A/N: Please R/R (Read and Review) I would like feedback about what needs to be changed... if something needs to be add. Feel free to correct gramar... I am horrible at gramar and my spelling isn't that much better. (Actually it could be worst) However, I love writing, so gamar and spelling problems will probably never stop me from writing. Anyway! Please tell me what you think. At the beginning of each chapter I'll have an A/N (Author's Note) about that chapter and what I have concerns about.
Story:
Prologue…
She cradled her baby girl in her arms as she followed a figure dressed in all black. He turned to look, making sure that she was still following. Behind her was another Mage, making sure no one came up from behind her. As if to help cloak them in darkness, rain clouds covered the moon and it pored rain down upon them in cold sheets. She made sure that her baby was safe, though probably getting soaked to the bone in rain. If it weren’t dire that she do this she would have her child warm in her bed.
“Rebecca,” the mage in front of her said, turning his handsome face towards her. “Its time…” He placed his hand on her shoulder kindly, gently… How she wished he could be there all the time, instead of the beast she was married too. She nodded and he embraced her, nodding to the man behind her. The ground disappeared underneath them and they melted into a glowing white pool of light… disappearing out of site.
They appeared in a poor and rundown apartment building. “Why should I leave her here! Its horrible!”
“No one would look for a princess in this place. Besides, the woman here is kind. She cannot help that she lives in these conditions, just as your people cannot help who rules them so harshly.” Darshan said as he placed his hand yet again on her shoulder to reassure her. “It is better for her to be here than turned into a weapon against the Dimensions.
She nodded and placed the baby on the floor before the door. “Will the woman see us?”
“No… we will be gone when she answers the door. My Empress… take comfort in the fact this is what the Prophetess has told us…”
Rebecca reached out with a trembling hand and knocked soundly on the door. Darshan reached an arm around her and pulled her back. The next thing she saw was the forest, and felt the cold rain poring down upon her once again….
* * *
The Balancer: Fall of Empires
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Emora Deen
- Avatar of War
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- Joined: Tue Jul 19, 2005 12:41 am
- Location: Beyond Time and Space
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Emora Deen
- Avatar of War
- Posts: 12286
- Joined: Tue Jul 19, 2005 12:41 am
- Location: Beyond Time and Space
- Contact:
A/N: This chapter I think I ran a bit too fast with... Tell me if I'm write. I don't know if its good like it is, or if I need to do a little more background of Rowe's time in the New Empire's army...
Chapter One: 13 years later…
The village where he grew up was always clouded by smoke early in the morning. The ground seemed to always be wet now-a-days, and the farm animals had the run of the town. The houses were small and made of wood and mud, with heavily thatched roofs. His village was in the center of a wild valley hidden in the arms of mountains as tall as the eye could see. The village was surrounded by a four-foot wall made of granite stones collected from the base of the mountains that surrounded them. It was a simple close-knit village. Everyone knew each other, and everyone was pretty much well mannered and friendly, however all towns have their outcasts. All roads led to the center of the town where a large flat stone platform sat slowly sinking in the ever thickening mud.
As blacksmith’s son, he was gifted in making things metal. However, his passion was not as simple. As he stepped out of his damp home where he lived with his father and mother, he pulled the tattered hood over his head. “I’ll be back in an hour father,” he said as he looked over his shoulder before stepping out onto the muddied street. Several chickens immediately crossed his path, though he did not dance around to avoid them like most would. He continued his path, no time to waist. He had a busy day ahead of him and needed to get his chores done as soon as possible.
His clothes were made of sacks and leather, his cloak from an old tablecloth. It was true he was pore. It was true that most of everyone in his village was poor. However, he was not ashamed of being poor and rightfully shouldn’t be. He was more skilled than that of someone with money, and had secret abilities that he dare not speak of to anyone. He walked with a certain purpose and grace that many in his village admired as much as they didn’t understand.
His name was Rowe Blackwell son of Daren Blackwell the village blacksmith. He was thirteen. Every morning Rowe would walk the ten minute trek to the forest, and five minutes further until he reached a spot where he figured no one would be watching. It was the same place every time, a clearing surrounded by thick brush that could grow all it wanted too in the middle of the forest because of the increased sunlight from the open branches. A shimmering granite bolder protruded from the earth. He found it always reminded him of a gray wart on old Mrs. Carter’s arm.
Rowe jumped up onto the top of the damp boulder, standing taller than most teenager’s of his age. He was also stronger muscled for teenagers of his age, due to the hard work that he had done for so long. He peered around, able to see over the bushes from this point. No one seemed to be in site and he finally settled with the idea that he was alone as the sun began to shine down in rays of golden light.
He sat in a position with his legs crossed on the leaf and mud covered ground, his breath fogging slightly every now and then. He only had a little while left and he really needed to practice. He closed his blue eyes as he pushed the hood back away from his head, revealing his dirty and disheveled black hair. Sighing he relaxed, listening to the steady rustle from the trees around him. The sound of peace. He heard birds singing their hopeful calming songs.
The rustle of leaves grew louder and louder, as if the wind was blowing harder. Though, he felt no wind. He opened his eyes to see the leaves that had been scattered across the ground spinning in a circle around him, creating a wall of fast moving leaves. He laughed, amused with his trick. This is how it would continue, too. Since he knew not the words of a Mage, and probably never would. He could only train himself with the abilities that did not require words. Unless you risked death from the New Empire, it was forbidden to practice magic as they feared an uprising. If you chose to practice magic without being apart of the New Empire then you walked around with a death-warrant until they killed you. They always killed you, however not before torturing you until you either joined them or died.
His father had told him stories that seemed nothing more than fairy tales about a time when a good king ruled the land. His father said that there were other worlds besides this one. Two other worlds and the Mages went to those worlds and found other magic users and taught them. The good king was murdered by his friend, who took the thrown and the good kings daughter as his bride. The daughter became with child and it was said that rather her daughter be fathered by such a cruel man she murdered her daughter. Then the Empress was sentenced to death. Though, some say that the last of the White Mages took the baby into one of the other worlds to keep her protected. A very interesting fairy tale if you asked Rowe.
When his hour was almost up and he felt satisfied with what he had accomplished he began the trip home. It wasn’t that long of a trip and he didn’t mind at all. He could see his village as he began the decent down the rather steep hill. The smoke from the night fires was clearing. Farmers were starting their daily routine outside the village walls and the guard was patrolling the usual areas. He saw his father standing at their shop on the edge of town. Rowe smiled and waved to his father, who in turn waved back as it was their daily routine. Something different caught his eye, however. It was the site of men upon black horses riding down the opposite hill towards his village. Two of the riders carried long poles with flags sporting the red, black, and gold colors of the New Empire.
Rowe picked up his pace, running towards the village now. It was not good when the army visited the village. They took what they claimed they owned, and that was never anything they really owned. They took crops which the village needed to survive. They took wives of men who had been married for years. They took money and weapons that he and his father slaved so hard to make. They took children as slaves…
“Father!” he yelled, pointing towards the soldiers riding down the hill, though his father might not see them from where he was.
Just as he reached the village the soldiers were riding through, coming to a halt and forming a line that stretched from one end of the village to the other. “Emperor Dante Vanguard, Emperor of the New Empire, has sent us to collect your taxes!” One man said, he was seated upon a black warhorse that was standing the middle of the long line. Beside him was a shorter form, surely to small to be a warrior, though to large to be child. A fine black hood was pulled so far over the head of the person that the face was unable to be seen. His hands were covered in black leather and gripped the reigns tightly. The figure did not hunch over, but sat straight up in the saddle. The covered head turned slowly in towards Rowe as he stood close to his father.
It was far too dark to see under the hood and Rowe could not see the figure’s eyes, however he could surely feel them. They were burning a hole into his flesh. Finally the figure looked back a head of himself and Rowe almost sighed in relief.
“Go back to your house and collect your payment. Place it into the cart that will pull up beside your homes.”
When they were back at the house his mother was seated on her bed crying as she held the three silver pieces in her hands. What the had been saving for months. It was not enough, though he didn’t see why it wasn’t enough.
“Its not fair Daren! We need this money to survive!”
“I know…” Daren went to his wife and embraced her, cradling her head in his hands.
His mother looked at him out of the corner of her eyes and turned to face him, her expression kind. Only a expression that a mother can give you. “Rowe would make a fine soldier, wouldn’t he… and they would take good care of him if he were a soldier. He would have a roof that didn’t leak… food every day… He would have a better life!”
“Izaboue…”
“He could be someone someday… And maybe one day stop all this… maybe come back and save us? Maybe save the entire kingdom. I feel like we should do this… As if the voice of the Gods are telling me this.. He is our boy, Daren, and deserves a better life than this. You taught him well. He will make a fine soldier.”
“It would mean that he didn’t have to go hungry at nights. It would mean that he didn’t have to hide in the forest…” His father said as he let go of his wife and turned to his only son with watery eyes. Rowe had gone stiff and felt like he was nailed to the floor. His mouth was open, though nothing came out because for one he didn’t know what to say. Most families in his village had given up their sons to the military because they would have a chance at a better life. Most dreamed the same thing his parents dreamed this very moment.
Rowe was still not saying anything, and he felt as if this was some warped dream he was having, do to being hit in the head as he slipped off the damp boulder in the forest. At the door his parents hugged him tightly and the cart pulled along their house. A man with a scroll stood before them and read off that his family owed the Emperor 20 silver pieces. The debt was substantial and for the life of him he couldn’t think of why they owed so much.
“My son would make a fine soldier. He is skilled in combat already and is worth far more than 20 silver pieces.”
“We’ll say he’s worth two years of taxes,” the guard said and two men grabbed Rowe, dragging him up into the cart that was pulled by an ox. Rowe was chained there, partly because they knew how children didn’t want to leave home and he would surely try and escape. His blue eyes found his parents as they were being pulled off and he took one last look at them. He knew, he some how knew that this wouldn’t be the last time they would see each other….
The journey to the capital city was one he had never taken. It was long, and the weather seemed to get colder. They rarely stopped, and were rarely fed. He guessed unless they were soldiers already they were not worth feeding. On the way he and his friends that had been sold were forced to fight. If they didn’t they would not be fed. They didn’t fight at first, but the hunger became too much. Rowe was not the first to attack. It was always them. They attacked him, and rather be killed or wounded Rowe would fight back, often coming out as the winner.
The soldiers would cheer as he took to his feet, looking in a complete circle at all of their faces. It was odd how they seemed proud that he had won, or maybe happy that he was a good fighter? Happy he wasn’t a waist of space? All of them seemed excited, cheering in loud roars. All except the figure whose face had yet to be seen. Strangely Rowe felt that he could feel the eyes of that figure, like they were constantly watching him. Like he knew who he was.
As of yet no one had figured out that he was a teenager with magical abilities. If they found out he feared what would happen. Maybe they would be happier? Maybe they would be frightened and try to exterminate him like they had done to all the Mages before? Maybe they would make him Prince of the Land… or leader of the army? Maybe they would just leave him alone…
Two more days past and on the final night of their trip they camped. The guards built fires around the camp and allowed them to go free as long as they didn’t go past the fires. No one dared go past them. They sat in front of a fire, wondering when the time to fight would come. Rowe had started to feel a great excitement build in him, and he strangely found for the first time he wanted to fight. He didn’t understand it, maybe because he wanted food. Yes, he was very hungry. Or maybe it was because tonight felt different. Maybe not a fight at all. Maybe a chance for something else?
He sat on the end, staring straight into the hot fire. He. thought for a while about what his parents were feeling. Did they miss him? Or were they happy he was gone from them? Though he didn’t mean to, he accidentally used the fire to form the face of his parents. He looked around quickly and no one seemed to notice so he went back to staring at the fire.
His line of site was blocked as a figure in black stepped before him. “I figure we should address the fact of what you are,” the voice said. It sounded young, however colder than that of a young boy. The tone was that of a man, with the voice of a teenage boy.
Rowe looked up, brushing the black hair from his face. Still underneath the hood it was as black as night. “What are you talking about?” Rowe played dumb, though he knew exactly what the boy was talking about.
“Do you know what they do to magic users who do not pledge there allegiance to the New Empire?”
“I’ve heard… but… I’m not a magic user!” Rowe sounded as if he were appalled.
Suddenly the boy pulled forth from his cloak and amulet and as soon as it was close to Rowe it glowed a bright red. “I’m afraid magic says otherwise.”
“Lord Ahriman?” one of the guards said, seemingly confused.
“This boy is the same as me. He has the abilities to become a Dark Mage.” Everyone hushed. Even the camp fire seemed to go silent. “ I knew from the moment we entered that village. I knew, because of this.” He held up the amulet, then placed it back inside his robes. “So the that question remains... if you are to be a soldier already, why not be above them and learn to better harness those abilities?”
Rowe thought for a moment. That is something he had always wanted to do. However, he and his parents both feared he would be put to death if he didn’t keep it secret. He never knew that the choice would be so easy.
Lord Ahriman held out his hand to Rowe and as Rowe took it the hairs on the back of his neck stood up. It felt as if Rowe had taken the hand of the God of Darkness… As if maybe he should have just stayed in the forest that day. Ahriman pulled him to his feet. “We have much to discuss before tomorrow,” he told Rowe.
* * *
9 Years Later…
The village bellow was smoking. “These rebels that have been rising up are annoying if you ask me,” Lord Kell Ahriman said, casting his blood red eyes on his comrade. Watching him with an intense gaze that Rowe had came to find more and more disturbing.
They both sat upon horses looking down at the village bellow. “Everything aggravates you Kell,” Rowe pointed out as he pushed the hood off his head with one hand.
“Yes, and nothing aggravates you,” the Dark Mage muttered as he glanced towards the horizon, hearing the screams down below. Though there were plenty of screams it was clear that their side was losing. “Explain to me something, Rowe… Why is it the villagers always has the upper hand?”
Rowe was quiet for a moment as he watched them take on the New Empire’s army. Rowe watched as they roared with fury. Why did he feel so compelled to help them? No, he wasn’t a commoner. The empire was generous to them, they had no reason to rebel. “I guess…” Rowe said, “Because they think they are fighting for something.”
“So should we help the soldiers? Or wait until there begging us too?” Ahriman smiled deviously, longing to hear them begging for his help. He found it quite amusing.
“Lets help them…” Rowe said, kicking his horse. The horse reared up, however he sat completely still and not phased. With as fluent and as abnormal grace as his master the horse galloped down the hill towards the outskirts of the village. Rowe pushed up with his hands and stood straight on the back of the horse. He did a back flip, landing on his feet and his arms going wide. “Inferna,” Rowe said a wall of fire erupted between the two rivals.
“Show off,” Ahriman said as he road past. He melted away from his horse, as if he dissolved into thin air and reappeared on the other side with the rebels. “So who is willing to die a painful death first?” A villager with a pitchfork tried to impale Kell, but he swiftly moved out of the way. “Thank you for volunteering…” Kell placed his hands on the pitchfork as it moved past him and pulled it free from the villagers hands, flipping it and ramming the fork into the villagers neck.
As Kell spun his cloak billowed with him. He turned in a complete circle and smiled at the ghastly expressions. “How about any children?”
“Kell!” Rowe said as he walked through the fire, untouched by its heat.
“What? They will only rise up in the future. Might as well exterminate the whole lot of them.” Kell’s white hair was tossed by the wind. “You know something Rowe, I’m beginning to notice how soft hearted your getting towards these commoners.”
Rowe growled and turned his head in the opposite direction. He pulled the sword from his sheath, the blade was the color of blood, but metallic at the same time. Forged and burned with the fires of magic. He plunged it into the nearest person, and sadly found the eyes of a child staring back at him. Rowe’s eyes widened as did the child’s. Both looked towards the sword sticking out of his chest. Both staring at the blood trickling over his white tunic shirt. The villagers screamed in fury while Ahriman stared with a smile. The smile he always had and soon he faded into laughter.
“Good job, Lord Blackwell, one less rebel spawn.” Kell said coming to Rowe’s side. Kell put his hand on the boys shoulder and shoved him off of Rowe’s sword. A heartless gesture to a child who was dying, then again Kell was heartless. Rowe knew this. Rowe knew this and it was probably the reason he was disgusted with Kell Ahriman. The villagers charged forward. Though all Rowe could notice was the screaming woman… Her scream was high-pitched. Her scream was of pure agony.
They slaughtered the village. Though, Rowe left the child murdering to Kell, who took the job with disgustingly great satisfaction. When they left the village, they left it burning. To burn until it was nothing more than a relic of the New Empire’s past. All the while the face of that child was slowly being burned into Rowe’s mind.
That night Rowe did not sit with the soldiers. He stayed in his tent on his bed made of furs, staring at the canvas ceiling above his head and trying to recall who he was. He couldn’t remember where he came from. He knew he should, but it seemed like so long ago. Not only that his training had been harsh and cruel. He barely could remember what happened five years ago, much less anything pass then. All he could remember is the sound of metal clanging against metal, the smell of smoke, and the feeling of mud under his boots. All he could remember is a blazing fire and a blacksmith beating away at the blade of a sword. He remembered a clearing with a boulder… He remembered beautiful mountains. But, nothing of who he really was. That all might have well been a village they had already destroyed.
Nevertheless, Rowe fell into a fitful sleep.
He dreamed the same dream he had been dreaming of late. Of a woman clothed in the light of the sun. She had no hair upon her head. She seemed to be made of pure energy. When her eyes opened the light grew so much that one could hardly see. Her voice was like sweet music… Always saying the same thing. Though, in the morning Rowe could not remember for the life of him what she side. All he remembered was the fact she called herself the Prophetess.
The flap to his tent opened quickly and a soldier looked in. “Lord Blackwell, we have been told to head over the eastern mountains to the village in the valley. We are leaving in an hour.” Rowe jerked awake, sitting straight up and the fur blanket went sliding off his bare chest, revealing the long and jagged scare he had gotten in a battle a year ago.
Mages did not have the power to kill with magic, there for had to fight like a human if it was to kill them. Sure some spells could kill them if used the right way. You could easily drop something heavy on someone…To kill in battle you used a sword and a sword had almost taken his life.
He pulled his black shirt over his head, then pulled the black leather boots onto his feet. With in an our the servants that followed them had his tent and personal items packed away on a cart along with the other soldiers. He mounted his black horse, panting him gently on the neck as they road off.
“A window will open in an a minute, Rowe, if you want to go the easy route,” Kell said as he came to ride along side Rowe. Rowe glanced at Kell out of the corner of his eyes. Kell was an unusual man and sometimes Rowe found it hard to believe he was even human. Kell reminded him more of a demon than anything else. Born with hair as white as snow, and eyes the color of blood, no wonder he had worn a hood all as a teenager. Now, however, he paraded around using his look to strike fear into the hearts of his enemies. They were even calling him the Bane of Life now… Rowe could understand why… He killed any living creature that was not of use to him. He destroyed anything that annoyed him. He was indeed the Bane of Life.
Rowe glanced back a head after staring at Kell for a while. “I think I’ll ride with the other soldiers…”
“Suit yourself,” Kell said with a dark smile, it was almost as if Kell had wanted to here that answer all along. As there was something about this village that Kell knew and Rowe didn’t. Though, Kell was intelligent, too intelligent for his own good. There was absolutely not telling what he was up to.
Kell galloped a head of the small party of soldiers. He galloped towards a pool of blood that had appeared like a wall before him. It rippled and moved like it was alive and swallowed Kell up as he hit it. Then wall of blood disappeared and he was gone. He would have arrived in that village by now…
Three hours later they were crossing over a the mountains, going over the other side. He could see the village down bellow, though nothing seemed out of the ordinary… Except all the smoke.
“What are we doing here?”
“Collecting taxes, watching for possible rebel scum hiding in the midst of them,” General Mathis said as he looked down at the village. He pulled his horse to a stop. “This is odd… Usually the villagers are out and working by now…”
They rode down the hill, the horse hooves kicking up dirt and mud. Rowe was overcome by a feeling like he had been here before. Even greater was a feeling like something was horribly wrong. He rode a head of everyone, feeling like he needed to get to the village as fast as possible. Something was terribly wrong.
The first thing he noticed when he entered the village was the fact there was no one on the streets. No one at their shops… Rather odd… towards the other side of the village the smoke was getting thicker, and he could barely see. He dismounted off his horse, his boots singing an inch into the thick mud.
Mud under his feet…
The smell of smoke…
He moved through the smoke and it cleared slightly, enough for him to see a blacksmith shop with a blazing fire in the fire pit. Rowe moved towards it slowly, his feet sinking in the mud. For a moment he saw a stout and strong man hammering away at a sword. A man with black hair and blue eyes, the same as him. Then a memory came to him… But, it was gone just as soon as it had came and he knew he was surely imagining things.
He turned to investigate the rest of the town. The smoke was thick… He felt that it shouldn’t have been this thick. He moved out back into the street and turned to go in the direction he had come when he heard someone laughing. A familiar laugh. A laugh so evil it was as if it dripped with malice itself. “I remember when I first saw you, standing next to your pathetic father…”
“Kell?” His form was blacker than the smoke, emerging as a blur at first. Then every feature and detail became perfectly clear the closer he got to Rowe. Standing in the smoke, which hugged him like a thick dark cloak.
“Don’t you remember? Or did the torture of your training block it? This is your home, Rowe. Well, it used to be.”
“Where is everyone?”
“The rebels?”
“Where are they Ahriman!”
“Oh, they’re waiting for us in the fields…” Kell smiled sadistically. Why was he doing this? How could it possible help the Emperor stifle the rebels?
Rowe turned and began to walk, a strange and sickening smell filling the air. The smoke grew thicker and thicker until the closer he got to the center of its origin the strong the smell and the hotter the air got. Then the smoke cleared as he reached his destination… And the source of fire could finally be seen.
Kell stood with his arms folded across his chest for a moment as he listened. At the sound of a roar, which seemed more like fury than horror Kell smiled. He turned gracefully, going towards the entrance of the village. Behind him he heard the quickening pace of feet trampling through mud, slipping and sliding.
“Ahriman, these people did nothing! They were not rebels! We came to collect there taxes!”
“Oh?” Kell said, smirking as he mounted his horse. “I must have been misinformed.”
“Bastard,” Rowe muttered and grabbed Kell’s cloak, pulling him off the horse as he turned to leave. “You murdered innocent people!”
“No… I slaughtered innocent people. Do not try and belittle my deeds, Blackwell…”
“Belittle you- You sick twisted…”
“You’ve kept quiet about the things I have done until now. Is it because you cannot handle killing the child? Or is it because I destroyed your home? Come on Rowe, which is it?” Kell Ahriman said. “Or is it because you have been a rebel the whole time?”
By now the soldiers had gathered around, watching them. Though, none were phased by the deaths of a whole village. For the first time Rowe realized how horrible it was. Never had he thought about the fact they were wiping out lives… Killing for no reason but the fact they wanted to rise up against and an oppressive ruler. Had he been so brainwashed that he didn’t realize it before?
“By the Gods, what have I become…” He glanced back at Kell. It was almost as if the boy had planned this from the day they met. As if the moment he took Kell’s hand Kell’s plan had come into affect. But, why?
“I too see a Prophet, Blackwell...”
“How did you...” Rowe hadn’t told anyone...
“He came to me in a dream, just as she comes to you... He told me that a Mage from a village over the Eastern Mountains would bring about the fall of the New Empire... I’m afraid I can’t let that happen. I came here thinking it was someone from here, however I killed and killed and from what I have observed you are the only one who has come from this village with any touch of magical energy radiating off them...” Kell pulled himself away from Rowe and began to walk towards the soldiers. “By order of the New Empire, Lord Blackwell, I place you under arrest. The charge is treason.”
“I have committed no crime that is treason!” Rowe growled, stepping forward.
“No, not yet... But, you would have had I not stopped you. What were the words that you just uttered? What have I become? Sounds like a man who questions why he is who he is and is likely to change.”
“You are insane...”
“Would you like to know who my prophet is? He is the one who foretold the coming of the Balancer... and made sure he would never come. He is the one that rules these lands... He is your emperor and you have betrayed him.”
“How can you accuse someone of treason if they have committed no crime that is treason as of yet? You are crazy Ahriman!”
Ahriman smiled devilishly and tilted his head slightly. “I know... Holda.” Kell’s hand came up and Rowe’s did the same, however Ahriman’s spell was faster and chains that resembled more like bobbed wire wrapped around his wrists and legs. “A Binding Spell. As long as those chains are around you, nothing in the realm of magic will help you.” Kell stepped forward, peering down at Rowe. “I had expected us to be friends, though being what I am we do not usually have friends.”
“Oh, and what are you?”
Kell smiled, it was a dark smile. His blood colored eyes twinkled with something that was beyond evil. Kell turned, find Rowe not worthy of an answer. He walked and soon disappeared into the smoke-filled street. The guards seized him and Rowe was still staring at the place Kell had been, still wondering just what exactly Kell Ahriman was.
* * *
Chapter One: 13 years later…
The village where he grew up was always clouded by smoke early in the morning. The ground seemed to always be wet now-a-days, and the farm animals had the run of the town. The houses were small and made of wood and mud, with heavily thatched roofs. His village was in the center of a wild valley hidden in the arms of mountains as tall as the eye could see. The village was surrounded by a four-foot wall made of granite stones collected from the base of the mountains that surrounded them. It was a simple close-knit village. Everyone knew each other, and everyone was pretty much well mannered and friendly, however all towns have their outcasts. All roads led to the center of the town where a large flat stone platform sat slowly sinking in the ever thickening mud.
As blacksmith’s son, he was gifted in making things metal. However, his passion was not as simple. As he stepped out of his damp home where he lived with his father and mother, he pulled the tattered hood over his head. “I’ll be back in an hour father,” he said as he looked over his shoulder before stepping out onto the muddied street. Several chickens immediately crossed his path, though he did not dance around to avoid them like most would. He continued his path, no time to waist. He had a busy day ahead of him and needed to get his chores done as soon as possible.
His clothes were made of sacks and leather, his cloak from an old tablecloth. It was true he was pore. It was true that most of everyone in his village was poor. However, he was not ashamed of being poor and rightfully shouldn’t be. He was more skilled than that of someone with money, and had secret abilities that he dare not speak of to anyone. He walked with a certain purpose and grace that many in his village admired as much as they didn’t understand.
His name was Rowe Blackwell son of Daren Blackwell the village blacksmith. He was thirteen. Every morning Rowe would walk the ten minute trek to the forest, and five minutes further until he reached a spot where he figured no one would be watching. It was the same place every time, a clearing surrounded by thick brush that could grow all it wanted too in the middle of the forest because of the increased sunlight from the open branches. A shimmering granite bolder protruded from the earth. He found it always reminded him of a gray wart on old Mrs. Carter’s arm.
Rowe jumped up onto the top of the damp boulder, standing taller than most teenager’s of his age. He was also stronger muscled for teenagers of his age, due to the hard work that he had done for so long. He peered around, able to see over the bushes from this point. No one seemed to be in site and he finally settled with the idea that he was alone as the sun began to shine down in rays of golden light.
He sat in a position with his legs crossed on the leaf and mud covered ground, his breath fogging slightly every now and then. He only had a little while left and he really needed to practice. He closed his blue eyes as he pushed the hood back away from his head, revealing his dirty and disheveled black hair. Sighing he relaxed, listening to the steady rustle from the trees around him. The sound of peace. He heard birds singing their hopeful calming songs.
The rustle of leaves grew louder and louder, as if the wind was blowing harder. Though, he felt no wind. He opened his eyes to see the leaves that had been scattered across the ground spinning in a circle around him, creating a wall of fast moving leaves. He laughed, amused with his trick. This is how it would continue, too. Since he knew not the words of a Mage, and probably never would. He could only train himself with the abilities that did not require words. Unless you risked death from the New Empire, it was forbidden to practice magic as they feared an uprising. If you chose to practice magic without being apart of the New Empire then you walked around with a death-warrant until they killed you. They always killed you, however not before torturing you until you either joined them or died.
His father had told him stories that seemed nothing more than fairy tales about a time when a good king ruled the land. His father said that there were other worlds besides this one. Two other worlds and the Mages went to those worlds and found other magic users and taught them. The good king was murdered by his friend, who took the thrown and the good kings daughter as his bride. The daughter became with child and it was said that rather her daughter be fathered by such a cruel man she murdered her daughter. Then the Empress was sentenced to death. Though, some say that the last of the White Mages took the baby into one of the other worlds to keep her protected. A very interesting fairy tale if you asked Rowe.
When his hour was almost up and he felt satisfied with what he had accomplished he began the trip home. It wasn’t that long of a trip and he didn’t mind at all. He could see his village as he began the decent down the rather steep hill. The smoke from the night fires was clearing. Farmers were starting their daily routine outside the village walls and the guard was patrolling the usual areas. He saw his father standing at their shop on the edge of town. Rowe smiled and waved to his father, who in turn waved back as it was their daily routine. Something different caught his eye, however. It was the site of men upon black horses riding down the opposite hill towards his village. Two of the riders carried long poles with flags sporting the red, black, and gold colors of the New Empire.
Rowe picked up his pace, running towards the village now. It was not good when the army visited the village. They took what they claimed they owned, and that was never anything they really owned. They took crops which the village needed to survive. They took wives of men who had been married for years. They took money and weapons that he and his father slaved so hard to make. They took children as slaves…
“Father!” he yelled, pointing towards the soldiers riding down the hill, though his father might not see them from where he was.
Just as he reached the village the soldiers were riding through, coming to a halt and forming a line that stretched from one end of the village to the other. “Emperor Dante Vanguard, Emperor of the New Empire, has sent us to collect your taxes!” One man said, he was seated upon a black warhorse that was standing the middle of the long line. Beside him was a shorter form, surely to small to be a warrior, though to large to be child. A fine black hood was pulled so far over the head of the person that the face was unable to be seen. His hands were covered in black leather and gripped the reigns tightly. The figure did not hunch over, but sat straight up in the saddle. The covered head turned slowly in towards Rowe as he stood close to his father.
It was far too dark to see under the hood and Rowe could not see the figure’s eyes, however he could surely feel them. They were burning a hole into his flesh. Finally the figure looked back a head of himself and Rowe almost sighed in relief.
“Go back to your house and collect your payment. Place it into the cart that will pull up beside your homes.”
When they were back at the house his mother was seated on her bed crying as she held the three silver pieces in her hands. What the had been saving for months. It was not enough, though he didn’t see why it wasn’t enough.
“Its not fair Daren! We need this money to survive!”
“I know…” Daren went to his wife and embraced her, cradling her head in his hands.
His mother looked at him out of the corner of her eyes and turned to face him, her expression kind. Only a expression that a mother can give you. “Rowe would make a fine soldier, wouldn’t he… and they would take good care of him if he were a soldier. He would have a roof that didn’t leak… food every day… He would have a better life!”
“Izaboue…”
“He could be someone someday… And maybe one day stop all this… maybe come back and save us? Maybe save the entire kingdom. I feel like we should do this… As if the voice of the Gods are telling me this.. He is our boy, Daren, and deserves a better life than this. You taught him well. He will make a fine soldier.”
“It would mean that he didn’t have to go hungry at nights. It would mean that he didn’t have to hide in the forest…” His father said as he let go of his wife and turned to his only son with watery eyes. Rowe had gone stiff and felt like he was nailed to the floor. His mouth was open, though nothing came out because for one he didn’t know what to say. Most families in his village had given up their sons to the military because they would have a chance at a better life. Most dreamed the same thing his parents dreamed this very moment.
Rowe was still not saying anything, and he felt as if this was some warped dream he was having, do to being hit in the head as he slipped off the damp boulder in the forest. At the door his parents hugged him tightly and the cart pulled along their house. A man with a scroll stood before them and read off that his family owed the Emperor 20 silver pieces. The debt was substantial and for the life of him he couldn’t think of why they owed so much.
“My son would make a fine soldier. He is skilled in combat already and is worth far more than 20 silver pieces.”
“We’ll say he’s worth two years of taxes,” the guard said and two men grabbed Rowe, dragging him up into the cart that was pulled by an ox. Rowe was chained there, partly because they knew how children didn’t want to leave home and he would surely try and escape. His blue eyes found his parents as they were being pulled off and he took one last look at them. He knew, he some how knew that this wouldn’t be the last time they would see each other….
The journey to the capital city was one he had never taken. It was long, and the weather seemed to get colder. They rarely stopped, and were rarely fed. He guessed unless they were soldiers already they were not worth feeding. On the way he and his friends that had been sold were forced to fight. If they didn’t they would not be fed. They didn’t fight at first, but the hunger became too much. Rowe was not the first to attack. It was always them. They attacked him, and rather be killed or wounded Rowe would fight back, often coming out as the winner.
The soldiers would cheer as he took to his feet, looking in a complete circle at all of their faces. It was odd how they seemed proud that he had won, or maybe happy that he was a good fighter? Happy he wasn’t a waist of space? All of them seemed excited, cheering in loud roars. All except the figure whose face had yet to be seen. Strangely Rowe felt that he could feel the eyes of that figure, like they were constantly watching him. Like he knew who he was.
As of yet no one had figured out that he was a teenager with magical abilities. If they found out he feared what would happen. Maybe they would be happier? Maybe they would be frightened and try to exterminate him like they had done to all the Mages before? Maybe they would make him Prince of the Land… or leader of the army? Maybe they would just leave him alone…
Two more days past and on the final night of their trip they camped. The guards built fires around the camp and allowed them to go free as long as they didn’t go past the fires. No one dared go past them. They sat in front of a fire, wondering when the time to fight would come. Rowe had started to feel a great excitement build in him, and he strangely found for the first time he wanted to fight. He didn’t understand it, maybe because he wanted food. Yes, he was very hungry. Or maybe it was because tonight felt different. Maybe not a fight at all. Maybe a chance for something else?
He sat on the end, staring straight into the hot fire. He. thought for a while about what his parents were feeling. Did they miss him? Or were they happy he was gone from them? Though he didn’t mean to, he accidentally used the fire to form the face of his parents. He looked around quickly and no one seemed to notice so he went back to staring at the fire.
His line of site was blocked as a figure in black stepped before him. “I figure we should address the fact of what you are,” the voice said. It sounded young, however colder than that of a young boy. The tone was that of a man, with the voice of a teenage boy.
Rowe looked up, brushing the black hair from his face. Still underneath the hood it was as black as night. “What are you talking about?” Rowe played dumb, though he knew exactly what the boy was talking about.
“Do you know what they do to magic users who do not pledge there allegiance to the New Empire?”
“I’ve heard… but… I’m not a magic user!” Rowe sounded as if he were appalled.
Suddenly the boy pulled forth from his cloak and amulet and as soon as it was close to Rowe it glowed a bright red. “I’m afraid magic says otherwise.”
“Lord Ahriman?” one of the guards said, seemingly confused.
“This boy is the same as me. He has the abilities to become a Dark Mage.” Everyone hushed. Even the camp fire seemed to go silent. “ I knew from the moment we entered that village. I knew, because of this.” He held up the amulet, then placed it back inside his robes. “So the that question remains... if you are to be a soldier already, why not be above them and learn to better harness those abilities?”
Rowe thought for a moment. That is something he had always wanted to do. However, he and his parents both feared he would be put to death if he didn’t keep it secret. He never knew that the choice would be so easy.
Lord Ahriman held out his hand to Rowe and as Rowe took it the hairs on the back of his neck stood up. It felt as if Rowe had taken the hand of the God of Darkness… As if maybe he should have just stayed in the forest that day. Ahriman pulled him to his feet. “We have much to discuss before tomorrow,” he told Rowe.
* * *
9 Years Later…
The village bellow was smoking. “These rebels that have been rising up are annoying if you ask me,” Lord Kell Ahriman said, casting his blood red eyes on his comrade. Watching him with an intense gaze that Rowe had came to find more and more disturbing.
They both sat upon horses looking down at the village bellow. “Everything aggravates you Kell,” Rowe pointed out as he pushed the hood off his head with one hand.
“Yes, and nothing aggravates you,” the Dark Mage muttered as he glanced towards the horizon, hearing the screams down below. Though there were plenty of screams it was clear that their side was losing. “Explain to me something, Rowe… Why is it the villagers always has the upper hand?”
Rowe was quiet for a moment as he watched them take on the New Empire’s army. Rowe watched as they roared with fury. Why did he feel so compelled to help them? No, he wasn’t a commoner. The empire was generous to them, they had no reason to rebel. “I guess…” Rowe said, “Because they think they are fighting for something.”
“So should we help the soldiers? Or wait until there begging us too?” Ahriman smiled deviously, longing to hear them begging for his help. He found it quite amusing.
“Lets help them…” Rowe said, kicking his horse. The horse reared up, however he sat completely still and not phased. With as fluent and as abnormal grace as his master the horse galloped down the hill towards the outskirts of the village. Rowe pushed up with his hands and stood straight on the back of the horse. He did a back flip, landing on his feet and his arms going wide. “Inferna,” Rowe said a wall of fire erupted between the two rivals.
“Show off,” Ahriman said as he road past. He melted away from his horse, as if he dissolved into thin air and reappeared on the other side with the rebels. “So who is willing to die a painful death first?” A villager with a pitchfork tried to impale Kell, but he swiftly moved out of the way. “Thank you for volunteering…” Kell placed his hands on the pitchfork as it moved past him and pulled it free from the villagers hands, flipping it and ramming the fork into the villagers neck.
As Kell spun his cloak billowed with him. He turned in a complete circle and smiled at the ghastly expressions. “How about any children?”
“Kell!” Rowe said as he walked through the fire, untouched by its heat.
“What? They will only rise up in the future. Might as well exterminate the whole lot of them.” Kell’s white hair was tossed by the wind. “You know something Rowe, I’m beginning to notice how soft hearted your getting towards these commoners.”
Rowe growled and turned his head in the opposite direction. He pulled the sword from his sheath, the blade was the color of blood, but metallic at the same time. Forged and burned with the fires of magic. He plunged it into the nearest person, and sadly found the eyes of a child staring back at him. Rowe’s eyes widened as did the child’s. Both looked towards the sword sticking out of his chest. Both staring at the blood trickling over his white tunic shirt. The villagers screamed in fury while Ahriman stared with a smile. The smile he always had and soon he faded into laughter.
“Good job, Lord Blackwell, one less rebel spawn.” Kell said coming to Rowe’s side. Kell put his hand on the boys shoulder and shoved him off of Rowe’s sword. A heartless gesture to a child who was dying, then again Kell was heartless. Rowe knew this. Rowe knew this and it was probably the reason he was disgusted with Kell Ahriman. The villagers charged forward. Though all Rowe could notice was the screaming woman… Her scream was high-pitched. Her scream was of pure agony.
They slaughtered the village. Though, Rowe left the child murdering to Kell, who took the job with disgustingly great satisfaction. When they left the village, they left it burning. To burn until it was nothing more than a relic of the New Empire’s past. All the while the face of that child was slowly being burned into Rowe’s mind.
That night Rowe did not sit with the soldiers. He stayed in his tent on his bed made of furs, staring at the canvas ceiling above his head and trying to recall who he was. He couldn’t remember where he came from. He knew he should, but it seemed like so long ago. Not only that his training had been harsh and cruel. He barely could remember what happened five years ago, much less anything pass then. All he could remember is the sound of metal clanging against metal, the smell of smoke, and the feeling of mud under his boots. All he could remember is a blazing fire and a blacksmith beating away at the blade of a sword. He remembered a clearing with a boulder… He remembered beautiful mountains. But, nothing of who he really was. That all might have well been a village they had already destroyed.
Nevertheless, Rowe fell into a fitful sleep.
He dreamed the same dream he had been dreaming of late. Of a woman clothed in the light of the sun. She had no hair upon her head. She seemed to be made of pure energy. When her eyes opened the light grew so much that one could hardly see. Her voice was like sweet music… Always saying the same thing. Though, in the morning Rowe could not remember for the life of him what she side. All he remembered was the fact she called herself the Prophetess.
The flap to his tent opened quickly and a soldier looked in. “Lord Blackwell, we have been told to head over the eastern mountains to the village in the valley. We are leaving in an hour.” Rowe jerked awake, sitting straight up and the fur blanket went sliding off his bare chest, revealing the long and jagged scare he had gotten in a battle a year ago.
Mages did not have the power to kill with magic, there for had to fight like a human if it was to kill them. Sure some spells could kill them if used the right way. You could easily drop something heavy on someone…To kill in battle you used a sword and a sword had almost taken his life.
He pulled his black shirt over his head, then pulled the black leather boots onto his feet. With in an our the servants that followed them had his tent and personal items packed away on a cart along with the other soldiers. He mounted his black horse, panting him gently on the neck as they road off.
“A window will open in an a minute, Rowe, if you want to go the easy route,” Kell said as he came to ride along side Rowe. Rowe glanced at Kell out of the corner of his eyes. Kell was an unusual man and sometimes Rowe found it hard to believe he was even human. Kell reminded him more of a demon than anything else. Born with hair as white as snow, and eyes the color of blood, no wonder he had worn a hood all as a teenager. Now, however, he paraded around using his look to strike fear into the hearts of his enemies. They were even calling him the Bane of Life now… Rowe could understand why… He killed any living creature that was not of use to him. He destroyed anything that annoyed him. He was indeed the Bane of Life.
Rowe glanced back a head after staring at Kell for a while. “I think I’ll ride with the other soldiers…”
“Suit yourself,” Kell said with a dark smile, it was almost as if Kell had wanted to here that answer all along. As there was something about this village that Kell knew and Rowe didn’t. Though, Kell was intelligent, too intelligent for his own good. There was absolutely not telling what he was up to.
Kell galloped a head of the small party of soldiers. He galloped towards a pool of blood that had appeared like a wall before him. It rippled and moved like it was alive and swallowed Kell up as he hit it. Then wall of blood disappeared and he was gone. He would have arrived in that village by now…
Three hours later they were crossing over a the mountains, going over the other side. He could see the village down bellow, though nothing seemed out of the ordinary… Except all the smoke.
“What are we doing here?”
“Collecting taxes, watching for possible rebel scum hiding in the midst of them,” General Mathis said as he looked down at the village. He pulled his horse to a stop. “This is odd… Usually the villagers are out and working by now…”
They rode down the hill, the horse hooves kicking up dirt and mud. Rowe was overcome by a feeling like he had been here before. Even greater was a feeling like something was horribly wrong. He rode a head of everyone, feeling like he needed to get to the village as fast as possible. Something was terribly wrong.
The first thing he noticed when he entered the village was the fact there was no one on the streets. No one at their shops… Rather odd… towards the other side of the village the smoke was getting thicker, and he could barely see. He dismounted off his horse, his boots singing an inch into the thick mud.
Mud under his feet…
The smell of smoke…
He moved through the smoke and it cleared slightly, enough for him to see a blacksmith shop with a blazing fire in the fire pit. Rowe moved towards it slowly, his feet sinking in the mud. For a moment he saw a stout and strong man hammering away at a sword. A man with black hair and blue eyes, the same as him. Then a memory came to him… But, it was gone just as soon as it had came and he knew he was surely imagining things.
He turned to investigate the rest of the town. The smoke was thick… He felt that it shouldn’t have been this thick. He moved out back into the street and turned to go in the direction he had come when he heard someone laughing. A familiar laugh. A laugh so evil it was as if it dripped with malice itself. “I remember when I first saw you, standing next to your pathetic father…”
“Kell?” His form was blacker than the smoke, emerging as a blur at first. Then every feature and detail became perfectly clear the closer he got to Rowe. Standing in the smoke, which hugged him like a thick dark cloak.
“Don’t you remember? Or did the torture of your training block it? This is your home, Rowe. Well, it used to be.”
“Where is everyone?”
“The rebels?”
“Where are they Ahriman!”
“Oh, they’re waiting for us in the fields…” Kell smiled sadistically. Why was he doing this? How could it possible help the Emperor stifle the rebels?
Rowe turned and began to walk, a strange and sickening smell filling the air. The smoke grew thicker and thicker until the closer he got to the center of its origin the strong the smell and the hotter the air got. Then the smoke cleared as he reached his destination… And the source of fire could finally be seen.
Kell stood with his arms folded across his chest for a moment as he listened. At the sound of a roar, which seemed more like fury than horror Kell smiled. He turned gracefully, going towards the entrance of the village. Behind him he heard the quickening pace of feet trampling through mud, slipping and sliding.
“Ahriman, these people did nothing! They were not rebels! We came to collect there taxes!”
“Oh?” Kell said, smirking as he mounted his horse. “I must have been misinformed.”
“Bastard,” Rowe muttered and grabbed Kell’s cloak, pulling him off the horse as he turned to leave. “You murdered innocent people!”
“No… I slaughtered innocent people. Do not try and belittle my deeds, Blackwell…”
“Belittle you- You sick twisted…”
“You’ve kept quiet about the things I have done until now. Is it because you cannot handle killing the child? Or is it because I destroyed your home? Come on Rowe, which is it?” Kell Ahriman said. “Or is it because you have been a rebel the whole time?”
By now the soldiers had gathered around, watching them. Though, none were phased by the deaths of a whole village. For the first time Rowe realized how horrible it was. Never had he thought about the fact they were wiping out lives… Killing for no reason but the fact they wanted to rise up against and an oppressive ruler. Had he been so brainwashed that he didn’t realize it before?
“By the Gods, what have I become…” He glanced back at Kell. It was almost as if the boy had planned this from the day they met. As if the moment he took Kell’s hand Kell’s plan had come into affect. But, why?
“I too see a Prophet, Blackwell...”
“How did you...” Rowe hadn’t told anyone...
“He came to me in a dream, just as she comes to you... He told me that a Mage from a village over the Eastern Mountains would bring about the fall of the New Empire... I’m afraid I can’t let that happen. I came here thinking it was someone from here, however I killed and killed and from what I have observed you are the only one who has come from this village with any touch of magical energy radiating off them...” Kell pulled himself away from Rowe and began to walk towards the soldiers. “By order of the New Empire, Lord Blackwell, I place you under arrest. The charge is treason.”
“I have committed no crime that is treason!” Rowe growled, stepping forward.
“No, not yet... But, you would have had I not stopped you. What were the words that you just uttered? What have I become? Sounds like a man who questions why he is who he is and is likely to change.”
“You are insane...”
“Would you like to know who my prophet is? He is the one who foretold the coming of the Balancer... and made sure he would never come. He is the one that rules these lands... He is your emperor and you have betrayed him.”
“How can you accuse someone of treason if they have committed no crime that is treason as of yet? You are crazy Ahriman!”
Ahriman smiled devilishly and tilted his head slightly. “I know... Holda.” Kell’s hand came up and Rowe’s did the same, however Ahriman’s spell was faster and chains that resembled more like bobbed wire wrapped around his wrists and legs. “A Binding Spell. As long as those chains are around you, nothing in the realm of magic will help you.” Kell stepped forward, peering down at Rowe. “I had expected us to be friends, though being what I am we do not usually have friends.”
“Oh, and what are you?”
Kell smiled, it was a dark smile. His blood colored eyes twinkled with something that was beyond evil. Kell turned, find Rowe not worthy of an answer. He walked and soon disappeared into the smoke-filled street. The guards seized him and Rowe was still staring at the place Kell had been, still wondering just what exactly Kell Ahriman was.
* * *
-
Emora Deen
- Avatar of War
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- Joined: Tue Jul 19, 2005 12:41 am
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It was a blinding place, where humans would hardly be able to see. Everything was made from white light. A tall woman with a thin elegant body floated in the center of the room, surrounded by bright golden light to contrast the white around her. She had no hair atop her head, her eyes were closed, and her arms outstretched beside her body. She was clothed in robes of sunshine.
Rowe tried to look at her, but she was so bright, and so beautiful he could barely see her.
“Know this,” the Prophetess said. “That one day the Three Dimensions will become so corrupt that the cities will crumble, the kingdoms will fall. The rulers of the nations will bring darkness to their lands. The point will be reached where there will be no hope except total destruction.”
Rowe shielded his eyes when she opened her eyes and blue light shot forth. “There is no hope? ”
“Only the Balancer can bring peace... Only the Balancer can destroy the Dark One, the one who will try to make the Dimensions collide. They will be Remade through hardships, Brought from pain, and Born through sleep. They will be the Hand of Strength, the Hand of Life, the Carrier of Power.”
“How can I find this Balancer?”
“The Balancer will find you, Rowe Blackwell of First Dimension.”
Rowe jerked awake, rattling the pain in his legs. Ever since he was brought to Kell’s palace he began to remember his dreams. Though, they did little to comfort him since he was trapped in a torture chamber. He pulled himself up into a sitting position, dragging himself until he could lean against the wall. He was a complete and utter mess, though that didn’t bother him. The pain didn’t either. He was beginning to get used to it, though he guessed that was nothing to be proud of.
He watched as a very excited mouse scampered across the straw-covered flooring. There was brick underneath, however Kell was kind enough to throw straw down to keep his prisoners from dying to early from the cold. He wanted to be able to choose when and how they died. That’s how he liked it; being in control.
Word was spreading through the kingdom now, of the dark and powerful mage named Lord Ahriman... With his new appointment as the Hand of Death, which only meant he was the right hand man to the Emperor, he seemed more terrible and more vicious. The attacks on commoners only grew and soon Ahriman had a palace built in the middle of the Pendego Desert, just east of the Whispering Pines.... It was a good days ride from the capital city. It was terribly hot during the day, and ice cold at night. Enough to drive someone insane, though Rowe had done well to hold onto his sanity the past couple of months.
Rowe sat leaning against the wall, his body bloody and bruised. He was littered with scars of wounds that had finally healed, however they had been quickly replaced by new cuts that in time, unless he was finally killed, would heal too. His clothes were tattered and torn, his hair had grown well past his shoulders, and his face beheld a thick beard that had sprigs of straw and caked blood matting it. His eyes were the brightest thing in the room, shining past the dark blood, and caked mud. Piercing the ever dark room as the morning light began to filter through the bars.
Rowe pulled himself across the floor to get closer to the door where the food would be thrown to him, usually purposely turned over. At first he had not eaten at all, however death was something that he didn’t long for just yet. Besides, it aggravated Ahriman that he did not give up and give in so quickly. His evil soul longed for the words, “I want to die.” The words that Rowe would never allow Ahriman’s ears to hear. He would never allow him to be that satisfied and happy, not while men and women and children suffered at his hands.
He waited and waited, however no food came. He cursed, throwing some straw across the room and then cursing again as he felt the hot searing pain of a wound reopening. He didn’t scream, not like he had at first. It just made him angry. He was even getting to the point where the pain was nothing more than an itch in some cases. When they cut him, that was like a sting from a fly... When they stabbed it was like a pinch. The only thing that he had yet to get used to was the pain from a hot brand, or fire-poker.
Rowe was just about to crawl back to his little corner when he heard the sound of boots coming down the hall. The sound was followed by more boots until they all collided with the ground in one aggravating unison that signaled that the fun was just about to start.
Rowe listened to the sound of keys unlocking his door. He sighed, lowering his head to stair down at his weakened body. How much longer before Ahriman got tired of torturing him? How much longer before he was ordered to death?
Two guards entered the room, walking and grabbing him by both his arms. He hauled him to his feet and pulled him down the hall, his feet dragging the ground behind him. He didn’t bother to put up a fight, with the curse placed upon the palace his magic was of no use... and in his weakened state fighting was out of the question. Escape was futile either way you looked at it. At least, that is what Rowe had forced himself to think. So he wouldn’t feel like that much of a failure...
The hall was long and dark and lit by torches running down one side. The hall turned into steps that went straight down into a room where the shadows shifted and moved from the light of the roaring fire in the enormous fire place that seemed to take up one side of the room. The room was large, with a sand floor. Tables littered the room. Long chains hung from the tall ceiling. Some men were laid upon the tables, the Priests of Pain already hard at work. He only saw a woman once or twice, and he couldn’t imagine what one could have done to anger the Empire to the point she must be so brutalized... There was one empty table and though it didn’t have his name written on it, it really should have. It was the same table they used every time.
He remembered at first he had fought, then he became to weak to fight...
“How are you doing today Blackwell?” a man in tattered clothing asked as he spit the blood in his mouth onto the sandy floor. The man was suspended in the air by chains, his feet hanging at least a foot off the ground.
“Wonderful, Denzail. Perfect... Excited about today’s torture,” Rowe said sarcastically to his bearded friend. Denzail laughed heartedly before he was punched ruthlessly in the gut.
After several moments of coughing Denzail managed to breath out, “Nothing new, same thing over and over...”
Rowe nodded to his friend as the brutes lifted him and tossed him on the table.
Hours passed and passed and only numbly did he realize they were hanging him up just as they had hung Denzail. Blood pored from Rowe’s face. One of his beautiful green eyes was swollen shut, and blood seeped from his open mouth. His vision was now blurred, and the pain had finally gone numb. They whipped him now, though he barely felt anything at all. He stared down at the ground as the spiked whip punctured his back repeatedly. No cry was uttered from his lips, his back had grown used to this amount of pain.
Rowe thought he was passing out as a white light grew and grew in front of him. He wondered for a moment, wasn’t it supposed to be a black and dim darkness taking you as you passed out? Not that it mattered, Rowe thought. He wasn’t being biased... he really didn’t care how or what he saw as he passed out, as long as it came eventually. Maybe this is that dream... Rowe thought.
He began to raise his head, which shook violently from the strain. Before him was that woman clothed in the light of the sun. Her eyes were open and light radiated from them. Her hand came up and touched his face ever so lightly. The touch was soothing beyond anything he had ever felt. The hand trailed down his face. For once he could feel something good... For once he could feel. How could he feel in a dream?
“This is a different dream, Prophetess,” Rowe said, blood leaking from his lips. He lowered his head, to tired to hold it up. She took his face with both of her golden hands and held his chin up so their eyes could meet, though she was far too bright to look at.
“Rowe Blackwell,” she said. Her touch was tender... Not like it was in his dreams. He never was touched by her in his dreams. Their distance was kept. The message was delivered and that was the end. This was so very different. “It is time to leave this place...”
“I can’t...”
“I will show you the way,” she said. “You must bring the Denzail with you.”
“How? I am too weak to fight!” Rowe said allowed.
“I think he has lost his mind,” a guard said as the saw Rowe talking to himself. His head held high.
“I was wondering when his mind would go...” another answered.
“If you do not fight you will never leave this place. You will die and the people of the First Dimension in years to come will die as well. All the Dimensions will fall to the hands of Ahriman, the Hand of Death and all because you refuse to believe in yourself.” Her voice was harsh, like a mother scolding a child. Like a wife scolding her husband.
“I have been tortured...”
“If I could escape this place, so can you!” she said, her voice caused the sand to shift. The guards looked around a bit confused.
“Is he doing that?” a guard asked.
“No... he can’t. Magic is blocked here...”
“What?” Rowe asked.
“You will fight and you will escape.” she stepped back and began to fade away. “And you will do it now or stay and rot in this place forever.”
Rowe watched as she disappeared with her final words. “Stay and rot in this place forever.” That was one thing he refused to do... But, the question was how could he possible escape in his condition. “You will escape with the help of the others,” he voice filled his head. “You will have the strength if you believe that you do. I will help you, know this...”
The guards, having finished with their brutal torture unchained him. He hit his knees as they buckled under the weight of his body. No, there was no way he could do this. He couldn’t even stand. He glanced around the room. He saw his friend Denzail lying on a table being tortured with hot knives. Denzail was screaming, for he had yet to master the art of blocking his pain.
Rowe’s good eye watched the scene. His blood began to boil. What gave these people the right to torture innocents?
“I believe in you Rowe,” the voice filled his head. Rowe pushed himself to his feet, the dirt sticking in the groves of the cuts. A stinging sensation giving life to his otherwise dead limbs.
“I think he caught his second wind,” one of the guards behind him said.
Rowe stood up and glanced over his shoulder. Without saying a word he ran over to Denzail’s table, kicking his tormenter away from him. Rowe clutch the table to keep from losing his balance as he heard the sound of the Priests of Pain.
“Hey! Get back here!” one called as he reared back with the whip. Rowe grabbed the iron prod and swung around as the whip went to make contact with him. The whip wrapped around the metal rod. Rowe gave a swift tug with all his strength and pulled the rather sickly thin priest to the ground. He then threw the rod like a spear, stabbing into the chest of the second priest. While the first one he had attacked was standing Rowe wacked him with a thick beating rod that he grabbed from the table. The man hit the ground again, clutching his ribs.
“How does it feel?” Rowe asked, then hit him across the head. The skull cracked and the priest hit the ground with a hard thud. He was rendered unconscious or dead, though Rowe didn’t care either way.
“Are you crazy?” Denzail asked as Rowe stole the keys from the priest. He unlocked the chains around Denzail’s wrists and held his friend sit up.
“The Prophetess is going to help us escape,” Rowe said.
“Now, I know you have gone insane!” Denzail heaved.
“Want to escape or not?” Rowe asked as he and Denzail helped support echother’s wait.
“This way,” the voice of the Prophetess said as she before the giant fireplace. She walked forward and pulled the chain. Water flushed through into the fire place. Hot steam filled the surrounding area and the fire was dead. Behind where the flames had been was a archway... a long dark hall that seemed endless from this point of view.
Denzail looked at Rowe, “How in the name of the Dimension’s did you do that?”
“I didn’t, she did...” Rowe said, pointing towards the Prophetess, unaware that Denzail could not see her.
“Your crazy... but at the moment I don’t care...” Denzail said and began to hobble down the hallway. As soon as they crossed the scorched fireplace the fire ignited again.
“How...”
“She’s helping us... The Prophetess...” Rowe said and glanced sideways at the man who was staring back at the fire in shock.
“She speaks to you? She’s here now? She’s helping us?”
“I have plans for you all...” the musical voice said. “Follow Rowe and trust him....”
“She says that she has plans for us... She says to trust me...”
“I’ll trust you if that is what she asks,” Denzail said, nodding his head slowly.
Escape had never been so easy. Had the Prophetess not shown them the hall behind the fire they would have died in that wretched place. Rowe and Denzail were running on there tired limbs as fast as they could, crossing the plain outside of the forest that surrounded the Palace of Pain. Only for a moment did Rowe glance back at it, feeling his tortured body ache of the thought of being trapped in that place again.
“Where do we go from here?” Denzail asked in a huff of breath. He stumbled slightly on his weak legs that by now were remember the tortures they had endured.
“Into hiding... I don’t know where from there... Rowe stopped at the crest of the hill and turned towards the tower that rose high above the tree tops. “All I know is that Ahriman doesn’t want the Mage that would come from over the Eastern Mountains to live... so I think I’ll be immortal from now on...”
“What do you mean, no one is immortal...”
“No, but I will be the thorn in his side that will never be pulled free. I will never go away. To him, I will be immortal. The Prophetess said that the Balancer will come quickly... She said that the Balancer will find me... Ahriman, himself, said that the Emperor had prophesied that I would be help bring the fall of the Grand High Empire... I’d hate for him to be proven wrong... Really I would...” Rowe held his side with one hand, his bruised and battered face turning towards Denzail. “Are you with me my friend?”
“You are the reason I’m alive,” Denzail said and placed his hand on Rowe’s shoulder. “I’d be a real bastard if I left you now...”
* * *
Chapter Two: She Lives!
To him death was like music; sweet, graceful, beautiful, a thousand sirens singing in one black unison of gore and anguish. Death was what he lived for, the destruction of humans, the decay of their flesh until they were nothing more than the dust the Gods and wrought them from. It was, as he believed, his purpose. Maybe that is why the Emperor chose him. Maybe because he had no heart, and enjoyed the screams of tortured children. Maybe that is why the Emperor had given him the title, Lifesbane.
In The First, where life hung by a thread, and if the Emperor were to give the word, a thousand or more men, women, and children could be wiped from the surface of the planet. It was his duty as the right-hand to the Emperor, the Bane of Life and Master of Pain, to bring about the death of those who chose to rise up against the Emperor.
He was given his own palace, and though he had not named it, the peasants called it a Palace of Pain and those who carried out the tortures were called his Priests of Pain. It all revolved around the word pain, but he could understand why. Simple minded peasants could not think of anything more than the word pain. After all, their vocabulary only stretched so far.
As a child his mother knew he would grow to be evil. It wasn’t hard to decide since he was born with eyes the color of blood and hair as white as snow. She told him once that she found him crying black tears… and they were tears of joy. She said he cried them at the sight of a woman stampeded over by wild horses.
He neither looked like his father, if the man his mother was bound to was even his father, nor did he resemble his mother. His father was a fat man, while he himself was thin, toned, and rather handsome. Women fell for him, until he became known as Lifesbane… and given the power to destroy nations.
Bane of Life, Master of Pain, Lord Kell Ahriman, had been summoned to the Imperial Palace in the capital city Sirmone for a reason that he yet did not know about. All he knew was that his Emperor had summoned him.
The palace had once been a beautiful place. It once rose high on the side of a cliff over looking the Andrian Sea like a beacon of peace to anyone who saw it. Sirmone had been a place of culture, peace, prosperity, and the center for the magical world that was The First Dimension. Now, under the rule of Emperor Dante, the palace had been taken over by ebony crystals, covering every white brick that was underneath. The halls were filled with black marble, the once white and gold walls were no longer visible.
The city lost all prosperity, and slowly began to crumble. To be a magic user and not apart of the Imperial Army meant death by slow torture.
This world, once filled with goodness, was now as black as the hearts of those who ruled over it.
Ahriman walked up the steps flanked by two guards who wore hoods over their heads, executioner style. The two guards carried broad long swords with thick handles, their hand was always on the sword handle and ready to slice the head off of any foe.
The palace guards knew who he was, and out of fear of him, they hurriedly opened the iron doors to him. He was hooded at the moment, but once inside he eased the hood from his head with both his hands to reveal his neck length white hair.
He moved forth and soon entered the throne room. In his mind he saw it as it once had looked. He saw the gold leaf walls, the white marble floors with red accent colors. He saw the throne at the head of the throne room. Now everything was covered in that same ebony crystal that grew on everything else like a cancer. The white marble had turned black... and the stained glass windows now depicted scenes that were not fit for the eyes of children. Evil was corrupting the land, souring the earth, killing the life of the planet.
The two thrones had been replaced with one made of bone. On it sat a man, who had once been the good king’s best friend. Then he had been known as General Dante’, a Master Mage. It had been in Dante’s heart to rule the world... and so he sold his soul to Saron, God of Darkness, who gave him the power to take the world, and is “friend’s” daughter as his bride.
It is said that the Emperor’s daughter died in childbirth... though, many also say that his wife killed their daughter so she would not have to endure the hardships of being an evil dictators child.
Ahriman had only been a child then, and did not know what truly had happened. All he knew was that the Emperor had the Empress killed after the child was born.
“My Emperor, you called for me,” Ahriman’s deep voice echoed through the dark chamber.
The Emperor’s white eyes looked down at him, the black dot that was the only source of color twinkled with devious delight. “I have found her.” At that moment a man emerged, he was tall, close to seven feet, with long hair that went to the middle of his back. It was stringy with oil, and so brown it was black.
Ahriman blink, glancing from the man to the emperor... Found who? He wondered.
* * *
It wasn’t that large of a city, but it had more crime in it than a large city... At least that is what the news reporters chose to say. However, the only news that sells is bad news... and the only news that anyone wants to hear is bad. For some reason her world was fascinated by death, destruction, fear... She didn’t entirely understand it, and she didn’t think she ever would.
Why is it that people do not enjoy hearing that a woman was burned to death, yet they look it up, read about it, watch it... Talk about it over and over and over. It made no sense to her.
Satine brushed the curly strands of blood colored hair from her face. Her friends always thought it was funny that she was named and looked almost the exact same as a character from a musical movie called Moulin Rouge. The only problem was this Satine couldn’t sing quite as well as the one from the movie, and she was always covered in hideous bruises.
She concentrated on not falling a sleep in class, but she was finding it increasingly hard. She hadn’t slept that night, like many nights before. Scar was on his rampage... swearing curses to the police about how it was his right to smoke weed if he wanted to, and her mother was passed out drunk on the couch for the forth night in a row.
Satine looked up at her balled teacher who was going on and on about how the Spartans were bread for war. She glanced towards the door and had to blink. The door was open, she hadn’t heard it open... and in the door way stood a man clad in black robes, like those of a roman lord... and he had neck length white hair... But, the most surprising thing was his blood colored eyes.
“Empress...” the man said lowly.
Satine blinked and her eyes opened, she was staring down at her desk. Apparently she had been sleeping... What a weird dream, she thought to herself. She could understand why it was weird, not getting any sleep and all. Loud sirens always were outside her window... It was hard to sleep with them roaring.
Satine decided that she couldn’t pay attention in class and there was no use staying. She thought she might as well go home and catch up on sleep. She gathered her books and put them away in her book bag. She then stood up and exited the class room through the back so not to interrupt the long boring speech.
That was one thing she enjoyed about college that she hated about high school, in college she could leave the class whenever she needed to and no one cared.
Night classes were a pain, but she had to work all day to pay her way through college. If she didn’t work then she wouldn’t be able to go to college. It was the only way she could. Because of her parents criminal activity she had absolutely no chance of getting a loan, and Scar kept her in the hospital so much from the beatings he gave her, that she didn’t have the grades to get a grant.
It was a long walk home from the college, a dangerous one as well. She had to walk through probably the worst streets in the city to get to her home, which was smack dab in crime central.
Satine had to pass through the gangs, prostitutes, and drug dealers to get to the old hotel that had been turned into a rundown apartment building.
The roads were dirty and vacant, hardly anyone came down them at night. Trash cans roared with fires, homeless people circled around them, gawking at the women that they couldn’t afford to buy. Satine picked up her pace through the gang area. She remembered getting chased by a few who found her attractive. It was the only time she was actually thankful to see Scar in the distance.
She hurried along when she began to hear footsteps behind her. She didn’t want to get attacked or anything, so she walked faster, glancing behind her to see a thin pasty looking man with stringy brown hair in front of his face. She ran and flew into the apartment building.
The apartment building had holes in the floor, the wall paper was pealing off the walls, and trash littered the halls. Couples made love out in the open, against walls or on the floor. It was a common place for pimps to do their work. She had to hike up eight stories because the elevator had never worked, not once since she had lived in this building.
The door to the apartment in which she lived had to be shoved open with her shoulder, and kicked closed. So many cops had knocked in the door that it didn’t close right anymore. The boards creaked as she moved into the room and she noticed her mother lying on the couch, passed completely out. Bellow her beer bottles littered the floor as if it were a decoration.
She moved to her room, closed the rotting door behind her and through her bag on the floor. Satine walked towards her small bed that was pushed into the corner against the window leading towards the fire escape.
She hated lamps, always thought of it as artificial light, however she loved candles. They were scattered around her room and she found them therapeutic, very calming. After lighting the candles she went back to the door and placed a rotting chair under the door nob in the hopes of keeping Scar out.
No, Scar was not his real name. He had adopted it ever since she was child. He had said, “I want people to fear me, so I choose a name that is scary ” He was high at the time, but the name stuck for him. She thought it was appropriate, he was her scar.
She had started to call him Scar instead of father or dad, both her parents were starting to be nothing to her... Not like parents at all. She found them to be like chains, cold and harsh and did nothing but chaff her skin. She couldn’t move out, she hadn’t the money for college and for an apartment. Sometimes... she just wished she could be like the pages of a book... and go far away into somewhere.... else.
Satine pulled her shirt free from her body and tossed it in the dirty cloths pile. On her back was a dark bruise that had turned just as black as the night outside. It was right where her birthmark was, so that meant that the birthmark was covered up. She liked her birthmark... it was on her lower back... and it looked like a tattoo of a star. She had often thought about it being tattooed black so that it wasn’t a light brown. However, at the moment there was nothing there but a large black knot that was slightly swollen.
The girl pulled her clothes off and changed into her nightclothes, which liked everything else she owned was almost rags. She knew she needed to sleep, there were so many things left undone. Satine had work at the diner the next morning, six o’clock sharp. Her uniform wasn’t even washed, she hadn’t had a chance to get to the WashAteria down the street that afternoon when she finished work. Yes, it that was the name of the place.
She climbed into her box spring bed, a very uncomfortable part of the mattress to sleep on, but it was the only thing she had. Satine lifted the window to let air in and the mold smell out. She hadn’t had to worry about anyone getting into her room yet, and she never really thought about it. She had nothing worth stealing after all.
* * *
It used to be a magnificent place, this Temple of the Mages, formally known as the Citadel of Light. It had been a school for those who were gifted in magic. A place where there persecuted ways could flourish and become the glorious abilities that the cities of The First relied on diligently. It used to stand tall in the Raithrose Forrest, high above the tree tops, reaching towards the Gods, the Prophetess... What was outside this world, The Second Dimension, and The Third Dimension. It had been the Mages who discovered the ability to travel through time and space to the worlds outside there own. But, Second Dimension had chosen long ago to keep there world from the truth, burning any Mage that tried to open there eyes.
The great tower was now nothing more than rubble inside a hollow stone shell. The wooden doors that used to be so elaborately carved with symbols of peace were now ashes on the doorsteps.
A tall man stood in the doorway. He was broad shouldered, but not so much so that he was immense. He was dressed in dark clothes, his shoulder length black hair pulled back in a loose ponytail tied with a leather string. His armored forearm slammed into the side of the doorway suddenly, creating a loud clash.
“This is what evil does,” he muttered and turned towards the ten people who stood behind him. “This is why it must end.”
“We can’t make it end on our own!” a woman with a hard face said. She sat upon a large stone, digging the tip of her sword into the ground. “The Emperor has armies... we... are eleven people A small branch of a small army of rebels.”
“Then we speak to the peasants To the men and women of other cities, those who are oppressed. Are you not tired of seeing children ripped from the arms of their parents because they are gifted in magic ” Rowe said, placing his hands on either side of him, touching the doorway.
“They fear Ahriman” a large man spoke up. “You know of his tortures... You refused to give into the army and be converted into a mindless soldier. You know what happens to you upon refusing their ‘request’. Not all of the people who under go such tortures can keep their sanity, much less escape.”
“Then lets offer sanctuary... I place they can go and that no one can find. It would take all of us to conjure a shield to hide this place We can do it. I have faith in you, my friends.” Rowe stood up straight and looked at them with his crystal blue gaze. “The Prophetess sent me a dream.”
Silence came over the crowd. Suddenly all of them shot up from their seats, or took several steps forward. They moved quickly and gathered around him, babbling about how he should have mentioned this sooner. The Prophetess helped him escape from the Master of Pain, and ever since then she had been contacting him.
“Did she tell you to form this alliance against Emperor Dante’? If so, then I am ready!” a child of a man said. He was only fifteen, but had fought along side Rowe for more than two years now.
“No, she did not say for an alliance to be created, but I believe she means for me to do that. She said... something has signaled the moment in time when it is right for the Balancer to begin to come forth...”
Hushed silence came over all eleven of them, and the only sound that could be heard was the sound of the silver hawk on Demerian’s shoulder.
“The Balancer?” Denzail said, he was a large man, broad shouldered... He looked as fierce as a bear, and his looks reflected his personality as of late.
“She said that they will find me,” he continued.
Denzail looked at Rowe. “Isn’t this what she said when we escaped? Nothing else to go on? What happens when a hundred people walk up to you one day? They found you didn’t they Bloody hell, I hate riddles.” Denzail barked and pushed Rita off her perch on a stone. He took her seat and she kicked him in the leg for his kind shove.
“I don’t know... that is why I think we should do this... We should make this sanctuary for magic users, because I believe the Balancer is coming. Until we know for sure who they are it would make sense to keep these people in a place we can find them, and keep them safe. Not to mention that the Balancer will need guardians... protectors, and an army of their own.”
Rita stood up and brushed her clothes off. “Well, I guess this could work. If the Balancer is involved... it has to work. That person is our only hope.”
Rowe smiled. “So we’re going to do this?” he asked them one final time, to be sure.
“Hell, yes ” a few of them roared.
The rest just screamed, “Huzzah ”
“We need to send word to Darshan...” Rowe breathed when he realized that he would need to send word to the rebels in the western mountains. The Sanctuary had been found.
* * *
“I do love The Second,” Veldahar said with a smirk as he tightened his tie around his neck, smoothing his coat. He had Second Dimension clothing on, a totally black suit. Black pants, shirt, shoes, tie, and jacket. He ran both hands over his face and through his hair and his eyes went from red to blue, and his hair from white too blond. He moved out of the motel room that he had ported into and down the hall to the fire-escape. He opened the door, as the sirens roared to life he calmly made his way down the steps to the alley way bellow.
* * *
Rowe was climbing out of his tent when a thin girl in a long skirt came running into the clearing. Denzail started swearing at the young girl about how she could get herself killed that way if she didn’t stop running into the middle of a heavily armed camp.
“If it was a heavily armed camp, I wouldn’t have made it this close,” Tricksy said, her pointed ears perking up at him and turning red on the tips.
“Why you little sprite ” Demerian spat and folded his arms. “I’ll have you know that I guard this camp ”
“Enough said,” the young elf told him as she walked towards Rowe, batting her feathery eyelashes. “I have news from the palace, oh, Rowe ”
The Mage looked at her with a smirk. He knew she had a crush on him, it wasn’t that hard to figure out. She was just too young.... and not his type.
“What sort of news?” he asked, taking a seat at the fire.
“The Emperor has found his daughter ” The girl said it so casually, yet so excited that it through everyone off balance. Rowe dropped his mug of coffee and it rolled across the ground, spilling the contents into the sand. “Something has happened that has triggered a moment in time when the balancer will come forth.” He forced himself to swallow as he turned a disbelieving eye on Tricksy.
“She’s dead ”
“Apparently not,” Tricksy said. “I over heard him talking to Ahriman and that ugly man that should wash his hair.”
“Grease?” Rita asked.
“That one ” Tricksy said and giggled. “I knew he had a funny nickname and all Anyway... He sent Ahriman into The Second Dimension to retrieve her. Grease had been trailing a girl that was giving off unusually high levels of a gold aura. Spiritual and magical energy! He climbed through her bedroom window while she was sleeping and found she had the birth mark Apparently the Emperor has known all this time his daughter was alive and in The Second Dimension He’s been searching for her all this time.”
“What’s the point?” Denzail asked.
“The point is, if he finds his daughter it insures an heir to his throne... If she’s the spawn of Dante’ it will surely be hell for this dimension. I don’t think we can handle two of them without the Balancer here yet...” Rita said.
Jake, the young lad came up behind the group. “You don’t know if she’s bad If she’s grown up in another Dimension, someone put her there so she wouldn’t be like her father, right? ” he said, sitting across from them on a stump.
Rowe looked up, as much as he couldn’t believe that anything spawned from Dante was good... he had to consider the logic of the situation. “Right.”
“So are we going to go looking for her? ”
“I say we kidnap her and hold her for ransom.” Denzail grinned.
“I say we kill her ” Rita barked.
“I love that mind of yours,” Denzail breathed.
“Oh, shut up ” Rita said breathlessly and suddenly the two were mauling one-another with their lips.
Rowe shook his head at them. “Whenever you two finish we need to discuss a plan,” he told them calmly.
“Get off me, Rita,” the broad man said, standing up and rising off of the woman that had been underneath him.
“You lard ass ” she growled.
“My ass is all muscle, thank you,” Denzail barked back.
The two almost flew on each other again, however Jake went and stood in between them. “We need a plan, you two ”
It grew quite as everyone finally began to act their age, some older than others.
“I’ll go after her,” Rowe volunteered, his crystal gaze falling on the fire into deep impenetrable thought.
“I’ll go with you ” Denzail stated. Ever since Rowe had saved him from the Ahriman’s palace Denzail had done nothing but be at Rowe’s side as a protector. Denzail believed he owed Rowe his life.
“Oh, I think I should go alone. If you come, you’ll be chasing simple minded Second Dimension people with your sword and getting us arrested.” Rowe stood and smirked. “I’ll pop in, grab her, and come back here.” He looked at the sun. “The next window is open in an hour...”
Tricksy groaned.
Rowe glanced in her direction. “What is it?”
“Ahriman left...two hours ago...” she said and her ears turned red. “He knows where to look.”
“Knowing Ahriman... he’ll take all the time he needs,” Rowegrowled and turned to go back into his tent to get ready. He knew Ahriman... he would torment the girl before he took her to her father, even if he had orders not too.
* * *
Chapter Three: Sleep not, Dream not
“Hello, my name is Satine. I will be your waitress. Anything I can get you?” Satine asked the blue eyed man sitting in the booth in front of her. His gaze followed up the length of her tan hosed legs, her knee length pale green skirt and white apron, up her white button down blouse, and finally going to her face. She had her hair pulled back into a loose pony tail, red ringlets hanging down around her face.
“Coffee, black,” the man, clad in all black said. He smiled at her, though to her it was a cold smile. When he smiled at her, she felt a chill run down her spine. She felt odd, it was almost as if she had seen this man before, but she could not place where.
“Anything else?” Satine asked, keeping her bright warm smile.
The man looked thoughtful and smiled. “Well, unless you can serve me yourself, then I think that is all I need for the moment,” he said darkly.
Satine lost her smile for a moment, but she had learned to try and be as cheerful as possible, even with an unruly customer. “I’ll be right back with your coffee, sir.”
She walked back behind the counter, grabbing a coffee cup from under the bar. Teran chuckled quietly too himself for a moment, glancing to her, then to the blond haired man with the piercing blue eyes. “I think he has the hots for you, Satine ” the diner owner told her with a brotherly grin.
“I think he’s a creep,” Satine whispered as she filled the coffee cup with black coffee, placed it on a small saucer and walked back to the man’s table.
“There you go, sir,” she said politely and turned to walk away. The man grabbed her harshly by the arm and instinctively she turned back to him. “I’m sorry, was there anything else you needed?”
“You,” he said, though there was no sexual indication from his words. It was almost as if he really just needed her. “I came to bring you home Empress,” he told her, the tone of voice led her to believe that she had no other option.
“What?” she breathed, seeing his face for a moment she could have sworn that his eyes turned red, and his hair turned white. She knew where she had seen this man before, but surely that had been a dream.
“I wanted to see if you were as pretty as your dead mother,” he said and grinned.
Satine blinked repeatedly, backing away slightly. “My mother isn’t dead,” she whispered and turned, quickly heading behind the counter and towards the door leading into the room where the cleaning supplies were kept.
Teran watched her with a curious eye and then looked towards the blond haired man who was rising from his seat. Teran noticed that his eyes never left his waitress’s form as she hurriedly moved away, clearly upset. He moved around the counter towards the man to confront him.
“I’m asking you to leave, sir,” Teran said as politely as he could force himself to be to the man.
“I have unfinished business,” Ahriman said with a smile, dark, cold, evil. His eyes turned red, and right before the onlookers in the Daylight Diner, his hair turned white as the snow that began falling outside. The room went silent before it was suddenly shaking with frightened screams.
“What the fuck...” Teran whispered and took a step back.
“The culture here is most delightful. You all use this foul language to describe everything. Whereas, we only use it when we are angered, or trying to get our point across.”
“Who are you, some kind of fucking lune?” Teran asked.
“Move, I need to go to the woman who left through that door,” Ahriman said and Teran put his hand on his shoulder to stop him. Ahriman grabbed his arm and with the slightest effort the man flew across the room and slammed into the kitchen, smacking into a stainless steel oven.
No one came after him, and Ahriman smiled. “Just like the civilization I know needs to be wiped from the earth. Cowards.”
No one came at him even after he called them cowards. The fact that he had changed his appearance, and thrown a man twice his size into another room just by flinching... It was enough to keep them silent and in their place.
He opened the door into the room where Satine had escaped through and saw that the back door was open. Snow fell onto the wet sidewalk outside, the street was dark and empty. He smiled, knowing that she would have escaped. She wasn’t dumb enough to stay around. She had no idea who she was, or what potential she had, yet she was talented enough to see through his disguise. She had no idea what she was or that she had the potential to become the most powerful sorceress any of the Dimensions had ever seen.
Satine moved quickly down the sidewalk, pulling the tattered brown coat around her form. She looked behind her to make sure that the peculiar man was not following her. She was probably just dreaming again, and had fallen asleep in the back room. Or maybe she had just imagined that he had said that, and his appearance had not changed. Maybe she was just so stressed her brain was beginning to fail her.
She moved quickly across the road before a speeding car could possibly hit her. She ran into the apartment building, going up to the floor she lived on, careful not to alert any of the stoned out drug lords that someone was on the floor with them. They often came out guns blazing, thinking they were getting raided by cops or something of that nature.
She shoved the door open into her apartment, her mother was passed out on the couch, this being the fifth night. She knew that if Scar was around he would have noticed that she wasn’t in on time and would interrogate her. For some reason he always thought she was going to go to the police and tell them all his... condemning activities.
She walked towards her room, noticing Scar was in the kitchen, his forehead leaning on the table. She was glad that he was out cold, because now he wouldn’t bother her. She went to her bedroom, opened up the window to let the musty air out of her damp room. The room, though small held a certain comfort to her. The wall paper was pealing off the walls, revealing the wood paneling behind it, the ceiling paint flaked onto her rugged carpet flooring that was no a color other than what it had been orginally. The room as well as the building was a dump... though her room had always felt safe to her.
She walked to the bathroom that was on the other-side of the kitchen and living room. Her mother shifted slightly as she passed, but Scar seemed to be out cold.
After almost an hour long shower she wrapped a towel around her waist. The door creaked as she opened it slowly, peering out into the hall and freezing for a moment as she noticed Scar was not where he had been sleeping. Maybe he had gone out for the rest of the night? Even better, now he definitely would not be bothering her. She pulled the towel tightly against her, having forgotten to bring her bed clothes. She moved down the hall, shivering at the cold draft that reached her damp skin.
Satine froze when she heard the sound of boards creaking behind her. Slowly she turned her head in the direction of the sound to see who it might have been. The young girl did not have time to see. Suddenly Scar through her against the wall, knocking the breath from her lungs.
“I know where you’ve been!” he roared, his breath smelled of whiskey.
“I was at the diner all night!” she tried to explain.
“Like hell!”
“Call Teran!!”
She knew he wouldn’t listen to her. She could smell the beer or whatever alcoholic beverages he had gotten into. And he had to have been smoking something as well.
“You know,” Scar said with a rather demented grin. “I know a good way to make you listen.”
Satine tried to push his hands, his body off her to get him to move back. Scar’s black eyes skimmed over her face and her bare shoulders. Satine froze and with one loud scream she yelled, “Momma!” Hoping her mother would come and save her. Scar picked her up by the neck with one hand and through her into her room where the air felt like ice.
“Momma!” she screamed again and crawled across the floor to try and get away from her step-father.
“Shut up, bitch!” Scar cursed grabbing her by the arm and pulling so hard she flew off the floor and onto her extremely hard bed. He pulled her towel away and through it across the room.
“Momma, please!!” she screamed futilely. Her mother just walked to her own room and closed the door to blot out her child’s screams.
In this world of corruption, hate, where not even a mother would help her own daughter, where she closed the door to block her child’s futile screams for help, why should this world have a savior? Why should anyone save the damned? Was this her punishment for being a good person in a hate-filled world? What good could ever come from what the world had become?
Satine turned her head away, clenching her eyes shut and bracing herself for the worst to come. Suddenly, there was a blinding flash of light and Scar flew to the opposite end of the room. Satine grabbed her covers and pulled them around her to shield her nude body from whatever it was. A man stood in the doorway, nothing but a black silhouette with shoulder length hair.
She swallowed hard, not really sure what to say at the moment. She moved to the far end of her bed in the corner against the wall. The man stood there for a brief moment then rushed in, moving quickly towards her. Startled, Satine screamed.
“No, please!” She exclaimed loudly, pulling the covers up like a shield. The man stopped dead in his tracks. For a moment there was silence, then she looked out from behind the covers and saw him still standing there. Slowly he lifted a hand towards her.
“I’m not going to hurt you,” he said kindly, his voice dark, smooth, with something that almost sounded like a Scottish accent. Almost. “I heard you screaming, I came to help.”
Satine, at first, was still shaken up and on the verge of tears, but at the sound of his censer voice she threw her arms around him. Rowe blinked for a moment, but put an arm around her in return. So, this was the Emperor’s daughter? The one supposedly to be the most powerful sorceress?
She was a child, no... A young woman. She had no training. How would she be as powerful as people claimed? No, it was all a farce. The girl was freezing cold, shaken beyond what he had expected and in the pale light he could see the black bruises that littered her arms and shoulders. Rowe looked back at the body of the unconscious man on the floor and had to hold himself back for beating the beast to a pulp.
“Blackwell, do you mind moving? I need to talk to my Empress,” Ahriman’s dark voice said coldly to the only man to have ever escaped his prison.
Satine gasped when she heard his voice. The man from the diner was real... and he knew the man who had saved her. Suddenly Satine didn’t know who to trust.
Rowe Blackwell turned his head around. “I’m afraid, Ahriman, Satine Vanguard’ is coming with me,” he announced to the Master of Pain.
“W-wait,” Satine mumbled while her head was still clearing. She shook herself free of that strange hold that had fallen on her suddenly and growled. “Wait! Empress? You people have the wrong person!” She tried to convince them. Sadly, they didn’t go for it. Apparently, the man who saved her was just as crazy as the one from the diner. Wait, didn’t this guy used to have blond hair? Satine put her hands to her head. It had been a really a bad day. No, it had been a really bad dream.
She decided that her only escape was out her window onto the fire-escape. But, she had no clothes! Satine knew that if she wanted to get away from these psychos, worrying about her clothes wouldn’t matter. So she grabbed the thin crimson sheet off her bed and drew it around her in on motion to not prolong the moment her body was exposed to the men in her room.
She watched as the two crazy intruders stared at one another, sizing each other up she guessed. Glancing to the window and then to the men, she was close enough to it so she guessed she could make it before one of the caught her. If she could roll out the window and land on the fire escape then she might have a chance. However, she would need to do it in such away that it was quick, fluent, and that no one could grab her.
“Move out of the way, Blackwell,” Ahriman growled, getting tired of this charade, inpatient with the way things had turned out.
“I think I’ll stay,” Rowe spoke evenly to the man he had once called friend, to the man who had tortured him, to his enemy. He stood up to where he was standing in front of Satine, shielding her from Ahriman’s intense stair. Neither of them were close enough to reach her now, she bit her bottom lip and looked at the window.
Alright, Satine thought, now is my chance.
Satine rolled to the side as quickly as she could. Looking like nothing more than black mist in the dark light, floating out the window and landing with a hard clanging thud onto the grating of the fire escape.
Both mages looked at one another with shocked surprise, having not expected her to do that. Actually, it pleased Ahriman to see that she was so resourceful and happy that it made the situation a little more interesting than just having a staring contest with Rowe Blackwell.
Before they could get a clue about what she had done, or so she thought, she hurried herself up the fire escape steps, heading for the roof. There was no way she was going into the alley bellow with barely nothing on her body. So she would have to take her chances hiding among the rubble on the broken rooftop to a broken home.
She clambered up the rickety ladders to the fire escape platforms. The sound of a steady clanking noise followed her. Satine paused only for a moment to look down to see the dark-haired man following her. With a gasp, she hurried her pace, slipping and banging her shin several times. Though, nothing could stop her at this moment. She was determined to escape.
Finally she made it to the roof, running across barefooted. “Ow, ow, ow,” she hissed as she cleared most of the distance across the roof, hitting her foot on several metal shards. Satine heard the thunder of the feet chasing her, the pounding of her heart matched the sound of his shoes hitting the tar roof top.
The young girl glanced over her shoulder to see him gaining. Faster, she needed to run faster. Where could she go? Where could she hide without him finding he? Suddenly she realized that maybe this was not a good idea. Slowly she came to the end of her journey. The foot edge of the roof, the little bit of railing that someone could easily trip over. No where to go now, no where but down.
She stopped and looked down, it was far... about 20 stories. Too far to jump.
No where to go but down.
She heard his feet, the sound made her heart roar in her ears. She was shaking so bad she couldn’t believe it. Never in her life had she been so frightened, not even when Scar was torturing her.
She glanced around frantically and her eyes noticed that the building on the other side wasn’t really that far away. She had no time to get but a short running start. It was either risk her life to save her life, or kill herself by staying and putting herself in the hands of the psycho men.
So she took three steps back and with two steps cleared the roof and the edge and pushed off with one foot, flying through the air like an arrow of ivory wrapped in a ribbon of black silk floating in the wind.
Rowe slid to a stop on the edge of the roof watching in a bit of admiration at the leap the girl had just preformed. “Lunatic,” he muttered under his breath, but gave a sigh of relief once she cleared the distance and landed in a hard tumble onto the opposite roof, which was slightly lower than the one she had been on.
Satine forced herself up, turning to look back at the man standing under the darkness of the sky that had no moon. She shivered now, the cold snow hitting her bare shoulders. She watched as the expression on his face went from relief to shock or fear as his eyes fell on something behind her.
“Behind you!” he called and Satine had half a mind not to turn around. Instead she slowly turned her head behind her and there the man from the diner stood, mere inches from her. In shock she took a step back. Bad idea. Her heal caught the edge of the roof and her balance was lost.
In a heart beat she felt herself falling backwards, in a breath she saw the world turn upside down, in a flash she felt arms around her, and in a second she fell into a pool of warm hot blood. Darkness enveloped her and she felt no pain from the hit. A peaceful, painless death, she thought.
Rowe roared with fury as he saw Kell Ahriman dive off the roof after the Empress and fall with her into his portal made of blood from the mages he had killed. Now the Emperor had his daughter... and Rowe had a heap of trouble.
* * *
Warm, more comfortable than she had ever been in her entire life. So comfortable that she did not want to wake. She dare not open her eyes to find that the comfort was an illusion. She listened around her for sounds, expecting to hear the familiar bustle of the hospital. She suspected that Clair, the nurse that usually visited her, was watching over her like a mother hen. She came to the hospital enough, and Clair had seen her so many times that they were rather close.
However, she did not hear Clair. She didn’t hear anything but silence. Maybe she was dead and this was the silence and peace of the afterlife?
She slowly opened her eyes, staring up at a black velvety looking ceiling. The room was dark, very dark. She turned her head to the side and noticed that the room did not get lighter and there appeared to be no windows. The walls were black with some sort of metallic and ebony colored rock. The floors were hard wood, cherry... They had to be they were so dark. Everything was dark, didn’t these people know how to decorate a hospital?
No, this wasn’t a hospital, she knew that for sure. It couldn’t be.
She noticed that there were two doors into the room. Both were closed to her. The bed she was lying on was large. Bigger than any bed she had ever seen. It was at least four feet from the ground. The covers were heavy, made from pure velvet and trimmed in gold rope. The bed was a hard wood four post-covered bed. The posts were thick, the size of pillars and heavy black drapes hung from the top.
She slowly sat up realizing she was completely naked. No wonder the silk sheets had felt so good against her smooth skin. Confused and trying to figure out where she was Satine paused for a moment trying to figure out if it was safe to get out of bed or not. Finally she made up her mind and wrapped the sheet around her body, walking to the wardrobe that was against the wall, opening it to find a handful of mediaeval looking dresses. She dropped the sheet and grabbed one of the dresses, slipping it on over her head as quickly as possible. It was simple, and didn’t need much to put it on, which was good since she was not skilled in old clothing.
“Definitely not a hospital... What kind of sick place am I in?” she thought to herself out-loud as she reluctantly turned around in circles to take in her prison like surroundings.
“The Imperial Palace,” a voice said to her. Familiar. Frightening. Dark.
She turned and saw him emerge from the shadows. Tall, over six feet. He had hair two his neck that was long and white and cut in jagged lengths. His eyes were red, the color of blood and too abnormal to be human. Though, his features resembled a human his eyes were monestrous, demonic. He wore black clothes, almost like Roman robes that hugged him to the shadows. How long had he been standing there?
“Long enough,” he answered her thoughts. “Too see that lovely birth mark on your lower back... the one hidden by the black bruise. It’s in the shape of a star, is it not?”
She gasped. He had watched her dress?!
“Stay away from me, you sick.... freak!”
“Oh, come now. Is that any way to treat a man who dove off a building to save you?” he asked, a sinister and cunning expression crossing is angelically demonic features.
“I didn’t ask you too,” she protested.
He tilted his head at her. “The Emperor would like to see you,” he said in an all-business sort of tone, completely changing the tone he had before.
“What is it with you,” she said. “Do you live in some sort of Star Wars in the Renaissance fantasy?”
He didn’t smile this time. “I’m afraid the stars are not at war here, and this is the time period in our dimension.”
“What the hell,” she muttered. Dimension? This guy was obviously a few cards short of a full deck.
“Are you ready to meet him?” he asked, looking her up and down as if she were an insect that could not meet the Emperor as she was.
“Sure, why not. I’ll meet Palpetine,” she said, trying to be sarcastic, hoping to hide her fear.
“Emperor Dante’,” he told her, corrected actually.
She just shrugged her shoulders. She had to keep up the sarcasm, it was the only thing keeping her from shaking uncontrollably.
He waved a hand, and she guessed he was hiding the button that he just pushed that opened the door mechanically, as if the door had opened by him using magic.
“Follow me,” he said.
She followed him out of the room, and suddenly was surrounded by large broad-shouldered men who were wearing black capes and hoods that covered their faces. They all had their hands on a sword hilt to their side. She felt a stomach sinking feeling, at being surrounded by heavily armed men. However, there was obviously nothing she could do about it.
The hall was dark, covered in some weird black crystal. The arches were high and hanging from the walls were torch holders in the shape of dragon heads.
A lot of attention had been put into creating this place.
Was this some kind of cult?
Up stares, down stares, from one end of a hall, down another. It seemed like they were walking in circles when finally they came to a large door painted black. The door in the middle had a head of some kind of creature. It was cast out of bronze, a large and fearsome looking beast that Satine thought would surely scoop her up and eat her once she was close to it. However, there was no stopping her escort and they forced her closer and closer to the door. She pushed against them slightly, no desire to see what was on the other side. She had no choice, the guards looped around and pushed against the door. With a loud groan it gave way, the white haired man stepped forward with even long graceful steps and only once did he look back to make sure that she was following him.
A vast room, that to Satine it seemed to go on forever. Pillars filled the room, holding up the high cathedral ceiling. Everything seemed to sparkle as if glitter had been thrown on to the walls, pillars, and floors. A tattered red carpet that she was sure at one time had been clean, lined the middle of the room. It led towards the back of the room long room, where a podium stood and upon that podium was a large throne made from large bones. A pale misting light shown down over the person who sat upon that thrown. The figure was hunched over onto the side arm of the throne, apparently he had fallen a sleep.
Satine was too shocked at the place she was in to even pay attention to the weird looking man on the throne. She was too confused by the events that had led up to here to be fascinated by an old guy with a very distasteful chair in the middle of a very dark and dreary room.
Satine was staring at the pillars as she passed them, trying to figure out what made them sparkle in the torchlight, since her attention was distracted she didn’t know that her caravan was coming to a halt at the foot of the podium. She ran into the back of Ahriman with a quick thunk, stumbling back to catch her balance. Ahriman budged just slightly, though he easily regained his balance and turned to look back at the girl with an annoyed, yet amused expression.
“Sorry,” she said meekly, before she remembered she was trying to pretend to be brave. She held her head high, though she knew that you couldn’t take an apology back and actually sound like you mean it.
“My Lord,” Ahriman said as he turned back to faced the hunched over figure.
“Guards... leave us...” the Emperor said with grim exhaustion.
The guards had no reason to argue, they were the most obedient of guards and that is why Ahriman had chosen them. They were loyal, trained from birth to respect and listen to only their master. Ahriman was there master, though the Emperor liked to think he controlled them as well. The guards glanced to Ahriman, and when he nodded softly they turned to leave the room.
Still hunched over the figure glanced out of the corner of his eye at Ahriman, and slightly saw the glint of shimmering red hair from behind the black clad figure. “Come forward, bring her...” With a crackling sound the old man sat up. Every bone in his body popped until finally he leaned back in his throne, looking every bit like the oppressive ruler he was.
Ahriman reached behind him with one hand and grabbed Satine by the arm, pulling her around along side him. He glanced at her face and then to her hands, which were shaking uncontrollably. He could feel her trembling in his grasp. “Do not be afraid,” Ahriman told her quietly, knowing that she was confused and scared and unsure of what would happen next. “This is your home, my young empress, and no one will harm you here.”
Satine looked up slowly towards the horribly deformed man upon the throne of bones. He was quite, looking at her as if to inspect every aspect of her, even the soul that resided in her human flesh. “You look like your mother...” he breathed, tilting his pale and bald head to the left. “You hair is mine... but your face is your mother’s. An almost perfect recreation.”
“I look nothing like you, or this woman you speak of. My mother is at home, drunk as usual and my father is waiting on me to return so he can beat me to death for what happened to him. Those people are my parents and I look nothing like them or you,” she stared at the floor as she spoke, shaking more now than she had been before. “Sorry if I seem a little... uncooperative,” she apologized, not really wanting to anger her captors. “I was kidnaped from my home in the middle of the night and brought to a strange place...”
“Your frightened...” the man upon the thrown said, though he sounded a little disappointed.
“Yes...” she said, sure that she couldn’t hide this fact from them.
“And you do not believe that you are my daughter,” the so called emperor said, though his voice had become more harsh.
“Yes,” she told him, glancing up for a moment.
“Shall I show her, my lord?” Ahriman asked, finally releasing her arm from his grasp.
The ugly pale man nodded once and rested back in his throne as Ahriman came to stand before Satine. He stood there motionless for a moment, staring down at her in such a way that she felt inferior... so small and fragile that he could break her with just his words.
Rowe tried to look at her, but she was so bright, and so beautiful he could barely see her.
“Know this,” the Prophetess said. “That one day the Three Dimensions will become so corrupt that the cities will crumble, the kingdoms will fall. The rulers of the nations will bring darkness to their lands. The point will be reached where there will be no hope except total destruction.”
Rowe shielded his eyes when she opened her eyes and blue light shot forth. “There is no hope? ”
“Only the Balancer can bring peace... Only the Balancer can destroy the Dark One, the one who will try to make the Dimensions collide. They will be Remade through hardships, Brought from pain, and Born through sleep. They will be the Hand of Strength, the Hand of Life, the Carrier of Power.”
“How can I find this Balancer?”
“The Balancer will find you, Rowe Blackwell of First Dimension.”
Rowe jerked awake, rattling the pain in his legs. Ever since he was brought to Kell’s palace he began to remember his dreams. Though, they did little to comfort him since he was trapped in a torture chamber. He pulled himself up into a sitting position, dragging himself until he could lean against the wall. He was a complete and utter mess, though that didn’t bother him. The pain didn’t either. He was beginning to get used to it, though he guessed that was nothing to be proud of.
He watched as a very excited mouse scampered across the straw-covered flooring. There was brick underneath, however Kell was kind enough to throw straw down to keep his prisoners from dying to early from the cold. He wanted to be able to choose when and how they died. That’s how he liked it; being in control.
Word was spreading through the kingdom now, of the dark and powerful mage named Lord Ahriman... With his new appointment as the Hand of Death, which only meant he was the right hand man to the Emperor, he seemed more terrible and more vicious. The attacks on commoners only grew and soon Ahriman had a palace built in the middle of the Pendego Desert, just east of the Whispering Pines.... It was a good days ride from the capital city. It was terribly hot during the day, and ice cold at night. Enough to drive someone insane, though Rowe had done well to hold onto his sanity the past couple of months.
Rowe sat leaning against the wall, his body bloody and bruised. He was littered with scars of wounds that had finally healed, however they had been quickly replaced by new cuts that in time, unless he was finally killed, would heal too. His clothes were tattered and torn, his hair had grown well past his shoulders, and his face beheld a thick beard that had sprigs of straw and caked blood matting it. His eyes were the brightest thing in the room, shining past the dark blood, and caked mud. Piercing the ever dark room as the morning light began to filter through the bars.
Rowe pulled himself across the floor to get closer to the door where the food would be thrown to him, usually purposely turned over. At first he had not eaten at all, however death was something that he didn’t long for just yet. Besides, it aggravated Ahriman that he did not give up and give in so quickly. His evil soul longed for the words, “I want to die.” The words that Rowe would never allow Ahriman’s ears to hear. He would never allow him to be that satisfied and happy, not while men and women and children suffered at his hands.
He waited and waited, however no food came. He cursed, throwing some straw across the room and then cursing again as he felt the hot searing pain of a wound reopening. He didn’t scream, not like he had at first. It just made him angry. He was even getting to the point where the pain was nothing more than an itch in some cases. When they cut him, that was like a sting from a fly... When they stabbed it was like a pinch. The only thing that he had yet to get used to was the pain from a hot brand, or fire-poker.
Rowe was just about to crawl back to his little corner when he heard the sound of boots coming down the hall. The sound was followed by more boots until they all collided with the ground in one aggravating unison that signaled that the fun was just about to start.
Rowe listened to the sound of keys unlocking his door. He sighed, lowering his head to stair down at his weakened body. How much longer before Ahriman got tired of torturing him? How much longer before he was ordered to death?
Two guards entered the room, walking and grabbing him by both his arms. He hauled him to his feet and pulled him down the hall, his feet dragging the ground behind him. He didn’t bother to put up a fight, with the curse placed upon the palace his magic was of no use... and in his weakened state fighting was out of the question. Escape was futile either way you looked at it. At least, that is what Rowe had forced himself to think. So he wouldn’t feel like that much of a failure...
The hall was long and dark and lit by torches running down one side. The hall turned into steps that went straight down into a room where the shadows shifted and moved from the light of the roaring fire in the enormous fire place that seemed to take up one side of the room. The room was large, with a sand floor. Tables littered the room. Long chains hung from the tall ceiling. Some men were laid upon the tables, the Priests of Pain already hard at work. He only saw a woman once or twice, and he couldn’t imagine what one could have done to anger the Empire to the point she must be so brutalized... There was one empty table and though it didn’t have his name written on it, it really should have. It was the same table they used every time.
He remembered at first he had fought, then he became to weak to fight...
“How are you doing today Blackwell?” a man in tattered clothing asked as he spit the blood in his mouth onto the sandy floor. The man was suspended in the air by chains, his feet hanging at least a foot off the ground.
“Wonderful, Denzail. Perfect... Excited about today’s torture,” Rowe said sarcastically to his bearded friend. Denzail laughed heartedly before he was punched ruthlessly in the gut.
After several moments of coughing Denzail managed to breath out, “Nothing new, same thing over and over...”
Rowe nodded to his friend as the brutes lifted him and tossed him on the table.
Hours passed and passed and only numbly did he realize they were hanging him up just as they had hung Denzail. Blood pored from Rowe’s face. One of his beautiful green eyes was swollen shut, and blood seeped from his open mouth. His vision was now blurred, and the pain had finally gone numb. They whipped him now, though he barely felt anything at all. He stared down at the ground as the spiked whip punctured his back repeatedly. No cry was uttered from his lips, his back had grown used to this amount of pain.
Rowe thought he was passing out as a white light grew and grew in front of him. He wondered for a moment, wasn’t it supposed to be a black and dim darkness taking you as you passed out? Not that it mattered, Rowe thought. He wasn’t being biased... he really didn’t care how or what he saw as he passed out, as long as it came eventually. Maybe this is that dream... Rowe thought.
He began to raise his head, which shook violently from the strain. Before him was that woman clothed in the light of the sun. Her eyes were open and light radiated from them. Her hand came up and touched his face ever so lightly. The touch was soothing beyond anything he had ever felt. The hand trailed down his face. For once he could feel something good... For once he could feel. How could he feel in a dream?
“This is a different dream, Prophetess,” Rowe said, blood leaking from his lips. He lowered his head, to tired to hold it up. She took his face with both of her golden hands and held his chin up so their eyes could meet, though she was far too bright to look at.
“Rowe Blackwell,” she said. Her touch was tender... Not like it was in his dreams. He never was touched by her in his dreams. Their distance was kept. The message was delivered and that was the end. This was so very different. “It is time to leave this place...”
“I can’t...”
“I will show you the way,” she said. “You must bring the Denzail with you.”
“How? I am too weak to fight!” Rowe said allowed.
“I think he has lost his mind,” a guard said as the saw Rowe talking to himself. His head held high.
“I was wondering when his mind would go...” another answered.
“If you do not fight you will never leave this place. You will die and the people of the First Dimension in years to come will die as well. All the Dimensions will fall to the hands of Ahriman, the Hand of Death and all because you refuse to believe in yourself.” Her voice was harsh, like a mother scolding a child. Like a wife scolding her husband.
“I have been tortured...”
“If I could escape this place, so can you!” she said, her voice caused the sand to shift. The guards looked around a bit confused.
“Is he doing that?” a guard asked.
“No... he can’t. Magic is blocked here...”
“What?” Rowe asked.
“You will fight and you will escape.” she stepped back and began to fade away. “And you will do it now or stay and rot in this place forever.”
Rowe watched as she disappeared with her final words. “Stay and rot in this place forever.” That was one thing he refused to do... But, the question was how could he possible escape in his condition. “You will escape with the help of the others,” he voice filled his head. “You will have the strength if you believe that you do. I will help you, know this...”
The guards, having finished with their brutal torture unchained him. He hit his knees as they buckled under the weight of his body. No, there was no way he could do this. He couldn’t even stand. He glanced around the room. He saw his friend Denzail lying on a table being tortured with hot knives. Denzail was screaming, for he had yet to master the art of blocking his pain.
Rowe’s good eye watched the scene. His blood began to boil. What gave these people the right to torture innocents?
“I believe in you Rowe,” the voice filled his head. Rowe pushed himself to his feet, the dirt sticking in the groves of the cuts. A stinging sensation giving life to his otherwise dead limbs.
“I think he caught his second wind,” one of the guards behind him said.
Rowe stood up and glanced over his shoulder. Without saying a word he ran over to Denzail’s table, kicking his tormenter away from him. Rowe clutch the table to keep from losing his balance as he heard the sound of the Priests of Pain.
“Hey! Get back here!” one called as he reared back with the whip. Rowe grabbed the iron prod and swung around as the whip went to make contact with him. The whip wrapped around the metal rod. Rowe gave a swift tug with all his strength and pulled the rather sickly thin priest to the ground. He then threw the rod like a spear, stabbing into the chest of the second priest. While the first one he had attacked was standing Rowe wacked him with a thick beating rod that he grabbed from the table. The man hit the ground again, clutching his ribs.
“How does it feel?” Rowe asked, then hit him across the head. The skull cracked and the priest hit the ground with a hard thud. He was rendered unconscious or dead, though Rowe didn’t care either way.
“Are you crazy?” Denzail asked as Rowe stole the keys from the priest. He unlocked the chains around Denzail’s wrists and held his friend sit up.
“The Prophetess is going to help us escape,” Rowe said.
“Now, I know you have gone insane!” Denzail heaved.
“Want to escape or not?” Rowe asked as he and Denzail helped support echother’s wait.
“This way,” the voice of the Prophetess said as she before the giant fireplace. She walked forward and pulled the chain. Water flushed through into the fire place. Hot steam filled the surrounding area and the fire was dead. Behind where the flames had been was a archway... a long dark hall that seemed endless from this point of view.
Denzail looked at Rowe, “How in the name of the Dimension’s did you do that?”
“I didn’t, she did...” Rowe said, pointing towards the Prophetess, unaware that Denzail could not see her.
“Your crazy... but at the moment I don’t care...” Denzail said and began to hobble down the hallway. As soon as they crossed the scorched fireplace the fire ignited again.
“How...”
“She’s helping us... The Prophetess...” Rowe said and glanced sideways at the man who was staring back at the fire in shock.
“She speaks to you? She’s here now? She’s helping us?”
“I have plans for you all...” the musical voice said. “Follow Rowe and trust him....”
“She says that she has plans for us... She says to trust me...”
“I’ll trust you if that is what she asks,” Denzail said, nodding his head slowly.
Escape had never been so easy. Had the Prophetess not shown them the hall behind the fire they would have died in that wretched place. Rowe and Denzail were running on there tired limbs as fast as they could, crossing the plain outside of the forest that surrounded the Palace of Pain. Only for a moment did Rowe glance back at it, feeling his tortured body ache of the thought of being trapped in that place again.
“Where do we go from here?” Denzail asked in a huff of breath. He stumbled slightly on his weak legs that by now were remember the tortures they had endured.
“Into hiding... I don’t know where from there... Rowe stopped at the crest of the hill and turned towards the tower that rose high above the tree tops. “All I know is that Ahriman doesn’t want the Mage that would come from over the Eastern Mountains to live... so I think I’ll be immortal from now on...”
“What do you mean, no one is immortal...”
“No, but I will be the thorn in his side that will never be pulled free. I will never go away. To him, I will be immortal. The Prophetess said that the Balancer will come quickly... She said that the Balancer will find me... Ahriman, himself, said that the Emperor had prophesied that I would be help bring the fall of the Grand High Empire... I’d hate for him to be proven wrong... Really I would...” Rowe held his side with one hand, his bruised and battered face turning towards Denzail. “Are you with me my friend?”
“You are the reason I’m alive,” Denzail said and placed his hand on Rowe’s shoulder. “I’d be a real bastard if I left you now...”
* * *
Chapter Two: She Lives!
To him death was like music; sweet, graceful, beautiful, a thousand sirens singing in one black unison of gore and anguish. Death was what he lived for, the destruction of humans, the decay of their flesh until they were nothing more than the dust the Gods and wrought them from. It was, as he believed, his purpose. Maybe that is why the Emperor chose him. Maybe because he had no heart, and enjoyed the screams of tortured children. Maybe that is why the Emperor had given him the title, Lifesbane.
In The First, where life hung by a thread, and if the Emperor were to give the word, a thousand or more men, women, and children could be wiped from the surface of the planet. It was his duty as the right-hand to the Emperor, the Bane of Life and Master of Pain, to bring about the death of those who chose to rise up against the Emperor.
He was given his own palace, and though he had not named it, the peasants called it a Palace of Pain and those who carried out the tortures were called his Priests of Pain. It all revolved around the word pain, but he could understand why. Simple minded peasants could not think of anything more than the word pain. After all, their vocabulary only stretched so far.
As a child his mother knew he would grow to be evil. It wasn’t hard to decide since he was born with eyes the color of blood and hair as white as snow. She told him once that she found him crying black tears… and they were tears of joy. She said he cried them at the sight of a woman stampeded over by wild horses.
He neither looked like his father, if the man his mother was bound to was even his father, nor did he resemble his mother. His father was a fat man, while he himself was thin, toned, and rather handsome. Women fell for him, until he became known as Lifesbane… and given the power to destroy nations.
Bane of Life, Master of Pain, Lord Kell Ahriman, had been summoned to the Imperial Palace in the capital city Sirmone for a reason that he yet did not know about. All he knew was that his Emperor had summoned him.
The palace had once been a beautiful place. It once rose high on the side of a cliff over looking the Andrian Sea like a beacon of peace to anyone who saw it. Sirmone had been a place of culture, peace, prosperity, and the center for the magical world that was The First Dimension. Now, under the rule of Emperor Dante, the palace had been taken over by ebony crystals, covering every white brick that was underneath. The halls were filled with black marble, the once white and gold walls were no longer visible.
The city lost all prosperity, and slowly began to crumble. To be a magic user and not apart of the Imperial Army meant death by slow torture.
This world, once filled with goodness, was now as black as the hearts of those who ruled over it.
Ahriman walked up the steps flanked by two guards who wore hoods over their heads, executioner style. The two guards carried broad long swords with thick handles, their hand was always on the sword handle and ready to slice the head off of any foe.
The palace guards knew who he was, and out of fear of him, they hurriedly opened the iron doors to him. He was hooded at the moment, but once inside he eased the hood from his head with both his hands to reveal his neck length white hair.
He moved forth and soon entered the throne room. In his mind he saw it as it once had looked. He saw the gold leaf walls, the white marble floors with red accent colors. He saw the throne at the head of the throne room. Now everything was covered in that same ebony crystal that grew on everything else like a cancer. The white marble had turned black... and the stained glass windows now depicted scenes that were not fit for the eyes of children. Evil was corrupting the land, souring the earth, killing the life of the planet.
The two thrones had been replaced with one made of bone. On it sat a man, who had once been the good king’s best friend. Then he had been known as General Dante’, a Master Mage. It had been in Dante’s heart to rule the world... and so he sold his soul to Saron, God of Darkness, who gave him the power to take the world, and is “friend’s” daughter as his bride.
It is said that the Emperor’s daughter died in childbirth... though, many also say that his wife killed their daughter so she would not have to endure the hardships of being an evil dictators child.
Ahriman had only been a child then, and did not know what truly had happened. All he knew was that the Emperor had the Empress killed after the child was born.
“My Emperor, you called for me,” Ahriman’s deep voice echoed through the dark chamber.
The Emperor’s white eyes looked down at him, the black dot that was the only source of color twinkled with devious delight. “I have found her.” At that moment a man emerged, he was tall, close to seven feet, with long hair that went to the middle of his back. It was stringy with oil, and so brown it was black.
Ahriman blink, glancing from the man to the emperor... Found who? He wondered.
* * *
It wasn’t that large of a city, but it had more crime in it than a large city... At least that is what the news reporters chose to say. However, the only news that sells is bad news... and the only news that anyone wants to hear is bad. For some reason her world was fascinated by death, destruction, fear... She didn’t entirely understand it, and she didn’t think she ever would.
Why is it that people do not enjoy hearing that a woman was burned to death, yet they look it up, read about it, watch it... Talk about it over and over and over. It made no sense to her.
Satine brushed the curly strands of blood colored hair from her face. Her friends always thought it was funny that she was named and looked almost the exact same as a character from a musical movie called Moulin Rouge. The only problem was this Satine couldn’t sing quite as well as the one from the movie, and she was always covered in hideous bruises.
She concentrated on not falling a sleep in class, but she was finding it increasingly hard. She hadn’t slept that night, like many nights before. Scar was on his rampage... swearing curses to the police about how it was his right to smoke weed if he wanted to, and her mother was passed out drunk on the couch for the forth night in a row.
Satine looked up at her balled teacher who was going on and on about how the Spartans were bread for war. She glanced towards the door and had to blink. The door was open, she hadn’t heard it open... and in the door way stood a man clad in black robes, like those of a roman lord... and he had neck length white hair... But, the most surprising thing was his blood colored eyes.
“Empress...” the man said lowly.
Satine blinked and her eyes opened, she was staring down at her desk. Apparently she had been sleeping... What a weird dream, she thought to herself. She could understand why it was weird, not getting any sleep and all. Loud sirens always were outside her window... It was hard to sleep with them roaring.
Satine decided that she couldn’t pay attention in class and there was no use staying. She thought she might as well go home and catch up on sleep. She gathered her books and put them away in her book bag. She then stood up and exited the class room through the back so not to interrupt the long boring speech.
That was one thing she enjoyed about college that she hated about high school, in college she could leave the class whenever she needed to and no one cared.
Night classes were a pain, but she had to work all day to pay her way through college. If she didn’t work then she wouldn’t be able to go to college. It was the only way she could. Because of her parents criminal activity she had absolutely no chance of getting a loan, and Scar kept her in the hospital so much from the beatings he gave her, that she didn’t have the grades to get a grant.
It was a long walk home from the college, a dangerous one as well. She had to walk through probably the worst streets in the city to get to her home, which was smack dab in crime central.
Satine had to pass through the gangs, prostitutes, and drug dealers to get to the old hotel that had been turned into a rundown apartment building.
The roads were dirty and vacant, hardly anyone came down them at night. Trash cans roared with fires, homeless people circled around them, gawking at the women that they couldn’t afford to buy. Satine picked up her pace through the gang area. She remembered getting chased by a few who found her attractive. It was the only time she was actually thankful to see Scar in the distance.
She hurried along when she began to hear footsteps behind her. She didn’t want to get attacked or anything, so she walked faster, glancing behind her to see a thin pasty looking man with stringy brown hair in front of his face. She ran and flew into the apartment building.
The apartment building had holes in the floor, the wall paper was pealing off the walls, and trash littered the halls. Couples made love out in the open, against walls or on the floor. It was a common place for pimps to do their work. She had to hike up eight stories because the elevator had never worked, not once since she had lived in this building.
The door to the apartment in which she lived had to be shoved open with her shoulder, and kicked closed. So many cops had knocked in the door that it didn’t close right anymore. The boards creaked as she moved into the room and she noticed her mother lying on the couch, passed completely out. Bellow her beer bottles littered the floor as if it were a decoration.
She moved to her room, closed the rotting door behind her and through her bag on the floor. Satine walked towards her small bed that was pushed into the corner against the window leading towards the fire escape.
She hated lamps, always thought of it as artificial light, however she loved candles. They were scattered around her room and she found them therapeutic, very calming. After lighting the candles she went back to the door and placed a rotting chair under the door nob in the hopes of keeping Scar out.
No, Scar was not his real name. He had adopted it ever since she was child. He had said, “I want people to fear me, so I choose a name that is scary ” He was high at the time, but the name stuck for him. She thought it was appropriate, he was her scar.
She had started to call him Scar instead of father or dad, both her parents were starting to be nothing to her... Not like parents at all. She found them to be like chains, cold and harsh and did nothing but chaff her skin. She couldn’t move out, she hadn’t the money for college and for an apartment. Sometimes... she just wished she could be like the pages of a book... and go far away into somewhere.... else.
Satine pulled her shirt free from her body and tossed it in the dirty cloths pile. On her back was a dark bruise that had turned just as black as the night outside. It was right where her birthmark was, so that meant that the birthmark was covered up. She liked her birthmark... it was on her lower back... and it looked like a tattoo of a star. She had often thought about it being tattooed black so that it wasn’t a light brown. However, at the moment there was nothing there but a large black knot that was slightly swollen.
The girl pulled her clothes off and changed into her nightclothes, which liked everything else she owned was almost rags. She knew she needed to sleep, there were so many things left undone. Satine had work at the diner the next morning, six o’clock sharp. Her uniform wasn’t even washed, she hadn’t had a chance to get to the WashAteria down the street that afternoon when she finished work. Yes, it that was the name of the place.
She climbed into her box spring bed, a very uncomfortable part of the mattress to sleep on, but it was the only thing she had. Satine lifted the window to let air in and the mold smell out. She hadn’t had to worry about anyone getting into her room yet, and she never really thought about it. She had nothing worth stealing after all.
* * *
It used to be a magnificent place, this Temple of the Mages, formally known as the Citadel of Light. It had been a school for those who were gifted in magic. A place where there persecuted ways could flourish and become the glorious abilities that the cities of The First relied on diligently. It used to stand tall in the Raithrose Forrest, high above the tree tops, reaching towards the Gods, the Prophetess... What was outside this world, The Second Dimension, and The Third Dimension. It had been the Mages who discovered the ability to travel through time and space to the worlds outside there own. But, Second Dimension had chosen long ago to keep there world from the truth, burning any Mage that tried to open there eyes.
The great tower was now nothing more than rubble inside a hollow stone shell. The wooden doors that used to be so elaborately carved with symbols of peace were now ashes on the doorsteps.
A tall man stood in the doorway. He was broad shouldered, but not so much so that he was immense. He was dressed in dark clothes, his shoulder length black hair pulled back in a loose ponytail tied with a leather string. His armored forearm slammed into the side of the doorway suddenly, creating a loud clash.
“This is what evil does,” he muttered and turned towards the ten people who stood behind him. “This is why it must end.”
“We can’t make it end on our own!” a woman with a hard face said. She sat upon a large stone, digging the tip of her sword into the ground. “The Emperor has armies... we... are eleven people A small branch of a small army of rebels.”
“Then we speak to the peasants To the men and women of other cities, those who are oppressed. Are you not tired of seeing children ripped from the arms of their parents because they are gifted in magic ” Rowe said, placing his hands on either side of him, touching the doorway.
“They fear Ahriman” a large man spoke up. “You know of his tortures... You refused to give into the army and be converted into a mindless soldier. You know what happens to you upon refusing their ‘request’. Not all of the people who under go such tortures can keep their sanity, much less escape.”
“Then lets offer sanctuary... I place they can go and that no one can find. It would take all of us to conjure a shield to hide this place We can do it. I have faith in you, my friends.” Rowe stood up straight and looked at them with his crystal blue gaze. “The Prophetess sent me a dream.”
Silence came over the crowd. Suddenly all of them shot up from their seats, or took several steps forward. They moved quickly and gathered around him, babbling about how he should have mentioned this sooner. The Prophetess helped him escape from the Master of Pain, and ever since then she had been contacting him.
“Did she tell you to form this alliance against Emperor Dante’? If so, then I am ready!” a child of a man said. He was only fifteen, but had fought along side Rowe for more than two years now.
“No, she did not say for an alliance to be created, but I believe she means for me to do that. She said... something has signaled the moment in time when it is right for the Balancer to begin to come forth...”
Hushed silence came over all eleven of them, and the only sound that could be heard was the sound of the silver hawk on Demerian’s shoulder.
“The Balancer?” Denzail said, he was a large man, broad shouldered... He looked as fierce as a bear, and his looks reflected his personality as of late.
“She said that they will find me,” he continued.
Denzail looked at Rowe. “Isn’t this what she said when we escaped? Nothing else to go on? What happens when a hundred people walk up to you one day? They found you didn’t they Bloody hell, I hate riddles.” Denzail barked and pushed Rita off her perch on a stone. He took her seat and she kicked him in the leg for his kind shove.
“I don’t know... that is why I think we should do this... We should make this sanctuary for magic users, because I believe the Balancer is coming. Until we know for sure who they are it would make sense to keep these people in a place we can find them, and keep them safe. Not to mention that the Balancer will need guardians... protectors, and an army of their own.”
Rita stood up and brushed her clothes off. “Well, I guess this could work. If the Balancer is involved... it has to work. That person is our only hope.”
Rowe smiled. “So we’re going to do this?” he asked them one final time, to be sure.
“Hell, yes ” a few of them roared.
The rest just screamed, “Huzzah ”
“We need to send word to Darshan...” Rowe breathed when he realized that he would need to send word to the rebels in the western mountains. The Sanctuary had been found.
* * *
“I do love The Second,” Veldahar said with a smirk as he tightened his tie around his neck, smoothing his coat. He had Second Dimension clothing on, a totally black suit. Black pants, shirt, shoes, tie, and jacket. He ran both hands over his face and through his hair and his eyes went from red to blue, and his hair from white too blond. He moved out of the motel room that he had ported into and down the hall to the fire-escape. He opened the door, as the sirens roared to life he calmly made his way down the steps to the alley way bellow.
* * *
Rowe was climbing out of his tent when a thin girl in a long skirt came running into the clearing. Denzail started swearing at the young girl about how she could get herself killed that way if she didn’t stop running into the middle of a heavily armed camp.
“If it was a heavily armed camp, I wouldn’t have made it this close,” Tricksy said, her pointed ears perking up at him and turning red on the tips.
“Why you little sprite ” Demerian spat and folded his arms. “I’ll have you know that I guard this camp ”
“Enough said,” the young elf told him as she walked towards Rowe, batting her feathery eyelashes. “I have news from the palace, oh, Rowe ”
The Mage looked at her with a smirk. He knew she had a crush on him, it wasn’t that hard to figure out. She was just too young.... and not his type.
“What sort of news?” he asked, taking a seat at the fire.
“The Emperor has found his daughter ” The girl said it so casually, yet so excited that it through everyone off balance. Rowe dropped his mug of coffee and it rolled across the ground, spilling the contents into the sand. “Something has happened that has triggered a moment in time when the balancer will come forth.” He forced himself to swallow as he turned a disbelieving eye on Tricksy.
“She’s dead ”
“Apparently not,” Tricksy said. “I over heard him talking to Ahriman and that ugly man that should wash his hair.”
“Grease?” Rita asked.
“That one ” Tricksy said and giggled. “I knew he had a funny nickname and all Anyway... He sent Ahriman into The Second Dimension to retrieve her. Grease had been trailing a girl that was giving off unusually high levels of a gold aura. Spiritual and magical energy! He climbed through her bedroom window while she was sleeping and found she had the birth mark Apparently the Emperor has known all this time his daughter was alive and in The Second Dimension He’s been searching for her all this time.”
“What’s the point?” Denzail asked.
“The point is, if he finds his daughter it insures an heir to his throne... If she’s the spawn of Dante’ it will surely be hell for this dimension. I don’t think we can handle two of them without the Balancer here yet...” Rita said.
Jake, the young lad came up behind the group. “You don’t know if she’s bad If she’s grown up in another Dimension, someone put her there so she wouldn’t be like her father, right? ” he said, sitting across from them on a stump.
Rowe looked up, as much as he couldn’t believe that anything spawned from Dante was good... he had to consider the logic of the situation. “Right.”
“So are we going to go looking for her? ”
“I say we kidnap her and hold her for ransom.” Denzail grinned.
“I say we kill her ” Rita barked.
“I love that mind of yours,” Denzail breathed.
“Oh, shut up ” Rita said breathlessly and suddenly the two were mauling one-another with their lips.
Rowe shook his head at them. “Whenever you two finish we need to discuss a plan,” he told them calmly.
“Get off me, Rita,” the broad man said, standing up and rising off of the woman that had been underneath him.
“You lard ass ” she growled.
“My ass is all muscle, thank you,” Denzail barked back.
The two almost flew on each other again, however Jake went and stood in between them. “We need a plan, you two ”
It grew quite as everyone finally began to act their age, some older than others.
“I’ll go after her,” Rowe volunteered, his crystal gaze falling on the fire into deep impenetrable thought.
“I’ll go with you ” Denzail stated. Ever since Rowe had saved him from the Ahriman’s palace Denzail had done nothing but be at Rowe’s side as a protector. Denzail believed he owed Rowe his life.
“Oh, I think I should go alone. If you come, you’ll be chasing simple minded Second Dimension people with your sword and getting us arrested.” Rowe stood and smirked. “I’ll pop in, grab her, and come back here.” He looked at the sun. “The next window is open in an hour...”
Tricksy groaned.
Rowe glanced in her direction. “What is it?”
“Ahriman left...two hours ago...” she said and her ears turned red. “He knows where to look.”
“Knowing Ahriman... he’ll take all the time he needs,” Rowegrowled and turned to go back into his tent to get ready. He knew Ahriman... he would torment the girl before he took her to her father, even if he had orders not too.
* * *
Chapter Three: Sleep not, Dream not
“Hello, my name is Satine. I will be your waitress. Anything I can get you?” Satine asked the blue eyed man sitting in the booth in front of her. His gaze followed up the length of her tan hosed legs, her knee length pale green skirt and white apron, up her white button down blouse, and finally going to her face. She had her hair pulled back into a loose pony tail, red ringlets hanging down around her face.
“Coffee, black,” the man, clad in all black said. He smiled at her, though to her it was a cold smile. When he smiled at her, she felt a chill run down her spine. She felt odd, it was almost as if she had seen this man before, but she could not place where.
“Anything else?” Satine asked, keeping her bright warm smile.
The man looked thoughtful and smiled. “Well, unless you can serve me yourself, then I think that is all I need for the moment,” he said darkly.
Satine lost her smile for a moment, but she had learned to try and be as cheerful as possible, even with an unruly customer. “I’ll be right back with your coffee, sir.”
She walked back behind the counter, grabbing a coffee cup from under the bar. Teran chuckled quietly too himself for a moment, glancing to her, then to the blond haired man with the piercing blue eyes. “I think he has the hots for you, Satine ” the diner owner told her with a brotherly grin.
“I think he’s a creep,” Satine whispered as she filled the coffee cup with black coffee, placed it on a small saucer and walked back to the man’s table.
“There you go, sir,” she said politely and turned to walk away. The man grabbed her harshly by the arm and instinctively she turned back to him. “I’m sorry, was there anything else you needed?”
“You,” he said, though there was no sexual indication from his words. It was almost as if he really just needed her. “I came to bring you home Empress,” he told her, the tone of voice led her to believe that she had no other option.
“What?” she breathed, seeing his face for a moment she could have sworn that his eyes turned red, and his hair turned white. She knew where she had seen this man before, but surely that had been a dream.
“I wanted to see if you were as pretty as your dead mother,” he said and grinned.
Satine blinked repeatedly, backing away slightly. “My mother isn’t dead,” she whispered and turned, quickly heading behind the counter and towards the door leading into the room where the cleaning supplies were kept.
Teran watched her with a curious eye and then looked towards the blond haired man who was rising from his seat. Teran noticed that his eyes never left his waitress’s form as she hurriedly moved away, clearly upset. He moved around the counter towards the man to confront him.
“I’m asking you to leave, sir,” Teran said as politely as he could force himself to be to the man.
“I have unfinished business,” Ahriman said with a smile, dark, cold, evil. His eyes turned red, and right before the onlookers in the Daylight Diner, his hair turned white as the snow that began falling outside. The room went silent before it was suddenly shaking with frightened screams.
“What the fuck...” Teran whispered and took a step back.
“The culture here is most delightful. You all use this foul language to describe everything. Whereas, we only use it when we are angered, or trying to get our point across.”
“Who are you, some kind of fucking lune?” Teran asked.
“Move, I need to go to the woman who left through that door,” Ahriman said and Teran put his hand on his shoulder to stop him. Ahriman grabbed his arm and with the slightest effort the man flew across the room and slammed into the kitchen, smacking into a stainless steel oven.
No one came after him, and Ahriman smiled. “Just like the civilization I know needs to be wiped from the earth. Cowards.”
No one came at him even after he called them cowards. The fact that he had changed his appearance, and thrown a man twice his size into another room just by flinching... It was enough to keep them silent and in their place.
He opened the door into the room where Satine had escaped through and saw that the back door was open. Snow fell onto the wet sidewalk outside, the street was dark and empty. He smiled, knowing that she would have escaped. She wasn’t dumb enough to stay around. She had no idea who she was, or what potential she had, yet she was talented enough to see through his disguise. She had no idea what she was or that she had the potential to become the most powerful sorceress any of the Dimensions had ever seen.
Satine moved quickly down the sidewalk, pulling the tattered brown coat around her form. She looked behind her to make sure that the peculiar man was not following her. She was probably just dreaming again, and had fallen asleep in the back room. Or maybe she had just imagined that he had said that, and his appearance had not changed. Maybe she was just so stressed her brain was beginning to fail her.
She moved quickly across the road before a speeding car could possibly hit her. She ran into the apartment building, going up to the floor she lived on, careful not to alert any of the stoned out drug lords that someone was on the floor with them. They often came out guns blazing, thinking they were getting raided by cops or something of that nature.
She shoved the door open into her apartment, her mother was passed out on the couch, this being the fifth night. She knew that if Scar was around he would have noticed that she wasn’t in on time and would interrogate her. For some reason he always thought she was going to go to the police and tell them all his... condemning activities.
She walked towards her room, noticing Scar was in the kitchen, his forehead leaning on the table. She was glad that he was out cold, because now he wouldn’t bother her. She went to her bedroom, opened up the window to let the musty air out of her damp room. The room, though small held a certain comfort to her. The wall paper was pealing off the walls, revealing the wood paneling behind it, the ceiling paint flaked onto her rugged carpet flooring that was no a color other than what it had been orginally. The room as well as the building was a dump... though her room had always felt safe to her.
She walked to the bathroom that was on the other-side of the kitchen and living room. Her mother shifted slightly as she passed, but Scar seemed to be out cold.
After almost an hour long shower she wrapped a towel around her waist. The door creaked as she opened it slowly, peering out into the hall and freezing for a moment as she noticed Scar was not where he had been sleeping. Maybe he had gone out for the rest of the night? Even better, now he definitely would not be bothering her. She pulled the towel tightly against her, having forgotten to bring her bed clothes. She moved down the hall, shivering at the cold draft that reached her damp skin.
Satine froze when she heard the sound of boards creaking behind her. Slowly she turned her head in the direction of the sound to see who it might have been. The young girl did not have time to see. Suddenly Scar through her against the wall, knocking the breath from her lungs.
“I know where you’ve been!” he roared, his breath smelled of whiskey.
“I was at the diner all night!” she tried to explain.
“Like hell!”
“Call Teran!!”
She knew he wouldn’t listen to her. She could smell the beer or whatever alcoholic beverages he had gotten into. And he had to have been smoking something as well.
“You know,” Scar said with a rather demented grin. “I know a good way to make you listen.”
Satine tried to push his hands, his body off her to get him to move back. Scar’s black eyes skimmed over her face and her bare shoulders. Satine froze and with one loud scream she yelled, “Momma!” Hoping her mother would come and save her. Scar picked her up by the neck with one hand and through her into her room where the air felt like ice.
“Momma!” she screamed again and crawled across the floor to try and get away from her step-father.
“Shut up, bitch!” Scar cursed grabbing her by the arm and pulling so hard she flew off the floor and onto her extremely hard bed. He pulled her towel away and through it across the room.
“Momma, please!!” she screamed futilely. Her mother just walked to her own room and closed the door to blot out her child’s screams.
In this world of corruption, hate, where not even a mother would help her own daughter, where she closed the door to block her child’s futile screams for help, why should this world have a savior? Why should anyone save the damned? Was this her punishment for being a good person in a hate-filled world? What good could ever come from what the world had become?
Satine turned her head away, clenching her eyes shut and bracing herself for the worst to come. Suddenly, there was a blinding flash of light and Scar flew to the opposite end of the room. Satine grabbed her covers and pulled them around her to shield her nude body from whatever it was. A man stood in the doorway, nothing but a black silhouette with shoulder length hair.
She swallowed hard, not really sure what to say at the moment. She moved to the far end of her bed in the corner against the wall. The man stood there for a brief moment then rushed in, moving quickly towards her. Startled, Satine screamed.
“No, please!” She exclaimed loudly, pulling the covers up like a shield. The man stopped dead in his tracks. For a moment there was silence, then she looked out from behind the covers and saw him still standing there. Slowly he lifted a hand towards her.
“I’m not going to hurt you,” he said kindly, his voice dark, smooth, with something that almost sounded like a Scottish accent. Almost. “I heard you screaming, I came to help.”
Satine, at first, was still shaken up and on the verge of tears, but at the sound of his censer voice she threw her arms around him. Rowe blinked for a moment, but put an arm around her in return. So, this was the Emperor’s daughter? The one supposedly to be the most powerful sorceress?
She was a child, no... A young woman. She had no training. How would she be as powerful as people claimed? No, it was all a farce. The girl was freezing cold, shaken beyond what he had expected and in the pale light he could see the black bruises that littered her arms and shoulders. Rowe looked back at the body of the unconscious man on the floor and had to hold himself back for beating the beast to a pulp.
“Blackwell, do you mind moving? I need to talk to my Empress,” Ahriman’s dark voice said coldly to the only man to have ever escaped his prison.
Satine gasped when she heard his voice. The man from the diner was real... and he knew the man who had saved her. Suddenly Satine didn’t know who to trust.
Rowe Blackwell turned his head around. “I’m afraid, Ahriman, Satine Vanguard’ is coming with me,” he announced to the Master of Pain.
“W-wait,” Satine mumbled while her head was still clearing. She shook herself free of that strange hold that had fallen on her suddenly and growled. “Wait! Empress? You people have the wrong person!” She tried to convince them. Sadly, they didn’t go for it. Apparently, the man who saved her was just as crazy as the one from the diner. Wait, didn’t this guy used to have blond hair? Satine put her hands to her head. It had been a really a bad day. No, it had been a really bad dream.
She decided that her only escape was out her window onto the fire-escape. But, she had no clothes! Satine knew that if she wanted to get away from these psychos, worrying about her clothes wouldn’t matter. So she grabbed the thin crimson sheet off her bed and drew it around her in on motion to not prolong the moment her body was exposed to the men in her room.
She watched as the two crazy intruders stared at one another, sizing each other up she guessed. Glancing to the window and then to the men, she was close enough to it so she guessed she could make it before one of the caught her. If she could roll out the window and land on the fire escape then she might have a chance. However, she would need to do it in such away that it was quick, fluent, and that no one could grab her.
“Move out of the way, Blackwell,” Ahriman growled, getting tired of this charade, inpatient with the way things had turned out.
“I think I’ll stay,” Rowe spoke evenly to the man he had once called friend, to the man who had tortured him, to his enemy. He stood up to where he was standing in front of Satine, shielding her from Ahriman’s intense stair. Neither of them were close enough to reach her now, she bit her bottom lip and looked at the window.
Alright, Satine thought, now is my chance.
Satine rolled to the side as quickly as she could. Looking like nothing more than black mist in the dark light, floating out the window and landing with a hard clanging thud onto the grating of the fire escape.
Both mages looked at one another with shocked surprise, having not expected her to do that. Actually, it pleased Ahriman to see that she was so resourceful and happy that it made the situation a little more interesting than just having a staring contest with Rowe Blackwell.
Before they could get a clue about what she had done, or so she thought, she hurried herself up the fire escape steps, heading for the roof. There was no way she was going into the alley bellow with barely nothing on her body. So she would have to take her chances hiding among the rubble on the broken rooftop to a broken home.
She clambered up the rickety ladders to the fire escape platforms. The sound of a steady clanking noise followed her. Satine paused only for a moment to look down to see the dark-haired man following her. With a gasp, she hurried her pace, slipping and banging her shin several times. Though, nothing could stop her at this moment. She was determined to escape.
Finally she made it to the roof, running across barefooted. “Ow, ow, ow,” she hissed as she cleared most of the distance across the roof, hitting her foot on several metal shards. Satine heard the thunder of the feet chasing her, the pounding of her heart matched the sound of his shoes hitting the tar roof top.
The young girl glanced over her shoulder to see him gaining. Faster, she needed to run faster. Where could she go? Where could she hide without him finding he? Suddenly she realized that maybe this was not a good idea. Slowly she came to the end of her journey. The foot edge of the roof, the little bit of railing that someone could easily trip over. No where to go now, no where but down.
She stopped and looked down, it was far... about 20 stories. Too far to jump.
No where to go but down.
She heard his feet, the sound made her heart roar in her ears. She was shaking so bad she couldn’t believe it. Never in her life had she been so frightened, not even when Scar was torturing her.
She glanced around frantically and her eyes noticed that the building on the other side wasn’t really that far away. She had no time to get but a short running start. It was either risk her life to save her life, or kill herself by staying and putting herself in the hands of the psycho men.
So she took three steps back and with two steps cleared the roof and the edge and pushed off with one foot, flying through the air like an arrow of ivory wrapped in a ribbon of black silk floating in the wind.
Rowe slid to a stop on the edge of the roof watching in a bit of admiration at the leap the girl had just preformed. “Lunatic,” he muttered under his breath, but gave a sigh of relief once she cleared the distance and landed in a hard tumble onto the opposite roof, which was slightly lower than the one she had been on.
Satine forced herself up, turning to look back at the man standing under the darkness of the sky that had no moon. She shivered now, the cold snow hitting her bare shoulders. She watched as the expression on his face went from relief to shock or fear as his eyes fell on something behind her.
“Behind you!” he called and Satine had half a mind not to turn around. Instead she slowly turned her head behind her and there the man from the diner stood, mere inches from her. In shock she took a step back. Bad idea. Her heal caught the edge of the roof and her balance was lost.
In a heart beat she felt herself falling backwards, in a breath she saw the world turn upside down, in a flash she felt arms around her, and in a second she fell into a pool of warm hot blood. Darkness enveloped her and she felt no pain from the hit. A peaceful, painless death, she thought.
Rowe roared with fury as he saw Kell Ahriman dive off the roof after the Empress and fall with her into his portal made of blood from the mages he had killed. Now the Emperor had his daughter... and Rowe had a heap of trouble.
* * *
Warm, more comfortable than she had ever been in her entire life. So comfortable that she did not want to wake. She dare not open her eyes to find that the comfort was an illusion. She listened around her for sounds, expecting to hear the familiar bustle of the hospital. She suspected that Clair, the nurse that usually visited her, was watching over her like a mother hen. She came to the hospital enough, and Clair had seen her so many times that they were rather close.
However, she did not hear Clair. She didn’t hear anything but silence. Maybe she was dead and this was the silence and peace of the afterlife?
She slowly opened her eyes, staring up at a black velvety looking ceiling. The room was dark, very dark. She turned her head to the side and noticed that the room did not get lighter and there appeared to be no windows. The walls were black with some sort of metallic and ebony colored rock. The floors were hard wood, cherry... They had to be they were so dark. Everything was dark, didn’t these people know how to decorate a hospital?
No, this wasn’t a hospital, she knew that for sure. It couldn’t be.
She noticed that there were two doors into the room. Both were closed to her. The bed she was lying on was large. Bigger than any bed she had ever seen. It was at least four feet from the ground. The covers were heavy, made from pure velvet and trimmed in gold rope. The bed was a hard wood four post-covered bed. The posts were thick, the size of pillars and heavy black drapes hung from the top.
She slowly sat up realizing she was completely naked. No wonder the silk sheets had felt so good against her smooth skin. Confused and trying to figure out where she was Satine paused for a moment trying to figure out if it was safe to get out of bed or not. Finally she made up her mind and wrapped the sheet around her body, walking to the wardrobe that was against the wall, opening it to find a handful of mediaeval looking dresses. She dropped the sheet and grabbed one of the dresses, slipping it on over her head as quickly as possible. It was simple, and didn’t need much to put it on, which was good since she was not skilled in old clothing.
“Definitely not a hospital... What kind of sick place am I in?” she thought to herself out-loud as she reluctantly turned around in circles to take in her prison like surroundings.
“The Imperial Palace,” a voice said to her. Familiar. Frightening. Dark.
She turned and saw him emerge from the shadows. Tall, over six feet. He had hair two his neck that was long and white and cut in jagged lengths. His eyes were red, the color of blood and too abnormal to be human. Though, his features resembled a human his eyes were monestrous, demonic. He wore black clothes, almost like Roman robes that hugged him to the shadows. How long had he been standing there?
“Long enough,” he answered her thoughts. “Too see that lovely birth mark on your lower back... the one hidden by the black bruise. It’s in the shape of a star, is it not?”
She gasped. He had watched her dress?!
“Stay away from me, you sick.... freak!”
“Oh, come now. Is that any way to treat a man who dove off a building to save you?” he asked, a sinister and cunning expression crossing is angelically demonic features.
“I didn’t ask you too,” she protested.
He tilted his head at her. “The Emperor would like to see you,” he said in an all-business sort of tone, completely changing the tone he had before.
“What is it with you,” she said. “Do you live in some sort of Star Wars in the Renaissance fantasy?”
He didn’t smile this time. “I’m afraid the stars are not at war here, and this is the time period in our dimension.”
“What the hell,” she muttered. Dimension? This guy was obviously a few cards short of a full deck.
“Are you ready to meet him?” he asked, looking her up and down as if she were an insect that could not meet the Emperor as she was.
“Sure, why not. I’ll meet Palpetine,” she said, trying to be sarcastic, hoping to hide her fear.
“Emperor Dante’,” he told her, corrected actually.
She just shrugged her shoulders. She had to keep up the sarcasm, it was the only thing keeping her from shaking uncontrollably.
He waved a hand, and she guessed he was hiding the button that he just pushed that opened the door mechanically, as if the door had opened by him using magic.
“Follow me,” he said.
She followed him out of the room, and suddenly was surrounded by large broad-shouldered men who were wearing black capes and hoods that covered their faces. They all had their hands on a sword hilt to their side. She felt a stomach sinking feeling, at being surrounded by heavily armed men. However, there was obviously nothing she could do about it.
The hall was dark, covered in some weird black crystal. The arches were high and hanging from the walls were torch holders in the shape of dragon heads.
A lot of attention had been put into creating this place.
Was this some kind of cult?
Up stares, down stares, from one end of a hall, down another. It seemed like they were walking in circles when finally they came to a large door painted black. The door in the middle had a head of some kind of creature. It was cast out of bronze, a large and fearsome looking beast that Satine thought would surely scoop her up and eat her once she was close to it. However, there was no stopping her escort and they forced her closer and closer to the door. She pushed against them slightly, no desire to see what was on the other side. She had no choice, the guards looped around and pushed against the door. With a loud groan it gave way, the white haired man stepped forward with even long graceful steps and only once did he look back to make sure that she was following him.
A vast room, that to Satine it seemed to go on forever. Pillars filled the room, holding up the high cathedral ceiling. Everything seemed to sparkle as if glitter had been thrown on to the walls, pillars, and floors. A tattered red carpet that she was sure at one time had been clean, lined the middle of the room. It led towards the back of the room long room, where a podium stood and upon that podium was a large throne made from large bones. A pale misting light shown down over the person who sat upon that thrown. The figure was hunched over onto the side arm of the throne, apparently he had fallen a sleep.
Satine was too shocked at the place she was in to even pay attention to the weird looking man on the throne. She was too confused by the events that had led up to here to be fascinated by an old guy with a very distasteful chair in the middle of a very dark and dreary room.
Satine was staring at the pillars as she passed them, trying to figure out what made them sparkle in the torchlight, since her attention was distracted she didn’t know that her caravan was coming to a halt at the foot of the podium. She ran into the back of Ahriman with a quick thunk, stumbling back to catch her balance. Ahriman budged just slightly, though he easily regained his balance and turned to look back at the girl with an annoyed, yet amused expression.
“Sorry,” she said meekly, before she remembered she was trying to pretend to be brave. She held her head high, though she knew that you couldn’t take an apology back and actually sound like you mean it.
“My Lord,” Ahriman said as he turned back to faced the hunched over figure.
“Guards... leave us...” the Emperor said with grim exhaustion.
The guards had no reason to argue, they were the most obedient of guards and that is why Ahriman had chosen them. They were loyal, trained from birth to respect and listen to only their master. Ahriman was there master, though the Emperor liked to think he controlled them as well. The guards glanced to Ahriman, and when he nodded softly they turned to leave the room.
Still hunched over the figure glanced out of the corner of his eye at Ahriman, and slightly saw the glint of shimmering red hair from behind the black clad figure. “Come forward, bring her...” With a crackling sound the old man sat up. Every bone in his body popped until finally he leaned back in his throne, looking every bit like the oppressive ruler he was.
Ahriman reached behind him with one hand and grabbed Satine by the arm, pulling her around along side him. He glanced at her face and then to her hands, which were shaking uncontrollably. He could feel her trembling in his grasp. “Do not be afraid,” Ahriman told her quietly, knowing that she was confused and scared and unsure of what would happen next. “This is your home, my young empress, and no one will harm you here.”
Satine looked up slowly towards the horribly deformed man upon the throne of bones. He was quite, looking at her as if to inspect every aspect of her, even the soul that resided in her human flesh. “You look like your mother...” he breathed, tilting his pale and bald head to the left. “You hair is mine... but your face is your mother’s. An almost perfect recreation.”
“I look nothing like you, or this woman you speak of. My mother is at home, drunk as usual and my father is waiting on me to return so he can beat me to death for what happened to him. Those people are my parents and I look nothing like them or you,” she stared at the floor as she spoke, shaking more now than she had been before. “Sorry if I seem a little... uncooperative,” she apologized, not really wanting to anger her captors. “I was kidnaped from my home in the middle of the night and brought to a strange place...”
“Your frightened...” the man upon the thrown said, though he sounded a little disappointed.
“Yes...” she said, sure that she couldn’t hide this fact from them.
“And you do not believe that you are my daughter,” the so called emperor said, though his voice had become more harsh.
“Yes,” she told him, glancing up for a moment.
“Shall I show her, my lord?” Ahriman asked, finally releasing her arm from his grasp.
The ugly pale man nodded once and rested back in his throne as Ahriman came to stand before Satine. He stood there motionless for a moment, staring down at her in such a way that she felt inferior... so small and fragile that he could break her with just his words.
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His hands suddenly came up and pressed against either side of her head, pulling her face my centimeters towards his. His blood eyes stared into her soul and soon her mind clouded. With a sharp pain into her head images began to flood her vision and she no longer saw the man before her, but something that looked far too much like a movie to be real. She saw a woman with a baby in her arms, followed by a man running in the rain. Of course Ahriman didn’t know if the images were real or not, it was merely what the emperor had shown him and in turn he was showing Satine. She saw them step into a bright light, as if a door had opened in thin air and then reappear in the hall way of an apartment building that looked similar to the one she had lived in all her life.... except... it didn’t seem to be quite as dirty. “No one would look for a princess in this place. Besides, the woman here is kind. She cannot help that she lives in these conditions, just as your people cannot help who rules them so harshly.” They laid her at the foot of the door and stepped back after knocking, leaving her to the woman that would soon claim the child as her own. She saw the woman she now called mother open the door, she looked so different that Satine hardly recognized her. She looked pretty, and her cheeks were not as sunk in and the dark circles under her eyes were not as bad. She looked completely different. Behind her there was man sitting at the kitchen table. He was bald, and rather rough looking. He glanced towards the woman Satine called mother and told her to come back inside the apartment before she got robbed and that her favorite movie the Moulin Rouge was coming on, unaware that the woman now held a baby in her arms. Scar... as paranoid as ever.
Then the image switched and a bearded man with thick curly blood red hair was standing on a throne made of gold. “How dare you take our child and hide her from me!” he spat as he stormed down from the podium. The room resembled the one that she stood in at the moment, however it seemed brighter.
“Because you are a wicked man and I know what you would use her for. Her power is beyond yours and I have seen what she was meant for! She was meant for-”
Ahriman moved his hands away from her head, not because he didn’t want to show her the rest, but because that is all that he himself has been shown. Like her now, he too longed to know what the late Empress had said at that moment and what this young girl was the key too. No wonder the Emperor had searched all these years for her.
Satine stood there for a moment as her senses began to rush back to her so quickly that her head spun. Ahriman caught her with one arm and quickly stooped to put his arm under her legs, lifting her into his arms. With a strange smirk he held her extraordinarily light form as it if were nothing but a feather.
“I think she fainted at the knowledge, my lord...”
“She’s weak, her mother left her with weak minded people... We must make her stronger.... She is too frightened, and too puny to be my daughter... Though, I cannot deny my blood, however she is unfit to rule...” The Emperor rose shakily to his feet and stared down at Ahriman with the young and my daughter... “I have reached a rather difficult predicament which I now know the fitting answer, take her to her room and we shall discuss the matter later. I am weary and need my rest.”
“Yes, my emperor,” Ahriman said softly as he turned to leave the room.
The sound of his boots echoed back against the walls and filled the silence of the throne room as he made his way towards the double doors. They opened once the sound of his boots against the marble floor had grown close enough. Once he was walking down the corridor, the guards fell flank along side of him and the sound of the large metal doors echoed the sound of his boots as they closed.
* * *
Chapter Four: Heir
The encampment was vast, hundreds of tents and thousands of fires. It was a wonder, to Rowe, how the Grand High Empire had not found it. Though, the rebels moved around so much he guessed that added to its concealment. Or maybe it was magic, since magic was good to hide many things that one wanted to be kept unseen. He sat atop a hill, his horse steadily huffing and stopping in agitation, wanting nothing more than to ride down to the buckets of water.
He looked over the people as they mingled and moved through the site and he saw one thing that gave him home. He saw the key to the downfall of a corrupt dictatorship. He saw the end.
“We should head down before they assume we are Ahriman’s men,” Denzail offered wisely as he glanced to the side. Rowe had been rather aggressive since arriving back from The Second.
“Yeah,” Rowe said curtly, though not meaning to sound as short as he really had. He couldn’t help it, just the thought of what that poor girl was going through made his stomach churned. He knew more than anyone what Ahriman’s sick head was capable of conjuring up. There was absolutely no telling how she would be treated. He kicked the horse swiftly, yet gently in the side. The horse came off the ground and shot forward down the hill, galloping towards the edge of the encampment with eager ferocity. Once they were at the edge six heavily armed men greeted them with stern glares.
“Halt,” one said and stepped forth from the middle of the group. He asked for them to remove there hoods and Rowe quickly obliged, hoping to get through the slight interrogation quickly and reach his destination.
“Master Mage Blackwell, Gerneral Coulter, Lady General Resnick... You may proceed,” the soldiers stepped aside, though Rowe hardly waited for them to move.
With a click and a gentle tap form his heal the horse moved into a gently gallop. Children ran along behind them as they tore through the encampment, sure to get nagged by the mothers later. It was habit for them to cheer on anyone who looked to be on official business, besides many of them new Rowe. He taught them when he was not on missions elsewhere. Though, Rowe was careful not to teach him all that the Grand High Empire had taught him.
The Council was located in the center of the vast sea of tents. It was the largest one, and the most disposable. It was made from tattered rags and old tent fragments. It was too much trouble to take down in a hurry and carry with them if they needed to leave suddenly, so most of it was put together over time using things they had found along the way when that piece had been left wherever the Grand High Empire had invaded.
Rowe dismounted in a flurry of movements and quickly moved through the flap of the tent, causing the ruckus on the inside to hush quickly. The canvas room was filled to the brim, with only a small bit of room left in a circle around an man in his early sixties. Though, he looked old, with his black hair and beard had turned silver, through all this he still gave the feel of wisdom, of authority, and power.
Men of all ages filled the room, all looking from Rowe to Darshan. “Rowe!” Darshan said with a happy smile and beckoned the young man over. Rowe left Denzail and Rita behind, since he was the one with the message to bring.
When Rowe close enough to where he could whisper to Darshan he leaned in gently. “Its urgent that we speak in private,” he told the leader of there rebellion, the one who had been there since the beginning.
“What you have to say can be said before all, we are all in this rebellion together...” Darshan was always trying to be a fair man, but Rowe had feeling once this was said it would have been better in private.
“I...” Rowe paused for a moment, guessing he was correct and knew that eventually everyone would find out about the shocking news. With one deep breath he said,” The Emperor has found his daughter.”
Silence.
Rowe thought that not even the scream of a banshee could break the death silence of that canvas room. Darshan’s smile quickly faded to nothing short of a frown. Suddenly his warm toned skin had turned pale and his bright eyes dulled with worry. “No... that’s... impossible.”
“Yes, the Emperor’s daughter is dead...”
“She’s not dead, I’ve seen her with my own eyes. Ahriman has her...” Rowe said and stared at Darshan, why did he suddenly get the feeling that the old Mage new more about the situation than he had ever let on before.
Darshan looked up. “How...”
“Ticksy over heard the Emperor speaking with Ahriman about her whereabouts... I went to retrieve her before Ahriman could. However, she ran from us both and, well, he got to her first.” Rowe averted his eyes, knowing that when Ahriman got his hands on someone it wasn’t pleasant.
The old Mage melted into a small wooden chair in the center of the room, which groaned as his weight settled in. Fixated on a memory, he stared blankly at the floor. “No... we hid her well. To never be found until the moment.... in time.”
Rowe’s eyes glanced to Darshan quickly. “A moment in time,” he echoed though so quietly it appeared his lips were moving without sound.
“We... we took her there in hopes of keeping her safe. How... How did he find her?” Darshan said.
“We have no idea,” Rowe told him honestly. “All we know is that he found her... and now she’s in their hands.”
“We can’t leave her in their hands, if that happens everything is lost. Ahriman will use her to take the throne from the Emperor and with him as ruler everything is lost,” Darshan said.
“How do you know this?” Rowe said.
“I like you have visions from the Prophetess... She told me that the Emperor would use her as a ploy to get an heir to the throne that would bring destruction to everything. The one known as the ‘Dark One’, which can only mean Ahriman.” Darshan shook his head. “Ahriman would take the throne either way. He’ll just use the girl to make it easier. He has loyalty among the soldiers, however most are allied with the present day ruler. He doesn’t want to lose any men...”
“Well, let’s just make it all the more difficult for him,” Denzail said, eager to stick it to Ahriman anyway.
“Well, how do you suggest we do that?” one of the members of the council asked.
“Yes! We have a good strong army, but not one large enough to take on the strong hold of the Grand High Empire... Not to save some spawn of the Emperor,” another councilman said.
“So does that mean we should ignore what the Prophetess has said? You heard the consequences of our ignorance. If we let this go, then Ahriman will wipe our little rebellions from the map... and soon the dimensions will collide,” Darshan said, his voice growing louder and stronger than any in the room. Silence filled the room, just like the silence of the dead.
“What if she’s the Balancer? The one we’ve been waiting on?” Rowe said.
“Then, that gives us something more to fight for. Not just to save the so called spawn of the emperor... but the key to the salvation of these worlds,” Darshan said.
“What should we do?”a voice, unclear as to where it came from, broke the sudden silence.
The men in the room stared at where Darshan and Rowe were hiding. “We need Tricksy to help us with this plan. I know if anyone can get her here quickly it is you, Rowe... We need to make it fast before any arrangements can be made. As soon as the engagement has been announced Ahriman will more than likely move to kill the Emperor... He’s not one to wait until a wedding or coronation. If he is announced publicly to be the husband of the rightful ruler, then he will move to take the position given. He will kill Dante. He won’t risk killing the girl until the ceremony is completed, even then he might wait.”
“Since when did we move to working to keep that old bastard alive,” Rita asked from behind.
“Since it became the only way to insure the survival of this rebellion,” Darshan told her. “As soon as Rebecca’s... the Empress’s daughter is in our hands I don’t give a damn what happens to him. However, we do not need to screw up and get the Balancer killed and we do not need to screw up and let Ahriman know who we think she is... Chances are he’ll murder her and make it look like the rebellion was the cause. He’ll then move to wage all out war on us.”
“What if he already knows?” Rowe asked quickly, his eyes seizing the old Mage’s.
“Then, all hope is gone...”
The council members flooded to leave the tent and go to there destinations to prepare for what might have to come. Rowe, Denzail, and Rita stayed behind to speak with Darshan.
“Did you find what I asked you to find?”
“The Citadel of Light is in ruins, but it can be rebuilt easily,” Rowe said. “I think we should go with the plan... make it a sanctuary for the gifted... It will take a lot of magic to keep it hidden from the Empire...”
“We must do it. We need magic users,” Darshan breathed.
“Will there ever be a day when we no longer need to hide anything from the Empire?” Rita groaned.
Darshan smiled and placed his hands on Rita and Rowe’s shoulder. “My friends, I feel that day may come sooner than we think...”
* * *
Dante looked to Ahriman as the young Dark Mage stood before him. “You are like my son,” Dante told him as the old man leaned forward on the edge of his chair.
Ahriman smiled, bowing his head out of respect. A fake respect, one he thought the Emperor did not deserve. If only the fool knew, how as of late he had no respect for anyone with as little power as he. If only the Emperor knew how he lived on borrowed time.
“I know that my days in this world and time are limited,” Dante told him. Ahriman tried to control himself, apparently the old man wasn’t as blind as he appeared. “And I know when I die many will come to challenge for power if a rightful heir is not delivered. I want you to rule, Ahriman. To insure there will be no questions about your rule, you will take my daughter as your bride. Thus, eliminating the problem of blood-heir.” Ahriman’s eyes glistened with delight, just the words he had hoped to hear.
“I have a feeling that your daughter will not agree to this... arrangement,” Ahriman spoke quickly, hoping the other half of what he desired to hear would soon produceitself.
“Ahriman, if anyone can convince someone to do something they have no desire to do, it is you.” Dante chuckled darkly, though Ahriman stayed calm and collected. Inwardly the young Dark Mage was cackling like fool. Everything was coming together perfectly, everything.
“A public announcement should be made...” Ahriman stated. “So everyone will know of the arrangement incase something, unfortunate, happens? We wouldn’t want anything to foul your decision my lord...
“Yes, an announcement is a good idea,”Dante’s weak head bobbed in a sort of sloppy nod.
“One more thing,” Ahriman said and for a moment his voice was commanding, no longer holding the respect one might have for their ruler. “My lord,” he corrected.
“Yes?”
“The artifact that we were discussing earlier? I need the location of the book. I can’t seem to find it in any of the libraries,” Ahriman said, fiddling with something in his pocket for a moment before clasping his hands behind his back.
“We’ll get to that later, right now we have more important things,” Dante said, literally waving it off with his hand.
Ahriman’s smile faded slowly and his hands clenched into fists until his knuckles turned white. One day the old man would kneel to him and one day all of his questions would be answered. One day all would be his. It was prophesied.
* * *
The courtyard was packed with military officials and some village leaders. The meeting had been called on short notice... not many village leaders were present, they had only been given a day to make it. The courtyard, which once was an elaborately decorated garden was now nothing but a dusty brick shell.
The last to enter the courtyard were four cloaked and hooded figures, which would not be entirely odd if it wasn’t for the fact they they had appeared outside the wall moments before. Rowe’s cold blue eyes peered out from under the cloak at Denzail as they pushed past a couple of slow moving older soldiers. “I’m going to meet Tricksy in the location we planned,” Rowe said so that only Denzail would be able to here.
“Maybe I should play hero this time?” Denzail said, his eyes almost looking worried.
“Don’t worry my friend, you’ll get a piece of the action one we get a game plan. This is merely observation at the moment,” Rowe said with a smirk as he merge with another group of people walking closer to the east wall. He moved the left side of his cloak off his shoulder to reveal a tattered faded black shirt with the Grand High Empire emblem on the side.
He did look quite a mess with his black boots covered in mud, his pants dusty from the lack of wash, and his shirt slightly torn. He would look more presentable of he had not had to beat down a man to take his uniform. The only thing he was hoping was that no one would recognize him as the former Dark Mage Blackwell. He melded with the crowed until he reached his desired destination, from there he broke away and headed for the iron door with the delightful looking guard standing close by. The fat faced man sneered at Rowe, “What do you want?”
“I need entrance,” Rowe said.
“Not anyone can get in...” The soldier was becoming annoyed far to easily for Rowe’s tastes.
Rowe presented the emblem to the guard. The guard smirked and moved out of the way. “Kitchen brat,” he muttered and let Rowe through, slamming the door when he had gone across the doorway.
The hall was dark, yet glistened slightly from the torch light. The walls were still covered in that same dark cancerous crystal. He moved down the hall where he could see light reflecting off the walls and hear the sounds of whacking and slicing. It didn’t sound very healthy, and rather reminded him of Ahriman’s palace.
He was met with a wave of heat as he entered the room, which was lit by a large number of torches and three huge fireplaces with some sort of animal squiring over them. Two brutish looking women with fat hanging from their arms, covered in grease and food particles, looked up at him with a sour expression. As suddenly as they had noticed him they returned to there work, cutting the meat in halves.
He continued up a stare case leading to the door to the hallway. It was times like these he realized that everything he had been through and everything he had done in his life prepared him for the next step, the next phase of events. He had been a Grand High Empire soldier, therefor knew the layout of the palace quite well. He knew where to go, and most of all where not to go.
He only hoped that everything would go as planned, but then again nothing ever did. So in this case, he only hoped everyone would make it out alive.
* * *
“I hope he knows what he’s doing,” Denzail muttered as they pressed closer into the crowed.
“You worry about him so, sometimes I wonder if your in love with him.” Rita said, a little too loud.
A few of the towns-people turned back and gave them both a rather odd stare. Denzail coughed as he realized they had heard and were staring at him. “She’s lying...” he said, elbowing the woman in the side. Several people looked at them before glancing away. After a long silence Denzail continued, “Perfectly straight...” The people looked back at them and once again his voice filled the air. “Yep, straight as a board...”
Rita put her palm to her brow quickly, while shaking her head. “Idiot.”
“Yep, no man as straight as me.” Denzail shifted from his heal to the tips of his toes, swaying back and forth. He went to open his mouth and say something else, but Rita interrupted him.
“Okay, we get it,” she hissed. “Your heterosexual...”
As if to save the towns-people from Denzail’s babbling, trumpets roared to life and soldiers began to flank out along side the balcony railing, leaving a gap in the middle which soon was filled by a withered old man who had seen better days. His disease ridden body was pale as death, having not seen much sunlight. He rested his withered hands on the stone railing and looked down at the people that, in his mind, he took such good care of.
“I do not pretend to hide that I am dying. A disease unknown to any healer. Dying or not I am the rightful ruler of this Empire. Dying or not I’ll slay any that stand in my way or challenges my authority. Dying or not you still abide by my rules,” he told them fiercely.
He was trying to admit weakness, and attempting to keep order and authority. Denzail really didn’t think that it would work, however he had to remind himself of how many people revered and respected this chump. How many people feared his power....
“Who will rule in your place, you have no heir,” a noble man said. A mage from the north. “Civil war will break lose if no heir is named.”
“Civil war will break lose if an heir is named,” a cold deep voice said, the figure emerging from the darkness of a doorway. Behind him he pulled a female, who seemed more than unwilling to come out in the open. “Luckily we found a blood heir...” He brought the girl around so she could be seen by all.
“She looks just like...” one man said, but faded off in disbelief.
“My daughter...” Dante proclaimed, gesturing to the woman in Ahriman’s hands, with a horrible snarling smirk.
Silence filled the courtyard.
“She controls more power than even I,” Dante told them, whether this was true or not he did not know.
Ahriman’s thumb rubbed up and down, brushing against Satine’s arm as if she were a precious gem he had found appealing. Something he owned and delighted in. Satine was trying very hard to stay calm, and she continuously glanced at Ahriman with a worried expression.
“Don’t worry, your going to love the next part,” he whispered into her ear.
She looked even more worried now, glancing around wildly.
Denzail shook his head and leaned in towards Rita. “Look at her, she’s terrorfied...”
“She will be my heir, and her husband will by the Emperor of these lands...” Dante glanced back at Ahriman. “I announce to day that I betroth my daughter to Lord Ahriman Lifesbane, your future Emperor.”
A flurry of voices filled the air as most protested and some argued that they should be her husband, all fighting to win her hand and the throne. “I am your ruler and I have spoken, obey me or my magic will curse you all...” slowly the voices were silenced and the Dante looked at all of them calmly. “I have made my decision and I choose Ahriman, the most powerful Dark Mage under the Grand High Empire’s rule. A fitting man to be the next king of the First.”
No one dared say anything now. No one dared challenge the feeble looking ruler. Denzail couldn’t see how anyone would be afraid of such a wormy, wilting, and withering old man. Though, he had not seen Dante in his glory days, the man before him did everything but strike fear into his heart. Ahriman on the other hand...
* * *
“What do you mean the wedding is this afternoon!” Rowe said, astounded that it would happen so soon. Tricksy whimpered at the sound of Rowe’s voice, which seemed very angry at the moment. How could he not be, the plan was moving far too fast and they had no time to prepare. Everything was beginning to spin out of control quickly and Rowe felt as if he couldn’t get a handle on it.
“What do we do now?” Tricksy asked as her ears cooled back to there pale flesh color.
“Well, we moving things a head of schedule,” Rowe said, leaning against the wall of an empty broom closet.
“What was the schedule again?” Tricksy asked.
“There was no schedule,” Rowe muttered as he ran a hand through his black hair. His blue eyes stared at the dirty stone floor and he took several deep relaxing breaths. His chest heaved with every breath, pushing up against the button down shirt. His fingers flexed as he went into a train of thought that soon made his fingers curl into a fist. This was going to be a day where fighting would be the only way around the problem.
With a heavy sigh Rowe pushed himself off the wall and unhooked the cloak from around his shoulders. He unbuttoned the shirt and through it into the corner, leaving him with a black undershirt. Tricksy looked as if she were going to pass out from shock at seeing Rowe partially undress before her. “Denzail and Rita are waiting in the courtyard for me to come back and give them the news of the plan. I need you to tell them to wait outside the city gates for me...” Rowe said as he reached up into the air. His hand wrapped around something invisible and as his hand pulled downwards a black metallic blade and as the blade appeared the red and silver handle materialized in his hand.
“Where are you going?” Tricksy asked quickly, still in awe of Rowe’s magic trick.
“To get the girl,” Rowe breathed as he sheathed the sword.
“Alone?” Tricksy pondered.
Rowe reached for the door handle, but turned back towards the young sprite. “Not entirely,” he said, remembering that the Prophetess was always watching over him. With a wink he opened the door and stepped out into the hall. “Go to Denzail and Rita.”
He turned and disappeared around the corner. Tricksy stood in the hall a few moments afterwards still staring off in the direction he had gone. He was a brave man, one she looked up to very much. She turned and hiked up her pleated skirt, running down the hall towards the staircase that led downwards.
Rowe knew the palace like the back of his hand. It had been his home as a teenager, so finding his way around was no problem. The only question was where to start. He could either make the jump as they were coming back into the palace, which would be suicide knowing how many guards would be escorting Dante.
The halls were void of people, thanks to the announcement that was being made. Rowe was wondering one thing though, why make the wedding so soon? It seemed far to rushed for his liking, then again he had to remind himself that Ahriman was not a patient person and never had been. Since Rowe knew the palace so well he knew that they would be coming down the East main corridor. However, despite how good of a fighter he was and how much magic he had, he knew that Dante would be flanked by ten or more heavily armed soldiers, and Ahriman to back them up. He didn’t want to put the girl in danger either, not to mention get killed.
Rowe grew even more annoyed at the sound of feet coming down the hall, knowing that yet again his timing calculations had been wrong. The sound was of a large number of a large number of feet slamming against the stone flooring in a jumbled unison of noise. Rowe said a rather nasty curse under his breath and rolled to the side quickly, just as the line of soldiers were rounding the corner. He pressed himself flush against the wall, hiding behind the leg of an arch.
Next to him was a wooden door, if he could get in there then he wold be out of sight and undetected. With his left hand he reached over and turned the nob, which barely budged. It was locked, or jammed closed. Yet again Rowe cursed under his breath as he heard the soldiers feet growing closer and closer to his hiding spot. He knew it wouldn’t be long until he was found.
“Halt,” the raspy voice of Dante bellowed and Rowe almost sighed in relief. However, he had been in this situation enough to know that it never turned out good. The sound of the soldiers boots silenced, the last echoes dying against the walls.
“Let me go, damn it!” came the soft and frightened voice of the girl he was here to save. Satine looked up at Ahriman with a defiant, yet fearful expression, strands of curly blood colored hair having fallen in front of her face. Ahriman looked down at her with a deadly smile, one that dripped pure acid and evil.
“My dear, you are going no where,” Ahriman said, and the distinct chuckling told Rowe that the beast was probably rolling in ecstacy at seeing her struggling to get away.
As much as Satine wanted to deny it, claim that she was having a bad dream, and pray to wake up, she knew that this was very real and she was no in her world or her time anymore. It was too big, to massive to be a fake. It was too different and she had seen far to many things to deny it any longer. Amazed, mystified, completely and utterly terrified, all she could do is stand in awe as the current of unexplained events carried her further and further away from home and the realm of norm she had always known.
“Let me go home,” Satine argued, trying to stay defiant... it made her feel somewhat braver.
“Ahriman, come with me. Lucas take my daughter to her room.” Dante interrupted, seemingly annoyed by there conversation.
Ahriman glanced to the old man out of the corner of his eyes, his jaw visibly tightening. Though, Satine didn’t wish to admit it, he was a very attractive man, completely horrid, yet very attractive. He tilted his head down as he turned in the direction of Dante, his white silvery hair falling down in front of his face. He glared at the Emperor through the strands of hair as he stepped towards Dante’s side. “Yes, your majesty,” the strain in his voice was clear.
‘So close, yet so far, aye Ahriman,’ Rowe thought to himself as he placed his left hand on the door nob once again.
“You’ll be able to spend all the time you desire with her on your wedding night,” Dante continued.
“I’ll never marry him, I’ll never say yes!” Satine glared at the old man, the one who claimed to be her father. The one who called her daughter.
“The customs in our world our very different than the one you were raised in. All you are required to do is be present, dressed accordingly, and no matter how many times you say no... it means yes. A betrothal cannot be broken... and one we are married the world will know. You will forever be my wife because of the magic that will bind us together. It is our law and our culture. It is yours as well. No matter how much you deny it,” Ahriman told her.
“I’ll kill you in your sleep!” Satine promised, knowing that if she were to marry him what would come next. She promised herself he wouldn’t live through the night.
“Ah, there is the daughter I know you to be... Give into that passion and hatred, you’ll be a better person for it,” Dante advised, smiling at her. “Not weak like you are now... So hindered by your other world that you have yet to even tap into that magic within you.”
Rowe shook the nob as a pale blue light emitted from his hand. The door opened freely, with out so much as a squeak and Rowe quickly slipped inside, hoping not to be heard.
Satine swallowed hard, she was trying her best not to be afraid.... trying her best to be strong. She was failing miserably, or so she thought.
“Take her away,” Dante said flatty, yet again bored with it all. She was serving her purpose, the only purpose a woman could serve according to Dante. The same purpose that her mother served in securing him the throne, making him the rightful heir through marriage.
“I won’t do it!” Satine screamed as loud as she could, the guards grabbing her by the arms and dragging her in the opposite direction.
Rowe waited as her heard the sound of the soldiers moving again, walking past his slightly cracked door.
“You will be gentle with her won’t you Ahriman,” Dante asked, amusement clear in his voice.
Rowe could see them as they began to past, Ahriman glancing right at him. Though, Rowe was sure there was no way that Ahriman could know he was there. The demon smiled and looked back at Dante. “As gentle as I am with everyone else,” Ahriman said, his smile turning into a fierce grin.
Rowe clenched his fist around the door nob, gritting his teeth until his jaw was taunt and tight. ‘That poor girl,’ he thought, knowing now more than ever that he needed to save her not only because of what Ahriman would get out of her, but also what he would do to her. He, more than anyone, knew of Ahriman’s tortures.
The sound of the boots soon faded away and Rowe quickly left the room, running in the direction that he had heard the girl being dragged off in. He could still hear her yelling every now and then, and followed the sound of her voice as it twisted and twined through the halls of the Grand High Imperial Palace. He was extremely close when he heard the scream of a man and then the loud echoing thud as a heavy body hit the floor. The scurry of feet. He rounded the corner and there the scene was. The girl, huddled in the corner, one of the soldiers lying unconscious on the floor, and the back of the other soldiers head as he descended the staircase hurriedly.
“What happened?” Rowe asked quickly. Satine glanced up quickly, having been in such a daze as she stared at the unconscious man. She shifted to tighten her position and draw herself closer into the corner, hoping to keep herself safe. Her eyes narrowed and untrusting. Slowly they shifted to nothing short of confusion.
“Your...” she breathed.
“Your only way out of this place,” he said. He knew he would not be able to get her to trust him immediately since the first time they met he had been facing off with Ahriman. She probably thought they were friends of some sort.
“I saw you in my home...” Satine breathed.
Rowe sighed. “That man that was there... Ahriman, we are not friends. I am nothing like him, and I will not hurt you. I’m here to help you,” Rowe told her, stepping forward.
Satine looked up at the black-haired man, who by the looks of him didn’t seem that much older than she. Though, his eyes were cold icy blue, his demeanor was kind and protective. Despite the fact her mind was screaming for her to run from all strangers, her heart told her to go with him. Her eyes flashed from Rowe to the man lying on the cold stone floor. “If I go with you will you promise to tell me what’s going on?” she asked, pulling herself to her shaky leg and clutching the wall, hoping to keep her balance.
“Yes, I’ll tell you everything I know,” Rowe told her, holding out his hand to her. “We need to get going, Ahriman isn’t the type to follow orders thoroughly. He’ll come back for you.” He placed his hand around her arm gently, holding her to make sure that if they did get into trouble he didn’t lose her.
“Then lets run, that man creeps me out,” she muttered.
“Creeps?” Rowe asked, wondering what the word ‘creeps’ meant.
“Oh... er... frightens,” the young woman said. She was trying to get used to the fact she wasn’t in her time, in her world, and hardly anyone spoke or used the English language as she did.
* * *
Quiet, utter silence, except for the sound of the flickering torchlight around the room. The room was as dark as ever, bleak. The shadows seemed to move as if they lived, as if they wanted to get a hold of the living beings in the room. All except Ahriman, the shadows seemed to clutch at him like a lover. Ahriman liked it that way, with the air thick, hot... and surrounding him.
Ahriman glanced up with his blood colored eyes. He was itching to meet with Rowe, who he could feel in the palace, practically smell the White Mage. This would fit in perfectly, with his present and new plan.
“You want to discuss the book that will give you the clues you need to find the Artifact?” Dante said, hissing a chuckle out.
“Yes,” Ahriman said, rather aggravated. He was tired of going through this charade over and over. It bored him.
“You are most powerful Ahriman,” the Emperor began, grinning from ear to ear. “The prophetess was right to call you the Dark One. Your soul drips black blood. Who better to rule my empire than the Dark One himself....” Dante’s voice changed from envy to respect. Ahrimans’ blood red eyes flashed up at Dante, looking at him from a downward tilted head. “I’ve known for a while who you were... Though you deny it even now. Why not embrace it?”
For the first time since the conversation began Ahriman laughed, darkly and cold. He said nothing, just moved forward with the eerie grace of death. “Who says that I haven’t embraced it...”
Dante blinked and shifted in his seat. “Well, if you had you would have killed me and taken the throne by now...” Dante said.
This made Ahriman laugh even more. “You are a fool, old man,” Ahriman told him, moving the cloak aside and reaching inside for the hilt of his sword. He rested his hand there, taking on a comfortable pose. “Do you think I am as stupid as that. I know good and well that what I want will only come through patients... and I have waited very patiently for this day. I knew you would hand the kingdom to me in some way... I just never knew it would be through a daughter that even I had thought dead. Unlike the Prophetess I have no idea what the future holds or how it will turn out. I only feel my purpose and am driven to do what in my eyes is right. I see the corruption, and I know the cause. It is the weakness that flows through the veins of these weak people. I have come to save you, and I have come to redeem the pathetic souls of these Dimensions...”
“Save me?” Dante muttered. What did he need saving from? He was perfectly safe.
Ahriman said nothing he just walked forward more, stepping up the steps to the podium upon which the throne was sitting. He stood right before the Emperor, staring down at him. “Save you from the corruption of yourself. Release you from your fleshly body... Save you... from me.”
“Your mad...”
“I am but what is needed to bring order to the Dimensions. ‘One day the Three Dimensions will become so corrupt that the cities will crumble, the kingdoms will fall. The rulers of the nations will bring darkness to their lands. The point will be reached where there will be no hope except total destruction.’. No hope.... except total destruction. I was created to destroy these worlds... and from the ashes of the collided dimensions I will form one single, perfect, strong, and orderly world.” Ahriman told Dante, his blood red eyes swimming with excitement.
“You don’t think you’re the Dark One. You think you’re the Balancer...” Dante muttered.
“No, I know exactly what I am! I am the Dark One the Prophetess speaks of! The Balancer and I are more alike than anyone could ever think. We both seek the same thing! We both think that we are right! I am just the one who wants to destroy the thing that causes the corruption, while the Balancer wishes to save it! In the end the Balancer is the Dark One, the one that wishes to keep letting the corruption live. Maybe your right, Dante... Maybe I am the Balancer...” Ahriman cackled evilly.
“How did you know that you were the Dark One?”
Ahriman’s expression changed to nothing. It was completely blank. After a long moment he drew the sword and pressed it to Dante’s chest, but did not push in.
“Where is the book?” Ahriman asked, his expression growing darker.
“I...”
“Where is the book or I will kill you...” Ahriman spat, irritated that he was not being given the answer he needed.
“Its... Its in the Third!” Dante said quickly, coughing and hacking as his heart beat fast and faster in fear. His weak and sickly body unable to handle the stress of this near death experience.
“Where?!” Ahriman screamed, he knew that the Emperor had little time left.
“Hidden in the Morsher, the City of Plenty...” wheezed the old Emperor. “That is all I know...”
Ahriman smiled and shoved forward, the tip of the long sword peircing into the Emperor’s fragile sickly body with ease. The Emperor gasped, holding onto the blade, which sliced his hand, as Ahriman kept pushing until the sword broke through the back of the throne. Dante gasped and gasped for air, unable to receive it. Unable to save himself, for when the disease had taken over his body, it too had taken over his magic. Ahriman could have killed him years ago, but needed to wait for this very moment.
Everything was coming together.
“I thought... that... you would... spare me...” Dante muttered, blood poring from his mouth like the river of life seeping from his body.
“I am sparing you...” Ahriman said, brushing his hand against the dying mans head. “From what will befall the world now. I will purge the weakness from these Dimensions and that alone is a fate worth being saved from. You are a man after my own heart... You wished to bring peace to your world... alas you did not accomplish it. Your death will bring that peace, die knowing that.”
Ahriman pulled his sword free and wiped the blood on the robes of the dying king. He turned and walked down the steps of the podium until he reached the stone flooring. Now to call upon the person to blame for the death of the Emperor...
Ahriman drug his sword across the stone ground, scratching a circle into the flooring of the throne room. Once the circle was complete he pulled from his pocket a small object and through it into the center of the circle. The half-moon necklace skidded across the stone floor. Ahriman smiled and drew his sword up with both hands and held it before him. He moved quickly forward and stabbed the stone floor where the edge of the circle was. The sword began to glow and circle ignited. Black flames rimmed in white erupted from the line the sword had made....
“Blackwell.”
* * *
Then the image switched and a bearded man with thick curly blood red hair was standing on a throne made of gold. “How dare you take our child and hide her from me!” he spat as he stormed down from the podium. The room resembled the one that she stood in at the moment, however it seemed brighter.
“Because you are a wicked man and I know what you would use her for. Her power is beyond yours and I have seen what she was meant for! She was meant for-”
Ahriman moved his hands away from her head, not because he didn’t want to show her the rest, but because that is all that he himself has been shown. Like her now, he too longed to know what the late Empress had said at that moment and what this young girl was the key too. No wonder the Emperor had searched all these years for her.
Satine stood there for a moment as her senses began to rush back to her so quickly that her head spun. Ahriman caught her with one arm and quickly stooped to put his arm under her legs, lifting her into his arms. With a strange smirk he held her extraordinarily light form as it if were nothing but a feather.
“I think she fainted at the knowledge, my lord...”
“She’s weak, her mother left her with weak minded people... We must make her stronger.... She is too frightened, and too puny to be my daughter... Though, I cannot deny my blood, however she is unfit to rule...” The Emperor rose shakily to his feet and stared down at Ahriman with the young and my daughter... “I have reached a rather difficult predicament which I now know the fitting answer, take her to her room and we shall discuss the matter later. I am weary and need my rest.”
“Yes, my emperor,” Ahriman said softly as he turned to leave the room.
The sound of his boots echoed back against the walls and filled the silence of the throne room as he made his way towards the double doors. They opened once the sound of his boots against the marble floor had grown close enough. Once he was walking down the corridor, the guards fell flank along side of him and the sound of the large metal doors echoed the sound of his boots as they closed.
* * *
Chapter Four: Heir
The encampment was vast, hundreds of tents and thousands of fires. It was a wonder, to Rowe, how the Grand High Empire had not found it. Though, the rebels moved around so much he guessed that added to its concealment. Or maybe it was magic, since magic was good to hide many things that one wanted to be kept unseen. He sat atop a hill, his horse steadily huffing and stopping in agitation, wanting nothing more than to ride down to the buckets of water.
He looked over the people as they mingled and moved through the site and he saw one thing that gave him home. He saw the key to the downfall of a corrupt dictatorship. He saw the end.
“We should head down before they assume we are Ahriman’s men,” Denzail offered wisely as he glanced to the side. Rowe had been rather aggressive since arriving back from The Second.
“Yeah,” Rowe said curtly, though not meaning to sound as short as he really had. He couldn’t help it, just the thought of what that poor girl was going through made his stomach churned. He knew more than anyone what Ahriman’s sick head was capable of conjuring up. There was absolutely no telling how she would be treated. He kicked the horse swiftly, yet gently in the side. The horse came off the ground and shot forward down the hill, galloping towards the edge of the encampment with eager ferocity. Once they were at the edge six heavily armed men greeted them with stern glares.
“Halt,” one said and stepped forth from the middle of the group. He asked for them to remove there hoods and Rowe quickly obliged, hoping to get through the slight interrogation quickly and reach his destination.
“Master Mage Blackwell, Gerneral Coulter, Lady General Resnick... You may proceed,” the soldiers stepped aside, though Rowe hardly waited for them to move.
With a click and a gentle tap form his heal the horse moved into a gently gallop. Children ran along behind them as they tore through the encampment, sure to get nagged by the mothers later. It was habit for them to cheer on anyone who looked to be on official business, besides many of them new Rowe. He taught them when he was not on missions elsewhere. Though, Rowe was careful not to teach him all that the Grand High Empire had taught him.
The Council was located in the center of the vast sea of tents. It was the largest one, and the most disposable. It was made from tattered rags and old tent fragments. It was too much trouble to take down in a hurry and carry with them if they needed to leave suddenly, so most of it was put together over time using things they had found along the way when that piece had been left wherever the Grand High Empire had invaded.
Rowe dismounted in a flurry of movements and quickly moved through the flap of the tent, causing the ruckus on the inside to hush quickly. The canvas room was filled to the brim, with only a small bit of room left in a circle around an man in his early sixties. Though, he looked old, with his black hair and beard had turned silver, through all this he still gave the feel of wisdom, of authority, and power.
Men of all ages filled the room, all looking from Rowe to Darshan. “Rowe!” Darshan said with a happy smile and beckoned the young man over. Rowe left Denzail and Rita behind, since he was the one with the message to bring.
When Rowe close enough to where he could whisper to Darshan he leaned in gently. “Its urgent that we speak in private,” he told the leader of there rebellion, the one who had been there since the beginning.
“What you have to say can be said before all, we are all in this rebellion together...” Darshan was always trying to be a fair man, but Rowe had feeling once this was said it would have been better in private.
“I...” Rowe paused for a moment, guessing he was correct and knew that eventually everyone would find out about the shocking news. With one deep breath he said,” The Emperor has found his daughter.”
Silence.
Rowe thought that not even the scream of a banshee could break the death silence of that canvas room. Darshan’s smile quickly faded to nothing short of a frown. Suddenly his warm toned skin had turned pale and his bright eyes dulled with worry. “No... that’s... impossible.”
“Yes, the Emperor’s daughter is dead...”
“She’s not dead, I’ve seen her with my own eyes. Ahriman has her...” Rowe said and stared at Darshan, why did he suddenly get the feeling that the old Mage new more about the situation than he had ever let on before.
Darshan looked up. “How...”
“Ticksy over heard the Emperor speaking with Ahriman about her whereabouts... I went to retrieve her before Ahriman could. However, she ran from us both and, well, he got to her first.” Rowe averted his eyes, knowing that when Ahriman got his hands on someone it wasn’t pleasant.
The old Mage melted into a small wooden chair in the center of the room, which groaned as his weight settled in. Fixated on a memory, he stared blankly at the floor. “No... we hid her well. To never be found until the moment.... in time.”
Rowe’s eyes glanced to Darshan quickly. “A moment in time,” he echoed though so quietly it appeared his lips were moving without sound.
“We... we took her there in hopes of keeping her safe. How... How did he find her?” Darshan said.
“We have no idea,” Rowe told him honestly. “All we know is that he found her... and now she’s in their hands.”
“We can’t leave her in their hands, if that happens everything is lost. Ahriman will use her to take the throne from the Emperor and with him as ruler everything is lost,” Darshan said.
“How do you know this?” Rowe said.
“I like you have visions from the Prophetess... She told me that the Emperor would use her as a ploy to get an heir to the throne that would bring destruction to everything. The one known as the ‘Dark One’, which can only mean Ahriman.” Darshan shook his head. “Ahriman would take the throne either way. He’ll just use the girl to make it easier. He has loyalty among the soldiers, however most are allied with the present day ruler. He doesn’t want to lose any men...”
“Well, let’s just make it all the more difficult for him,” Denzail said, eager to stick it to Ahriman anyway.
“Well, how do you suggest we do that?” one of the members of the council asked.
“Yes! We have a good strong army, but not one large enough to take on the strong hold of the Grand High Empire... Not to save some spawn of the Emperor,” another councilman said.
“So does that mean we should ignore what the Prophetess has said? You heard the consequences of our ignorance. If we let this go, then Ahriman will wipe our little rebellions from the map... and soon the dimensions will collide,” Darshan said, his voice growing louder and stronger than any in the room. Silence filled the room, just like the silence of the dead.
“What if she’s the Balancer? The one we’ve been waiting on?” Rowe said.
“Then, that gives us something more to fight for. Not just to save the so called spawn of the emperor... but the key to the salvation of these worlds,” Darshan said.
“What should we do?”a voice, unclear as to where it came from, broke the sudden silence.
The men in the room stared at where Darshan and Rowe were hiding. “We need Tricksy to help us with this plan. I know if anyone can get her here quickly it is you, Rowe... We need to make it fast before any arrangements can be made. As soon as the engagement has been announced Ahriman will more than likely move to kill the Emperor... He’s not one to wait until a wedding or coronation. If he is announced publicly to be the husband of the rightful ruler, then he will move to take the position given. He will kill Dante. He won’t risk killing the girl until the ceremony is completed, even then he might wait.”
“Since when did we move to working to keep that old bastard alive,” Rita asked from behind.
“Since it became the only way to insure the survival of this rebellion,” Darshan told her. “As soon as Rebecca’s... the Empress’s daughter is in our hands I don’t give a damn what happens to him. However, we do not need to screw up and get the Balancer killed and we do not need to screw up and let Ahriman know who we think she is... Chances are he’ll murder her and make it look like the rebellion was the cause. He’ll then move to wage all out war on us.”
“What if he already knows?” Rowe asked quickly, his eyes seizing the old Mage’s.
“Then, all hope is gone...”
The council members flooded to leave the tent and go to there destinations to prepare for what might have to come. Rowe, Denzail, and Rita stayed behind to speak with Darshan.
“Did you find what I asked you to find?”
“The Citadel of Light is in ruins, but it can be rebuilt easily,” Rowe said. “I think we should go with the plan... make it a sanctuary for the gifted... It will take a lot of magic to keep it hidden from the Empire...”
“We must do it. We need magic users,” Darshan breathed.
“Will there ever be a day when we no longer need to hide anything from the Empire?” Rita groaned.
Darshan smiled and placed his hands on Rita and Rowe’s shoulder. “My friends, I feel that day may come sooner than we think...”
* * *
Dante looked to Ahriman as the young Dark Mage stood before him. “You are like my son,” Dante told him as the old man leaned forward on the edge of his chair.
Ahriman smiled, bowing his head out of respect. A fake respect, one he thought the Emperor did not deserve. If only the fool knew, how as of late he had no respect for anyone with as little power as he. If only the Emperor knew how he lived on borrowed time.
“I know that my days in this world and time are limited,” Dante told him. Ahriman tried to control himself, apparently the old man wasn’t as blind as he appeared. “And I know when I die many will come to challenge for power if a rightful heir is not delivered. I want you to rule, Ahriman. To insure there will be no questions about your rule, you will take my daughter as your bride. Thus, eliminating the problem of blood-heir.” Ahriman’s eyes glistened with delight, just the words he had hoped to hear.
“I have a feeling that your daughter will not agree to this... arrangement,” Ahriman spoke quickly, hoping the other half of what he desired to hear would soon produceitself.
“Ahriman, if anyone can convince someone to do something they have no desire to do, it is you.” Dante chuckled darkly, though Ahriman stayed calm and collected. Inwardly the young Dark Mage was cackling like fool. Everything was coming together perfectly, everything.
“A public announcement should be made...” Ahriman stated. “So everyone will know of the arrangement incase something, unfortunate, happens? We wouldn’t want anything to foul your decision my lord...
“Yes, an announcement is a good idea,”Dante’s weak head bobbed in a sort of sloppy nod.
“One more thing,” Ahriman said and for a moment his voice was commanding, no longer holding the respect one might have for their ruler. “My lord,” he corrected.
“Yes?”
“The artifact that we were discussing earlier? I need the location of the book. I can’t seem to find it in any of the libraries,” Ahriman said, fiddling with something in his pocket for a moment before clasping his hands behind his back.
“We’ll get to that later, right now we have more important things,” Dante said, literally waving it off with his hand.
Ahriman’s smile faded slowly and his hands clenched into fists until his knuckles turned white. One day the old man would kneel to him and one day all of his questions would be answered. One day all would be his. It was prophesied.
* * *
The courtyard was packed with military officials and some village leaders. The meeting had been called on short notice... not many village leaders were present, they had only been given a day to make it. The courtyard, which once was an elaborately decorated garden was now nothing but a dusty brick shell.
The last to enter the courtyard were four cloaked and hooded figures, which would not be entirely odd if it wasn’t for the fact they they had appeared outside the wall moments before. Rowe’s cold blue eyes peered out from under the cloak at Denzail as they pushed past a couple of slow moving older soldiers. “I’m going to meet Tricksy in the location we planned,” Rowe said so that only Denzail would be able to here.
“Maybe I should play hero this time?” Denzail said, his eyes almost looking worried.
“Don’t worry my friend, you’ll get a piece of the action one we get a game plan. This is merely observation at the moment,” Rowe said with a smirk as he merge with another group of people walking closer to the east wall. He moved the left side of his cloak off his shoulder to reveal a tattered faded black shirt with the Grand High Empire emblem on the side.
He did look quite a mess with his black boots covered in mud, his pants dusty from the lack of wash, and his shirt slightly torn. He would look more presentable of he had not had to beat down a man to take his uniform. The only thing he was hoping was that no one would recognize him as the former Dark Mage Blackwell. He melded with the crowed until he reached his desired destination, from there he broke away and headed for the iron door with the delightful looking guard standing close by. The fat faced man sneered at Rowe, “What do you want?”
“I need entrance,” Rowe said.
“Not anyone can get in...” The soldier was becoming annoyed far to easily for Rowe’s tastes.
Rowe presented the emblem to the guard. The guard smirked and moved out of the way. “Kitchen brat,” he muttered and let Rowe through, slamming the door when he had gone across the doorway.
The hall was dark, yet glistened slightly from the torch light. The walls were still covered in that same dark cancerous crystal. He moved down the hall where he could see light reflecting off the walls and hear the sounds of whacking and slicing. It didn’t sound very healthy, and rather reminded him of Ahriman’s palace.
He was met with a wave of heat as he entered the room, which was lit by a large number of torches and three huge fireplaces with some sort of animal squiring over them. Two brutish looking women with fat hanging from their arms, covered in grease and food particles, looked up at him with a sour expression. As suddenly as they had noticed him they returned to there work, cutting the meat in halves.
He continued up a stare case leading to the door to the hallway. It was times like these he realized that everything he had been through and everything he had done in his life prepared him for the next step, the next phase of events. He had been a Grand High Empire soldier, therefor knew the layout of the palace quite well. He knew where to go, and most of all where not to go.
He only hoped that everything would go as planned, but then again nothing ever did. So in this case, he only hoped everyone would make it out alive.
* * *
“I hope he knows what he’s doing,” Denzail muttered as they pressed closer into the crowed.
“You worry about him so, sometimes I wonder if your in love with him.” Rita said, a little too loud.
A few of the towns-people turned back and gave them both a rather odd stare. Denzail coughed as he realized they had heard and were staring at him. “She’s lying...” he said, elbowing the woman in the side. Several people looked at them before glancing away. After a long silence Denzail continued, “Perfectly straight...” The people looked back at them and once again his voice filled the air. “Yep, straight as a board...”
Rita put her palm to her brow quickly, while shaking her head. “Idiot.”
“Yep, no man as straight as me.” Denzail shifted from his heal to the tips of his toes, swaying back and forth. He went to open his mouth and say something else, but Rita interrupted him.
“Okay, we get it,” she hissed. “Your heterosexual...”
As if to save the towns-people from Denzail’s babbling, trumpets roared to life and soldiers began to flank out along side the balcony railing, leaving a gap in the middle which soon was filled by a withered old man who had seen better days. His disease ridden body was pale as death, having not seen much sunlight. He rested his withered hands on the stone railing and looked down at the people that, in his mind, he took such good care of.
“I do not pretend to hide that I am dying. A disease unknown to any healer. Dying or not I am the rightful ruler of this Empire. Dying or not I’ll slay any that stand in my way or challenges my authority. Dying or not you still abide by my rules,” he told them fiercely.
He was trying to admit weakness, and attempting to keep order and authority. Denzail really didn’t think that it would work, however he had to remind himself of how many people revered and respected this chump. How many people feared his power....
“Who will rule in your place, you have no heir,” a noble man said. A mage from the north. “Civil war will break lose if no heir is named.”
“Civil war will break lose if an heir is named,” a cold deep voice said, the figure emerging from the darkness of a doorway. Behind him he pulled a female, who seemed more than unwilling to come out in the open. “Luckily we found a blood heir...” He brought the girl around so she could be seen by all.
“She looks just like...” one man said, but faded off in disbelief.
“My daughter...” Dante proclaimed, gesturing to the woman in Ahriman’s hands, with a horrible snarling smirk.
Silence filled the courtyard.
“She controls more power than even I,” Dante told them, whether this was true or not he did not know.
Ahriman’s thumb rubbed up and down, brushing against Satine’s arm as if she were a precious gem he had found appealing. Something he owned and delighted in. Satine was trying very hard to stay calm, and she continuously glanced at Ahriman with a worried expression.
“Don’t worry, your going to love the next part,” he whispered into her ear.
She looked even more worried now, glancing around wildly.
Denzail shook his head and leaned in towards Rita. “Look at her, she’s terrorfied...”
“She will be my heir, and her husband will by the Emperor of these lands...” Dante glanced back at Ahriman. “I announce to day that I betroth my daughter to Lord Ahriman Lifesbane, your future Emperor.”
A flurry of voices filled the air as most protested and some argued that they should be her husband, all fighting to win her hand and the throne. “I am your ruler and I have spoken, obey me or my magic will curse you all...” slowly the voices were silenced and the Dante looked at all of them calmly. “I have made my decision and I choose Ahriman, the most powerful Dark Mage under the Grand High Empire’s rule. A fitting man to be the next king of the First.”
No one dared say anything now. No one dared challenge the feeble looking ruler. Denzail couldn’t see how anyone would be afraid of such a wormy, wilting, and withering old man. Though, he had not seen Dante in his glory days, the man before him did everything but strike fear into his heart. Ahriman on the other hand...
* * *
“What do you mean the wedding is this afternoon!” Rowe said, astounded that it would happen so soon. Tricksy whimpered at the sound of Rowe’s voice, which seemed very angry at the moment. How could he not be, the plan was moving far too fast and they had no time to prepare. Everything was beginning to spin out of control quickly and Rowe felt as if he couldn’t get a handle on it.
“What do we do now?” Tricksy asked as her ears cooled back to there pale flesh color.
“Well, we moving things a head of schedule,” Rowe said, leaning against the wall of an empty broom closet.
“What was the schedule again?” Tricksy asked.
“There was no schedule,” Rowe muttered as he ran a hand through his black hair. His blue eyes stared at the dirty stone floor and he took several deep relaxing breaths. His chest heaved with every breath, pushing up against the button down shirt. His fingers flexed as he went into a train of thought that soon made his fingers curl into a fist. This was going to be a day where fighting would be the only way around the problem.
With a heavy sigh Rowe pushed himself off the wall and unhooked the cloak from around his shoulders. He unbuttoned the shirt and through it into the corner, leaving him with a black undershirt. Tricksy looked as if she were going to pass out from shock at seeing Rowe partially undress before her. “Denzail and Rita are waiting in the courtyard for me to come back and give them the news of the plan. I need you to tell them to wait outside the city gates for me...” Rowe said as he reached up into the air. His hand wrapped around something invisible and as his hand pulled downwards a black metallic blade and as the blade appeared the red and silver handle materialized in his hand.
“Where are you going?” Tricksy asked quickly, still in awe of Rowe’s magic trick.
“To get the girl,” Rowe breathed as he sheathed the sword.
“Alone?” Tricksy pondered.
Rowe reached for the door handle, but turned back towards the young sprite. “Not entirely,” he said, remembering that the Prophetess was always watching over him. With a wink he opened the door and stepped out into the hall. “Go to Denzail and Rita.”
He turned and disappeared around the corner. Tricksy stood in the hall a few moments afterwards still staring off in the direction he had gone. He was a brave man, one she looked up to very much. She turned and hiked up her pleated skirt, running down the hall towards the staircase that led downwards.
Rowe knew the palace like the back of his hand. It had been his home as a teenager, so finding his way around was no problem. The only question was where to start. He could either make the jump as they were coming back into the palace, which would be suicide knowing how many guards would be escorting Dante.
The halls were void of people, thanks to the announcement that was being made. Rowe was wondering one thing though, why make the wedding so soon? It seemed far to rushed for his liking, then again he had to remind himself that Ahriman was not a patient person and never had been. Since Rowe knew the palace so well he knew that they would be coming down the East main corridor. However, despite how good of a fighter he was and how much magic he had, he knew that Dante would be flanked by ten or more heavily armed soldiers, and Ahriman to back them up. He didn’t want to put the girl in danger either, not to mention get killed.
Rowe grew even more annoyed at the sound of feet coming down the hall, knowing that yet again his timing calculations had been wrong. The sound was of a large number of a large number of feet slamming against the stone flooring in a jumbled unison of noise. Rowe said a rather nasty curse under his breath and rolled to the side quickly, just as the line of soldiers were rounding the corner. He pressed himself flush against the wall, hiding behind the leg of an arch.
Next to him was a wooden door, if he could get in there then he wold be out of sight and undetected. With his left hand he reached over and turned the nob, which barely budged. It was locked, or jammed closed. Yet again Rowe cursed under his breath as he heard the soldiers feet growing closer and closer to his hiding spot. He knew it wouldn’t be long until he was found.
“Halt,” the raspy voice of Dante bellowed and Rowe almost sighed in relief. However, he had been in this situation enough to know that it never turned out good. The sound of the soldiers boots silenced, the last echoes dying against the walls.
“Let me go, damn it!” came the soft and frightened voice of the girl he was here to save. Satine looked up at Ahriman with a defiant, yet fearful expression, strands of curly blood colored hair having fallen in front of her face. Ahriman looked down at her with a deadly smile, one that dripped pure acid and evil.
“My dear, you are going no where,” Ahriman said, and the distinct chuckling told Rowe that the beast was probably rolling in ecstacy at seeing her struggling to get away.
As much as Satine wanted to deny it, claim that she was having a bad dream, and pray to wake up, she knew that this was very real and she was no in her world or her time anymore. It was too big, to massive to be a fake. It was too different and she had seen far to many things to deny it any longer. Amazed, mystified, completely and utterly terrified, all she could do is stand in awe as the current of unexplained events carried her further and further away from home and the realm of norm she had always known.
“Let me go home,” Satine argued, trying to stay defiant... it made her feel somewhat braver.
“Ahriman, come with me. Lucas take my daughter to her room.” Dante interrupted, seemingly annoyed by there conversation.
Ahriman glanced to the old man out of the corner of his eyes, his jaw visibly tightening. Though, Satine didn’t wish to admit it, he was a very attractive man, completely horrid, yet very attractive. He tilted his head down as he turned in the direction of Dante, his white silvery hair falling down in front of his face. He glared at the Emperor through the strands of hair as he stepped towards Dante’s side. “Yes, your majesty,” the strain in his voice was clear.
‘So close, yet so far, aye Ahriman,’ Rowe thought to himself as he placed his left hand on the door nob once again.
“You’ll be able to spend all the time you desire with her on your wedding night,” Dante continued.
“I’ll never marry him, I’ll never say yes!” Satine glared at the old man, the one who claimed to be her father. The one who called her daughter.
“The customs in our world our very different than the one you were raised in. All you are required to do is be present, dressed accordingly, and no matter how many times you say no... it means yes. A betrothal cannot be broken... and one we are married the world will know. You will forever be my wife because of the magic that will bind us together. It is our law and our culture. It is yours as well. No matter how much you deny it,” Ahriman told her.
“I’ll kill you in your sleep!” Satine promised, knowing that if she were to marry him what would come next. She promised herself he wouldn’t live through the night.
“Ah, there is the daughter I know you to be... Give into that passion and hatred, you’ll be a better person for it,” Dante advised, smiling at her. “Not weak like you are now... So hindered by your other world that you have yet to even tap into that magic within you.”
Rowe shook the nob as a pale blue light emitted from his hand. The door opened freely, with out so much as a squeak and Rowe quickly slipped inside, hoping not to be heard.
Satine swallowed hard, she was trying her best not to be afraid.... trying her best to be strong. She was failing miserably, or so she thought.
“Take her away,” Dante said flatty, yet again bored with it all. She was serving her purpose, the only purpose a woman could serve according to Dante. The same purpose that her mother served in securing him the throne, making him the rightful heir through marriage.
“I won’t do it!” Satine screamed as loud as she could, the guards grabbing her by the arms and dragging her in the opposite direction.
Rowe waited as her heard the sound of the soldiers moving again, walking past his slightly cracked door.
“You will be gentle with her won’t you Ahriman,” Dante asked, amusement clear in his voice.
Rowe could see them as they began to past, Ahriman glancing right at him. Though, Rowe was sure there was no way that Ahriman could know he was there. The demon smiled and looked back at Dante. “As gentle as I am with everyone else,” Ahriman said, his smile turning into a fierce grin.
Rowe clenched his fist around the door nob, gritting his teeth until his jaw was taunt and tight. ‘That poor girl,’ he thought, knowing now more than ever that he needed to save her not only because of what Ahriman would get out of her, but also what he would do to her. He, more than anyone, knew of Ahriman’s tortures.
The sound of the boots soon faded away and Rowe quickly left the room, running in the direction that he had heard the girl being dragged off in. He could still hear her yelling every now and then, and followed the sound of her voice as it twisted and twined through the halls of the Grand High Imperial Palace. He was extremely close when he heard the scream of a man and then the loud echoing thud as a heavy body hit the floor. The scurry of feet. He rounded the corner and there the scene was. The girl, huddled in the corner, one of the soldiers lying unconscious on the floor, and the back of the other soldiers head as he descended the staircase hurriedly.
“What happened?” Rowe asked quickly. Satine glanced up quickly, having been in such a daze as she stared at the unconscious man. She shifted to tighten her position and draw herself closer into the corner, hoping to keep herself safe. Her eyes narrowed and untrusting. Slowly they shifted to nothing short of confusion.
“Your...” she breathed.
“Your only way out of this place,” he said. He knew he would not be able to get her to trust him immediately since the first time they met he had been facing off with Ahriman. She probably thought they were friends of some sort.
“I saw you in my home...” Satine breathed.
Rowe sighed. “That man that was there... Ahriman, we are not friends. I am nothing like him, and I will not hurt you. I’m here to help you,” Rowe told her, stepping forward.
Satine looked up at the black-haired man, who by the looks of him didn’t seem that much older than she. Though, his eyes were cold icy blue, his demeanor was kind and protective. Despite the fact her mind was screaming for her to run from all strangers, her heart told her to go with him. Her eyes flashed from Rowe to the man lying on the cold stone floor. “If I go with you will you promise to tell me what’s going on?” she asked, pulling herself to her shaky leg and clutching the wall, hoping to keep her balance.
“Yes, I’ll tell you everything I know,” Rowe told her, holding out his hand to her. “We need to get going, Ahriman isn’t the type to follow orders thoroughly. He’ll come back for you.” He placed his hand around her arm gently, holding her to make sure that if they did get into trouble he didn’t lose her.
“Then lets run, that man creeps me out,” she muttered.
“Creeps?” Rowe asked, wondering what the word ‘creeps’ meant.
“Oh... er... frightens,” the young woman said. She was trying to get used to the fact she wasn’t in her time, in her world, and hardly anyone spoke or used the English language as she did.
* * *
Quiet, utter silence, except for the sound of the flickering torchlight around the room. The room was as dark as ever, bleak. The shadows seemed to move as if they lived, as if they wanted to get a hold of the living beings in the room. All except Ahriman, the shadows seemed to clutch at him like a lover. Ahriman liked it that way, with the air thick, hot... and surrounding him.
Ahriman glanced up with his blood colored eyes. He was itching to meet with Rowe, who he could feel in the palace, practically smell the White Mage. This would fit in perfectly, with his present and new plan.
“You want to discuss the book that will give you the clues you need to find the Artifact?” Dante said, hissing a chuckle out.
“Yes,” Ahriman said, rather aggravated. He was tired of going through this charade over and over. It bored him.
“You are most powerful Ahriman,” the Emperor began, grinning from ear to ear. “The prophetess was right to call you the Dark One. Your soul drips black blood. Who better to rule my empire than the Dark One himself....” Dante’s voice changed from envy to respect. Ahrimans’ blood red eyes flashed up at Dante, looking at him from a downward tilted head. “I’ve known for a while who you were... Though you deny it even now. Why not embrace it?”
For the first time since the conversation began Ahriman laughed, darkly and cold. He said nothing, just moved forward with the eerie grace of death. “Who says that I haven’t embraced it...”
Dante blinked and shifted in his seat. “Well, if you had you would have killed me and taken the throne by now...” Dante said.
This made Ahriman laugh even more. “You are a fool, old man,” Ahriman told him, moving the cloak aside and reaching inside for the hilt of his sword. He rested his hand there, taking on a comfortable pose. “Do you think I am as stupid as that. I know good and well that what I want will only come through patients... and I have waited very patiently for this day. I knew you would hand the kingdom to me in some way... I just never knew it would be through a daughter that even I had thought dead. Unlike the Prophetess I have no idea what the future holds or how it will turn out. I only feel my purpose and am driven to do what in my eyes is right. I see the corruption, and I know the cause. It is the weakness that flows through the veins of these weak people. I have come to save you, and I have come to redeem the pathetic souls of these Dimensions...”
“Save me?” Dante muttered. What did he need saving from? He was perfectly safe.
Ahriman said nothing he just walked forward more, stepping up the steps to the podium upon which the throne was sitting. He stood right before the Emperor, staring down at him. “Save you from the corruption of yourself. Release you from your fleshly body... Save you... from me.”
“Your mad...”
“I am but what is needed to bring order to the Dimensions. ‘One day the Three Dimensions will become so corrupt that the cities will crumble, the kingdoms will fall. The rulers of the nations will bring darkness to their lands. The point will be reached where there will be no hope except total destruction.’. No hope.... except total destruction. I was created to destroy these worlds... and from the ashes of the collided dimensions I will form one single, perfect, strong, and orderly world.” Ahriman told Dante, his blood red eyes swimming with excitement.
“You don’t think you’re the Dark One. You think you’re the Balancer...” Dante muttered.
“No, I know exactly what I am! I am the Dark One the Prophetess speaks of! The Balancer and I are more alike than anyone could ever think. We both seek the same thing! We both think that we are right! I am just the one who wants to destroy the thing that causes the corruption, while the Balancer wishes to save it! In the end the Balancer is the Dark One, the one that wishes to keep letting the corruption live. Maybe your right, Dante... Maybe I am the Balancer...” Ahriman cackled evilly.
“How did you know that you were the Dark One?”
Ahriman’s expression changed to nothing. It was completely blank. After a long moment he drew the sword and pressed it to Dante’s chest, but did not push in.
“Where is the book?” Ahriman asked, his expression growing darker.
“I...”
“Where is the book or I will kill you...” Ahriman spat, irritated that he was not being given the answer he needed.
“Its... Its in the Third!” Dante said quickly, coughing and hacking as his heart beat fast and faster in fear. His weak and sickly body unable to handle the stress of this near death experience.
“Where?!” Ahriman screamed, he knew that the Emperor had little time left.
“Hidden in the Morsher, the City of Plenty...” wheezed the old Emperor. “That is all I know...”
Ahriman smiled and shoved forward, the tip of the long sword peircing into the Emperor’s fragile sickly body with ease. The Emperor gasped, holding onto the blade, which sliced his hand, as Ahriman kept pushing until the sword broke through the back of the throne. Dante gasped and gasped for air, unable to receive it. Unable to save himself, for when the disease had taken over his body, it too had taken over his magic. Ahriman could have killed him years ago, but needed to wait for this very moment.
Everything was coming together.
“I thought... that... you would... spare me...” Dante muttered, blood poring from his mouth like the river of life seeping from his body.
“I am sparing you...” Ahriman said, brushing his hand against the dying mans head. “From what will befall the world now. I will purge the weakness from these Dimensions and that alone is a fate worth being saved from. You are a man after my own heart... You wished to bring peace to your world... alas you did not accomplish it. Your death will bring that peace, die knowing that.”
Ahriman pulled his sword free and wiped the blood on the robes of the dying king. He turned and walked down the steps of the podium until he reached the stone flooring. Now to call upon the person to blame for the death of the Emperor...
Ahriman drug his sword across the stone ground, scratching a circle into the flooring of the throne room. Once the circle was complete he pulled from his pocket a small object and through it into the center of the circle. The half-moon necklace skidded across the stone floor. Ahriman smiled and drew his sword up with both hands and held it before him. He moved quickly forward and stabbed the stone floor where the edge of the circle was. The sword began to glow and circle ignited. Black flames rimmed in white erupted from the line the sword had made....
“Blackwell.”
* * *