The Rock of the Ancients (part 2)

The crooked stone stood in the clearing, towering high above his head. His two captors pushed him through the last few yards of bushy undergrowth, and out into open space. They dared not go themselves into the circle surrounding their most holy monument, for fear of invoking the wrath of the Ancients. Ma’il contemplated this for a moment – he had always thought that one’s god, if you had one, should be an open, approachable god. Obviously that didn’t work for the Ancients. These mythical beings ruled by fear alone. Fear in their wrath, and fear in the wrath of the priests.
A sudden noise broke through the stillness of his mind. The guards had fled, crashing through the dense undergrowth like a flightless umy. This, he supposed would be the time where he was expected to run. He decided not to, as the chances were that the forest that he was in would be surrounded on all sides by the priests’ high guards. He looked around. Around him was ample forestry, containing all the fruits and nuts that he might ever want to eat. He didn’t move towards them, and he remained highly wary.
Ma’il did not believe in the Ancients. He believed firmly in the Priests of the Ancients, but they were human. He should know. He’d killed enough of them. He supposed that, in the overall sense of things, there probably was some form of omnipotent, omniscient being, but he wasn’t much of a philosopher.
He still stood in the clearing, about a yard away from the edge, warily facing the rock. Ma’il’s belief in the Ancients may have been minimal, but he had no doubts about the existence of their acolytes. He was ready for every trick.
Slowly, he turned and walked off in a large circle around the gigantic stone. Always cautious, he tried every step before he took it, watching for trip wires, hot slaves, or anything else that might be designed to hurt him.
There didn’t seem to be a thing. A confused expression crossed his face. Surely no-one was expecting him to be stupid enough to walk towards the rock. He started out around the rock again, this time edging further inwards with every rotation. Eventually, he found himself less than an arms’ length away from the rock. He reached out cautiously and tapped the rock gently. Nothing gave. He tapped it again. It felt and sounded just like a large rock.
Suddenly it came to him – being brought to the rock was a punishment for people who did not believe in the power of the Ancients. Which would mean that the trap would be designed to affect people escaping from the inside of the ring where they were deposeted, to the outside where they were free. He crept away from the stone. There, around the outside, was a trip wire. He laughed at the stupidity of it. Surely it wouldn’t be that simple. Still, he had to find out. He walked backwards, slowly. From a distance, he prodded the trip wire with a long stick. A sudden burst of ticking started up. Ma’il looked around to see where it was coming from. It seemed to be the enormous rock. He backed away, slowly, cautiously, as the ticking noise increased, becoming louder and quicker until it was just a single sound. Then suddenly it stopped, and quiet settled in the clearing again. Ma’il stared at the rock for several long moments, making sure that nothing else was broken. Then he turned away. The machinery must be faulty, he thought.
He had just reached the edge of the clearing when the rock exploded.

(Rock of the Ancients – part 1)

The Rock of the Ancients (part 1)

They stared down at the prisoner, their faces shadowed by the long, black hoods. The prisoner chose not to respond, and instead fixed his eyes upon the undulating ball of smoke that was deciding his fate. It finished deliberating, and moulded itself into a thin grey line. The court held its collective breath. Suddenly, one of the corners folded down. The verdict had been decided upon. The prisoner was guilty. He breathed out shakily. He had always known that they would find him guilty, but the judgement and the atmosphere had made it seem so final. He stood up slowly, and turned to look at the greatest of his hooded captors. The black figure rose, and removed his dark cowl. Underneath was an impossibly old man, with thin, deep lines on his face. He called out to the court the punishment that had been chosen.
“Ma’il Naseet, you have been found guilty of heathenism by the court of the ancients. This is their punishment. You will be taken to the Ancient Rock, where you will receive the penalty of death.

(The Rock of the Ancients – Part 2)

Uprising

Night flooded through the silent town like thick black treacle, coating the streets with inky, starless shadows. The high glowing lights in the tree-top residences of the upper district dimmed as people settled down for the night, heads filled with dreams caused by the soft treacle-like Sibbanac that had become all the rage in fashionable society. Further down, the clerks that kept the town running streamed home from their offices, clutching their weekly pay-packets. Down below, the more lucky Ground-class scurried to their mud-walled huts before curfew, while the factories and workhouses carried on through the night, run by those people who could not afford a moment without work.
In the center of the village, the large clearing that by day was filled with happy families, and by evening filled with romantic couples, was slowly emptying. The last of the couples left, amid much cuddling and kissing.
Slowly, out of the shadows, four people stepped into the moonlight. They stood in the clearing for some time, staring up into the distant sky.
“Wecca has been compromised” A woman’s voice broke the stillness of the night. One of the other figures, a young man, scowled.
“Quiet,” He muttered. “We can’t too careful.” He glanced sharply at the woman. “And what do you mean by compromised?”
“Captured sir, but we have covered our tracks. She won’t tell them anything.”
“Poison?” He whispered. She just nodded mutely.
Another, older man spoke up.
“She had a sister. Minda. She doesn’t know anything.”
“Use her. Wind her up. In fact, let her stew in ignorance. And work on her. She could be a potential fanatic. Make a note of that.” He gestured towards a younger woman behind him, holding a stylus and tablet.
“But sir, isn’t that a bit harsh? Shouldn’t we just let her get over the death first?”
“No. We would lose the attack. We need it now. And harsh? I’m no harsher than they are. I am what I am because of my government. Don’t blame my harshness on me.”
He snapped his mouth shut, suddenly, and looked at the floor.
“No. That was harsh. I apologise. I live with no emotions, you see, it makes dealing with people almost impossible. Sorry. Do what you think best. She can be used. But yes, we must remember humanity, even in this time off war.”
He looked up again, his face back to it’s usual expression.
“And what are you waiting for? Let’s go. Report again tomorrow.”

Running Water

A gurgling sound alerted her to the presence of water. She moved her head around slowly, trying to work out where the sound had come from. Slowly, she narrowed the area down, until finally, she worked out the rock it must have sprung from. She knelt down, and took a sip of the fresh, cool water. The sun beats down hard in Neriphin, and she had been running without shade for almost an hour now. The water, chilled from years of being away from the sun’s heat, ran down her throat, refreshing her body. She dipped her head in the little stream that was running out of a crack in the rock, and felt the icy liquid wash the sweat that had formed on her face. Finally, she left a small pebble from her pocket by the stream for the Kálle.
Her refreshment over, Briannis turned to the task ahead of her. It was a long way until the next checkpoint, and she wasn’t carrying extra water supplies, but she was confident that the water from the stream would last her until she could sample some of the more medicinal drinks at the checkpoint. Briannis set off.

Two hours later, she rounded a corner, and jogged into the checkpoint. The official at the running desk looked at her suspiciously.
“Little girl,” He asked, “Are you lost?”
Silently she placed her runners license on the desk. He looked at it, then suddenly realised his mistake.
“Apologies, Runner Briannis. Do you have any messages?”
“Post one-oh-three to post two-one-two, changing here with Runner Main.” She rattled off the numbers, then pulled out a leather message-bag, and placed it on the desk beside her documentation. The official pulled out his list of runners, and made a small note. Then he chalked up her times, and scribbled out a receipt. She took it gratefully, and hurried from the room, to more comfortable lodgings.
Drink came in the form of mead, specially brewed for the runners. She gratefully took some from the kindly woman in the kitchen, along with some herbal bread. She walked swiftly to her room, and sat down on the massive bed that occupied most of the room. Pulling out the small personal communicator, she spoke her grandfather’s name into the hole in the center. A couple of seconds later, his face appeared there.
“Briannis! My favorite grand-daughter!”
“I’m your only one, Grandad.”
“I’m just joking, darling.”
She smiled, faintly, and sighed.
“I know, I know. I’m just being irritable. Some bloke on the Runners’ Desk thought I was a lost little girl. I hate running around near Leen. They’re all so backwards around here.”
“They’re just who they are. I had a good friend from Leen, you know. It’s not like they’re a different species like some people.”
“Fair enough. I’m just tired, I suppose.”
“I’d agree with that. Your eyelids aren’t even open properly!”
She stuck her tongue out at him, then switched off the communicator. He was right, she realised, they were just human. Unlike the Trolls up north, or the Elven tribes in the west. She pulled her clothes off, and put them in the washing chute. At least these people had got that. A nightgown hung on a bedpost, so she slipped it on and climbed into the big, soft bed. She closed her eyes, and before she knew it, she was asleep.

Where there is life…

Briannis looked down from her branch, her gérri fruit core balanced in her hand. She chose her target from the hundreds of people working below her, and, with perfect precision, lobbed it.

Below, in the teeming market square, a bald-headed man looked up, as the fruit hit his head. He located his granddaughter in the high thick tree, and smiled. He raised a hand in greeting, and watched as she slid down the tree, landing in a heap on the ground in front of him.
“Hello Briannis.”
“Hi Granddad.” She smiled sweetly at him. “I hope it didn’t hurt.”
“Honestly, you and your fruit will be the death of me. One day, you’ll hit someone who isn’t as kind and forgiving as me, and then you’ll be sorry.” But he smiled to show that he was joking. Besides, they both knew that she would never hit someone else. At 16, she was probably the youngest member of the King’s Trained Bowmen, and also one of the better ones. Everybody was expecting her to become one of the King’s Elite when her 18th birthday rolled around. For herself, she was proud of her achievements, but never so much that she would boast.
She smiled at him, and he remembered the time that he had first held her, soft and warm, just two days old. She had smiled just like that. She recognized the dreamy look he put on when he was reminiscing, and poked him. He jerked into the now.
“What did you do that for?”
“To stop you dreaming of when I was a baby, and think of me now!”
“Okay…” He put on a ridiculous ‘thinking’ expression that made her laugh, which made him laugh, until they were both almost in tears.
A market trader, having given up for the day, barged past, knocking Briannis to the ground. She got up, her fit of giggles forgotten, only prevented from marching after the trader and returning the favor by her grandfather’s soft hand on her shoulders.
“This is a market, Brianna, and he does need to get home. He probably has a wife and kids to feed, and maybe parents like me, who can’t be bothered to find their own home.”
“She smiled a muted smile, and turned round.
“I know,” She sighed, “I just can’t stand the rudeness of some people.”
“We can’t all be as perfect as you are.” Her grandfather countered, his eyes twinkling. She stuck her tongue out at him.

This isn’t quite finished yet, but until I figure out more about their home, I’m not going to be able to do much more. It’s in a good place to pause anyway, so you can have it early.

Playing with fire

A large fireball hung in the air, bright in the murky gloom of the small stone room. A strand of it fell, like rope, and fell onto the boy’s outstretched hand. The boy whispered, and it expanded, and twisted round the child’s small hand.
Two Nissá looked on, faces showing no hint of reaction. For a moment, all three were motionless, as if captured together as a still image. Then one of the Nissá spoke:
Do you think you could do that using your Water abilities?”The child nodded, nervously. He waved his flame-free hand over its partner, and the fire died down. Slowly a trickle of water started to flow from the open palm, flowing from nowhere, going to nowhere. The flow seemed to cling to the hand, covering it like the flame did.
“Very good child. No, can we see you manipulate the Wind?”
Nodding nervously again, the boy flicked both of his hands. A rushing sound filled the small room. The boys long, flowing hair started to spin around his head – testament to the powere of the wind that he had created.
“And, finally, can we see you use the Earth?”
The child didn’t even nod this time. He knelt on both knees, and waved his hands over the cold, hard stone that covered the floor. Slowly, ripples began to form, until the stones were moving as though they were made from water. The boy looked up hopefully at his two examiners.
“Very good,” The Nissá smiled. He gestured towards the door, and the boy obediantly moved off into the outer courtyard.

The two examining Níssa had gone through to the main school hub. Lessons had restarted after the exams, and now the hall was silent. It was vast – the beams that supported the enourmous roof had had to be cut from the largest trees in the land. It was a masterpiece of engineering, design, and it was the home of the Níssa of Gúrran.
The Níssa were a race of mages who believed in the trinity of the world. They viewed life as the middle of the Triad of life – preceded by absolute evil, and succeeded by absolute goodness. As a peoples, they were generally tall, dark-skinned, and quiet. They rarely traveled out of their cities, and, were it not for the bravery of a small few, would have thought that they were totally alone in the world. As such, they had limited contact with the tribe of Erelings in the forest that bordered one of the larger Níssan cities. The two peoples would meet, once every four of five years, to discuss the state of their respective homelands. These discussions were mostly for show, as neither party had any particular interest in the other. It was just a tradition.