courtyard, her wrist stinging from the force of his grip. “Get away from me!” she said, lashing out at him with her foot. The blow caught him in the stomach and he doubled over with a gasp. She sprinted away but was jerked backwards by a firm grip on her shoulders. Vald pulled her back and threw her in the dust.
         “No!”
         A strangled cry echoed through the courtyard. Ryssa never imagined her father could make such a sound, his voice so full of anger and grief. He rose from his place in the line and ran at the man holding Ryssa, his face a blind mask of rage.
Vald stepped to the side, drew his sword and ran him through.
         Time slowed as Ryssa gaped at her father, his eyes wide with shock. The sword in his chest would have looked comical, if not for the circle of blood spreading out from where it touched his tunic. Vald withdrew the blade as if pulling it from a scabbard. It made a sickening squelching sound and Attamayus fell to the ground. Sprawled like a bird shot through the heart. He lay there, still, his empty eyes staring at the ashen sky.
         Ryssa heard someone scream, realized it must have been her. She ran to where her father lay in the dust and knelt beside him. “Father,” she said, tears spilling down her cheeks. “Father, please don't go, father, please.” She pulled his limp body into her lap and buried her face in his neck, horrible, desperate sobs racking her body. She held him tight as if the force of her touch could bring him back. They killed him, she thought. They killed him!
         And they would pay for it.
         The grief abated, mingling with a calm, consuming rage and an overwhelming need for vengeance.
         She laid her father’s body in the dirt with infinite care before standing to face the marauder. He watched her with a twisted smirk on his face.
         “You killed him,” Ryssa said, surprised by the strength of her own voice. She took a step forward, and Vald’s smirk morphed into a grin as he fingered the hilt of his sword.
         Then his grin wavered, his expression becoming uncertain. Is he afraid of me? She took another step and he stumbled back, uncertainty turning to plain fear as a chorus of whispers broke out from the surrounding onlookers.
         “What's she doing?”
         “What's happening to her?”
         “Her hands! Look at her hands!”
         Ryssa glanced down and nearly stumbled back in shock. Her hands were glowing bright red, blades in a blacksmith’s forge. She held them to her face and felt an eerie warmth emanate from her palms. Her skin glowed brighter and brighter, her fingers prickling as energy gather into them until she couldn't hold it any longer. She let it out with a whoosh and a wave of heat left her body. It hit Vald and he stumbled back with a scream, blisters appearing on his arms and face.
         A grim satisfaction filled Ryssa and she allowed the energy to build in her hands again. She let it go and another tidal wave of heat whooshed away. Vald screamed again and fell to the ground, more blisters appearing on his skin, the tips of his outstretched fingers charred black.
         The energy flowing through her wouldn’t stop, but she didn’t care. She held it longer this time before releasing it, a larger wave of power leaving her body. More people cried out from the heat as Vald burned away to ash. Ryssa revelled in her newfound power, in the pain she was inflicting on those who caused her so much grief. She set off another wave, even larger. This time she heard screams from not only the marauders, but the women and children kneeling on the ground as well.
         Alarm swelled and she tried to contain the energy, to stop it from flowing through her hands. But no matter how hard she fought it the waves of heat continued to grow, burning more and more every time.
         She heard Daniel call out to her above the noise, pleading with her to stop as another wave flowed from her body, and she turned in time to see him burn away to ash, his body falling to the ground. A cloud of smoke hid him from view. When it dispersed, he was gone. Carried off by the wind.
         Horror filled Ryssa as she stared at the spot where Daniel had stood seconds before. Horror at what she’d done to him, at what she was doing to these people. She tried to contain the energy inside her but it fought back, exploding stronger and stronger each time. Orange flames seared the edge of her vision. A roaring thunder filled her ears, a hundred times louder than the fire that had scorched the village. Finally, she gave up, falling to her knees in the dust with a single cry as one last inferno burst free of her body, exploding outward with a thunderclap.

         Ryssa regained consciousness, like rising in a pool of water. Her senses returned. She felt the hard ground beneath her body, smelled charred wood, tasted ash on her tongue.
         Her eyes fluttered open.
         The sky was dark and the ground pitch black. Had she slept the entire day? But when she raised her head she saw the sun still shone dim overhead, that the sky was dark because of the smoke and ash covering it, blotting out the light. She stood, took in the scene around her, and went numb with horror.
         The village was obliterated. Nothing was left but a single charred column somehow still standing. The grass on the ground was gone, in its place a sea of ash, a swirling mixture of black and grey. The river had vanished as well, the water dried by the heat of the explosion. The pines and oaks of the forest were toppled, their leaves burnt away and their trunks charred dark black. Few remained standing.
Ryssa looked up, searched for the little cabin on the edge of the ravine. That, too, had been obliterated. A sob gathered in her chest. What have I done?
         A voice spoke behind her, deep and grating, startling her out of her grief. “My, my. You’ve made a mess of things, now, haven't you?”
         Ryssa whirled. No one was there. Had she imagined the voice? But no, something floated in the air among the ashes, almost invisible in the faded light. A dark shape with no form, it swirled around and around in a constant spiral. It resembled the dust devils that flew up from the dirt roads on a windy day.
         “So much power,” the darkness said. “So much…potential.”
         A chill ran down Ryssa’s spine as it spoke in it’s grating voice. It sounded like a demon. “Wh-what are you?”
         “My name is Asmodei. As to what I am, that you do not need to know. I wouldn't want to frighten you, after all.” Asmodei solidified, forming into a corporeal shape, the shape of a man. He was still deep black, with no features save a single gaping mouth in the centre of his face.
         “I’m not afraid of you,” said Ryssa, her voice wavering. “What do you want?”
         “What do I want?” He sounded contemplative. His gaping mouth morphed into a grotesque grin. “I want your power.” He surged forward, floating in silence over the earth. Ryssa stumbled back, tripping over the uneven ground. She hit a charred tree and pressed herself against it, fear welling in her chest as Asmodei came closer. He stopped in front of her and stretched out his arm, but instead of touching her body it vanished into her skin. She gasped, staring at where his hand buried in her chest. Right above her heart. Asmodei grinned again and stepped forward, disappearing inside her. She went cold. A voice spoke inside her head. We’re going to be good friends, you and I.
         Then everything went dark.