Book 1: The Coming of an Age
Chapter 1: The Rain and Silence
Chaos, confusion... was this what the world was descending towards? mused Dante as he sat above it all in his quiet tree. The world of lore will do as it pleases... and I, well I will do the same. And that was true enough, for the past few years it had been like this. chaos and order were merely words to describe the varying shades of grey, and to Dante’s unseeing eyes they both meant the same thing... Someone was bound to come out on top and someone else, well, someone else would end up on the bottom. It was the way of the City, it was the way of the world, and there wasn’t a thing to be done to change it... That of course was why he sat as he did. Always looking down upon the turmoil and the triumph of others -- his own long since lost and forgotten in the forests of his birth. A book in hand, a dry branch to serve as his seat and the ever changing winds his only companions. It was the way he liked things, the way he would prefer that they stay -- though he knew they would not.
The rain fell, each droplet its own mystery. The water was like a tranquil whisper as it trickled and rolled along the nooks and cracks that littered the bark of that ancient tree. Their carefree paths had always served as fascination to the wandering mind of this elf of constant darkness. Their wayward trails traced wonderful patterns through the air with which he linked himself to the goings on of the world below. And their unconcerned flow, as they slid from branch to leaf to branch once more, could hold his attention far longer then even the most interesting of events below. “The Tears of Creation...” he murmured to himself as he turned another page in his book (which, miraculously remained dry no matter how hard the rain fell upon the defenseless earth below), “The make all things new... the world will be made fresh with their passing once more.” It was a sentiment he voiced whenever the renewing water fell from the sky. Maybe the words were his own way of calling for change, maybe they were just a sentiment he heard as a child. The truth of the matter was Dante could not really tell you why he said many of the things he said... and if he tried, more often then not he would claim them to be the words of the ghosts. Actually, he got a wonderful kick out of that rumor, to think that anyone had such control over spirits dead and gone had always seemed like fanciful nonsense to him, but the rumor afforded him a cushion of uncertainty within which he could more easily find the solitude of which he so often sought.
Wishfully he ducked his head into the book that lay upon his lap, but the thoughts had already begun and he knew very well that such a thing could not be so easily stopped. It had been so for nigh on twelve years and no amount of wishful thinking nor even the most enthralling novel would dissuade this inevitable flood of memories from breaking upon the uneasy shores of his troubled mind. Such was the nature of the rain, for along with its refreshing peace came its unsettling chill. Moreover, he could already hear the soft voice of his first, and only, love and behind her warm and comforting tones came the amiable laughter of his son. How he missed them both, the warm touch of his wife’s hug and the ever-ready smile that never ceased to grace the innocent face of his boy. Then, just as suddenly, the scene changed. In place of the fading backdrop of that happy summer day, in that forgotten forest glade, came a scene of much less cheer and… the tears that time would never dry: the empty house, the broken door, both grim reminders of the crushing blow their disappearance had brought him.
Twelve years had passed since that convoluted year of dreams both new and old, and twelve more would likely follow without so much as a word of light to shine upon the murk of his clouded past. At first Dante had done what any other would have in his place, searching both high and low for but a whisper of their names. And as the years crept on his own inhibitions faded away, no longer was he above both murder and crime, and for a time the bodies lay strewn upon the circuitous path of his search. But all that was past, for as with all things the flowing sands of time made numb the wound once more.
His conscience returned and his bloodied hands no longer held a promise of family, instead only shame was clutched so tight within their crimson grasp. And so he sat alone, devoid of motivation and purpose both. A weary soul cast aside by the ever changing, never caring tides of fate. Then as the memories faded, and the stinging tears subsided, Dante closed his book once more. Turning now to the only other comfort afforded him in his chosen solitude, his music.
“Take this kiss upon the brow! And, in parting from you now,” he sang aloud; but to himself, as his hand fell softly across the strings of his guitar, “Thus much let me avow- You are not wrong, who deem That my days have been a dream; Yet if hope has flown away In a night, or in a day, In a vision, or in none, Is it therefore the less gone? All that we see or seem Is but a dream within a dream.” With each passing moment his words grew louder, their potent meaning only adding to the haunting melody that poured forth from the worn guitar. And so he sang, “I stand amid the roar Of a surf-tormented shore, And I hold within my hand Grains of the golden sand- How few! yet how they creep Through my fingers to the deep, While I weep- while I weep! O God! can I not grasp Them with a tighter clasp? O God! can I not save One from the pitiless wave? Is all that we see or seem But a dream within a dream?” (Poem is “But a Dream Within a Dream” by Poe)
He was so engrossed within his song that he never heard the soft fall of feet upon the ground beneath his quiet tree, nor the rustling sounds that would normally announce the approach of another being to his well-trained ears.
Her name was Miran, that young elf who followed the innocent musings of the notes upon the wind. She often sat beneath that imposing oak at the coming of the rain, simply listening to the haunting music that descended from its lofty branches. Many times she would even wake hours later to find the rain and the music long since stopped, while others still she would sit awake until the late hours of the night on the fading chance that the singer would descend from the heights. Today, like every rainy day, she had walked to the tree and leaned upon its wide base. Her gaze inched its way towards the top the watchful eyes ever eager to find the source of the music that called her so.
But not once in nigh on a year had she seen the man who sat and sang in the leaves above, and never once had she heard him even move as the last notes of each fading song echoed themselves into the oblivion carried within the fog of time. She had even inquired of the songs within the outer reaches of the city. Often hearing the tales of an elf that wandered the transient places between outer wall and inner forest… fanciful stories of ghosts and hidden demons, always with different name. And so she gave up on the gossip of the outer quarters, content to sit and listen… sit and watch.
And what of Dante? Well from his perch above he could have easily seen the girl resting below if not for the occupation of his mind with the dreams and nightmares of the past and future. His song had ended but his mind was far from at peace within itself, and his anxious thoughts seemed to spiral around the common theme of his life these past few years. He was a criminal; that much was true. Death and suffering, theft and smuggling had been the entirety of his trade for much longer then he would have preferred. Actually if the truth were told Dante hated himself more and more because of what he had become. This was not the path he had chosen -- it was the path chosen for him by the events that shrouded his past in a heavy darkness and an uncertain shadow.
This night he would stain that path yet a darker shade of black, for his thin wallet had grown empty like his aching stomach and the time would come when food would have to appear. So he resolved himself, long before he made his way into the tree, that with the next rain he would steal once more… not much, a coin purse and maybe some food or trinkets were all he needed before he found himself another big job, but he needed them far more now then had his last job suited him.
Dante was, in a word, strange. Even as a thief he could not bring himself to cross over to that morally grey area of the underworld, his targets, his jobs all focused upon stealing from the already crooked or killing off a killer. And yes, it was still stealing and it was still killing, Dante had no illusions about his actions being just or fair. But he still had his honor, however tattered and frayed it was, and so he could not bring himself to kill without some higher reason nor steal without at least the excuse of karma.
“The sun will set in…a few short hours.” He murmured as he lifted his hand to shade his eyes, “Then I will have to make my move.” It was decided, not that there was a choice from which two options could be found. His hand drifted to the innermost folds of his open cloak, and there they came to rest upon the cool wood that was the ornate hilt of his only weapon -- a thin dagger. But what a dagger it was, the blade so thin and fine that even now, decades after its creation, the edge remained as sharp as when it was new forged. The wooden handle, its elegant patterns not yet fading from the well used grip, remained as light and sturdy as when it had first been carved. Even the short inscription that adorned the narrow guard could be red as if it had just been written -- In the Darkness you will find the light, and In the Shadows of Despair there is always a Flicker of Hope.
Just then the soft rustle of the leaves caused by the gentle wind and the muted coo of the little birds vanished. Dante almost lurched on his little branch as his mind went into overdrive in a desperate attempt to fill the void that had always been the realm of noise within his mind. What had happened, he thought as he twisted about to keep his balance, where did the sound go. And with that thought racing through his mind again and again Dante jumped from branch to branch in a hurried decent to the ground below. Under different circumstances the first thing he would have noticed was the not so sleeping girl who had also been startled by the sudden lack of all things startling. But as it were his focus never even fell upon the little ring around the tree. His mind, in an attempt to make room for all these new thoughts of sounds and silences, had instantly assumed that that particular silence was more then enough of a reason for the place to be deserted -- how could it have been any other way?
Miran, on the other hand, was rather unaffected by the sudden lack of sounds in her general area. The music that had drawn her to the tree had long since trailed off and with it her focus had fallen to more pressing matters, such as a much needed nap within the forest. What had startled her into a state of complete alertness (in fact what even tipped her off to the utter lack of sound in the first place) was the movement above. She hardly moved at first, still unsure of the realness of what she was seeing. How long she had wished for just this very occurrence, the elusive singer that had held her as a captive audience for countless afternoons in the shade of that towering tree was on his way down. He really was on his way down!
Instantly she sprung to her feet, a soundless shout of joy echoed forth from her lips. Quickly her hand lifted to stifle the cry before it startled the man that now jumped from branch to branch. Wait… soundless, that gave her pause. Why was there no resounding shout of joy, in fact, why was there no soft rustling of leaves in the wind or muted call of the little birds that made each tree home? Why indeed was there no sound as the man above landed heavily upon each shaking branch? Then, just as suddenly as the little epiphany had come, her focus returned once more to the initial cause of her alarm. Yes, he was indeed still coming down, and now his features could just be made out against the shifting green backdrop of the leaves. He looks young, and old… she thought to herself all the while taking an involuntary step back towards the tree. Then came a soundless gasp as her glance centered upon the blindfold wrapped around his eyes, He’s blind?! Almost instantly, and most definitely without thinking, she leapt forward in an attempt to save him from the fall. The only thought running through her mind was of the blind man’s safety, or it was until, he landed softly upon the ground seemingly completely aware of his own surroundings.
“H-h-hello,” she murmured, still forgetting that the sound had, for some reason, been muted. But he turned, and the sticks and leaves between his feet rustled and crackled with the shifting weight. His stare, and it really did feel like he was starring at her (or at least through her), was cold but surprised all the same, and it made her own fall gaze down towards her feet again. “I-I’m Miran…” she murmured meekly, “I was listening to your song.” And with those few words Dante underwent a complete change. “Miran is it,” he mused, his hand drifting slowly from the folds of the cloak where his dagger lay concealed, “I used to know a Miran… a long time ago.” He had honestly known another elf by that same name… to be more specific he had married another elf with that same name, and then he had lost her. Bowing slowly Dante extended his hand to the young elf before him in the most polite manner he could muster (which if truth were told was far more awkward then anything you would see from even the most gauche of the denizens of the wealthier quarters). “I am Dante,” he continued as he began leading her back towards the city proper, “and it is a pleasure to make your acquaintance.”
For a while they walked on in what grew to be a very awkward silence. Miran unsure of whether or not this was really happening let alone what to say next, and Dante, never having really been too good at holding a conversation with others in a situation like this, was held within his startled silence. “Do you listen often…” he finally asked, falling into step beside her, “to the music I mean.” And Miran could hardly control her reddening face as her utter embarrassment rose at the question. “Often enough,” she stammered, lifting her hand to cover her glowing cheeks from view. “You sing very well,” she murmured a few eternities later. “Th-thank you…” he replied as he became enthralled in a particular set of trees to the side of the winding path.
They continued on as such all the way up to the wide and gaping gates of the city. One breaking the silence to ask of the other something that seemed to always bring another bout of awkward embarrassment. And then it would repeat in the opposite order after a few rather extended moments had passed between. At the gate they parted ways, each all too eager to be away from the unnatural silence and yet each equally sorry to break company with the other. “I guess I will see you in the forest again…” Dante muttered as his hand affixed itself to the back of his head and his eyes lifted towards the still setting sun. “I guess,” came her reply, both hands entwined within each other about her waist and her own gaze falling towards the soft ground and green moss at their feet.
It was from there, the entrance between the fifth and sixth quarters of that grandiose city, that Dante parted ways with Miran and began his work for a much less pleasant pursuit of time. Under the growing veil of shadows that filled the night he slipped, soundlessly through the city streets. Here and there his passage would be marked by the swift glint of metal and the more permanent lightening of another’s belt.
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Chapter 2: The Little House and the Big City (not finished)
The city had descended into utter chaos, though both Dante and Miran hardly noticed it for they were far to occupied with thoughts of their chance encounter. The streets were filled with the sounds of anger and confusion as the residents of Bel-Thuran searched for answers to the two most obvious question of the day. Shouts of; “What had happened to the sound?” and “Would it happen again?” could be heard in all corners of the vast city, but no answer could be found. Even the Enforcers and the scholars were at a loss about the events of the day, and in many places their voices joined the chorus of confusion that spread throughout. But there was one who knew of the recent events and, from the shadows at the very back of the most central square of the city, he stood watching for the signal that would tell him to act. It wasn’t a complicated signal, and maybe that was for the best. In fact it was quite a simple one, consisting only of a large bird flying overhead… and even that was complicated enough for him. “Isn’t the better question why?” came his echoing voice from the rear, just around those irritating shadows that refuse to go away no matter how hard the sun tries to out shine them. The din of confusion faded for a moment as each of the concerned citizens, and many of the far more concerned enforcers, looked desperately to either side in search of the source of this far too uncommon sense, but the man in the shadows was already long gone.
It had indeed been Lucas’s voice that had, only moments before, pierced through the turmoil that the simple silence had brought. Lucas, however, had a simple list to follow. And while he moved from alley to alley he took the liberty of unfolding the little square of paper to read it over one more time. It was an easy lists of but two things, the first a question he was to propose (this of course he had just done), and the second, even simpler than the first, to disappear without drawing attention to himself. But Lucas was not someone who ever had the problem of knowing too much, actually knowing much of anything beyond the things he had upon his daily checklists was quite the accomplishment for the man. So he stood there, close enough to just make out the new shouts of “Why?” that echoed forth from behind, and stared blankly at the list. To a passer by, had there been any to pass by, he would have been quite the sight… such a big man standing their looking at a list and counting things off on his fingers. Lucas was not the sharpest weapon in the armory, he was much closer to club then anything else to be honest. But that wasn’t such a problem for his line of work, he was a hired muscle and that meant thinking was not supposed to be his strong suit by any means, actually, it was often preferred that such men rarely thought at all (and in that there was no one better for the job).
Finally, after what was probably several minutes of standing and counting, a massive smile spread across Lucas’s dull features. “I dun good…” he murmured to himself as he started off once more. Moving swiftly, or as swiftly as a six foot eight guerilla of a man could without drawing too much attention to himself, Lucas carried himself well away from the crowded square. His job was over and the chaos of the town made it simple for one of his unique skill to slip down the back streets without ever leaving the shadows that hid him from any lingering eyes. Miss Night will be so pleased with me, he thought happily to himself, she’ll give me something shiny, I hope. And with such blissful thoughts occupying the spacious caverns of his mind he brought his hulking girth to an abrupt halt just outside a house both far to small and far to old to belong in such a central place of such a large city.
Lucas was indeed a simple being, a hired muscle all of his life. Few things ever arose that he could not solve with a few heavy hits to the head. Moreover, when they eventually did he would usually hit them anyway, until, of course, Zen arrived to make them go away. Zen, the one man Lucas could turn to for the complicated things such as figuring out which of the cowering men he was to eliminate, was almost the complete opposite of the hulking muscle. His lean frame and sinewy build often left him underestimated and overlooked by the major bosses of the underworld, though that may well have been his goal all along. But what the sly assassin lacked in brute strength he more then made up for with his deadly wit and even more deadly blades, a master of espionage Zen had earned himself the distinct mark of anonymity, having never once been a suspect in any of his numerous crimes. He was the perfect balance of mind and tact for Lucas’s brutish muscle.
The little house on the other hand did not seem to have any balance at all; its tattered and sagging ceiling was not made up for by the creeping vines and countless spider cracks that decorated its crumbling walls, and the fading finish that may have once covered the rotting woodwork of the place had not bee replaced as nicely with the new layer of fussy green carpeting that seemed to grow in patches from the damper sections. No, the little house was just as it appeared… and though it was surrounded by many of the tallest, and grandest of the cities buildings nothing could balance out the undeniable fact that it did not belong. For it had never belonged, not in a city at least (though it had been their before both city and vine laid waste to its charm).
Still grinning like that young boy who brings his first dead frog to the waiting lap of his distracted mother, Lucas sauntered into little house. Inside was pretty much exactly as the outside suggested, old and falling apart. The sparse furniture and tattered carpets where the type that one could only expect to see in such an unusual house; the previous owner had been, what one might call a hopeless antiques dealer and with his unusual departure the house had been left with the countless knick knacks that were never sold. Upon one of the more tacky of the many rejected couches that lined this particular room lounged a decidedly beautiful women.
Ceras Night, the haunting beauty of the Night family. She was one of the most sought after women in the city, at least by respects to the bachelor population that gravitated towards her cold figure whenever she moved about in public. But behind that hypnotizing face was a soul so black not even the crime lords dared cross the path of her influential organization, at least not openly. Miss Night was the real power of the underground world of thieves and killers within the confines of Bel-Thuran, and she was not the type to settle for anything less then complete control.
Slowly she glanced over her shoulder at the towering figure of Lucas, the steaming cup of tea carefully returned to the top of a little table pulled up beside the couch. “Well…” she hissed, her voice coming as a soft, but icy breeze, “what news from the pen of fools?” Her soft gaze grew rigid as she stared at the muscle man, she was definitely not the type who handled those little ‘oops’ moments all that well. “I dun good Miss Night, I dun real good,” Lucas replied, almost bouncing from childlike glee at his recent success, “I finished my list just like you told me to, finished it real good.” The mood could almost be felt to lighten as the human mountain relayed this newest development, things were moving smoothly… and if there was one thing Miss Night did enjoy, it was a plan moving smoothly along its pre-designed course. “Then all that is left is your part, Zen” she continued moving the focus of her icy stare to the couch at the far end of the room.
“Don’t worry Miss Night,” came his silky reply, “everything has been arranged that needs arranging. It is only a matter of time.” And as he spoke a soft grin spread across his clean shaven face and a low sigh escaped his mouth. Slowly he sank back into the deep cushions of the ancient sofa, his crystal wine glass held loosely in his right hand. Zen was the paragon of relaxed efficiency: silk where Lucas was the chain mail. “The enforcers should arrive shortly,” he continued as he brushed a few specs of dirt from the worn black cloak that hung so loosely over his lithe features, “They will no doubt do anything for one of your standing and beauty.” As his soft voice trailed off he took a moment to sip but a bit more of the fine crimson liquid that filled the crystal glass, as he moved his many rings glistened in the warm glow of the lamps as they moved past.
It was not for nothing that Zen had obtained his position as the courtly right hand of the mistress. His rough wardrobe of the well used travelers cloak and the fine silk shirt with the slightly tatter collar blended so completely with the stately appearance of his pale skin and sinewy build. His honeyed words and flawless forgeries had gained him quite the reputation throughout the city as the most influential of the minor players upon the power stage. Paired with the muscular Lucas early on in his career, the two soon took a liking to each other’s company and within the first month their inseparable team had been formed. Zen as the calculated figure head, Lucas the towering wall that cast a long shadow of doubt unease upon all who found themselves in the darkness of his endless shadow. Even with such a promising path in life, it was only under the stark efficiency of Ceras Night that the two conmen realized their full potential.
“Very well,” She purred, as she slid her hand along the delicate folds of her blood red gown, “let us prepare a regal welcome for our guests.” A warm remark turned icy cold by the evil little grin that spread across her dainty red lips. Her thin fingers entwined themselves about the steaming mug of tea once more as her gaze fell back to the dark liquid that swirled within. Everything was going as she had planned so long ago… and now she would finally be able to see the fruits of so many years spent watching and waiting for just such a time. Gently she lifted the little mug to her lips as her dark amber eyes disappeared behind the soft lids and long lashes, and then with a short flick of her wrist she was left alone to her thoughts.
Zen and Lucas both knew better then to remain with the mistress in such a mood. And so even before the indifferent wave of her pale hand both men had already begun to rise and make their way to one of the adjacent rooms to prepare for the awaited arrival. “Miss Night…is pleased?” Lucas mumbled as he picked up two of the needless chairs that cluttered the room. “Pleased, yes… I think she is.” Replied Zen as he dropped lazily in to one of the more tasteful recliners in the center of the room.
Outside things may have been chaos in the hours right after the sudden return of the sound unto the sprawling city, but now they had progressed to a level completely devoid of order. The chant of what had grown into one of why. The looks of desperate need that had once been directed at the Enforcers and Scholars had turned into looks of anger and misguided hate as the blame shifted from some unknown source to the weak link that had appeared so obviously before the simple questions of the general population. Before long the entire chain of command that had held the crowded city in order since its creation so many years ago would crumble away more completely then anything this city had ever seen.
It wasn’t long before the crime lords and petty crooks descended upon the chaotic herd of confused and bewildered people like vultures upon the a carcass. With each simple theft the panic of the people grew and the anger at the seemingly powerless enforcers. And in the center of it all a young recruit ran from post to post carrying reports from each helpless position to the next.
Out of breath and exhausted as he was the young Sypher was determined to press on. It had been his dream to serve as an officer among the ranks of the Enforcers of Bel-Thuran… and now, even as a mere messenger boy, barely pulled from the sluggish ranks of the other recruits, he could feel himself growing closer to that dream. “Today… today I will prove myself…” he panted as he sprinted through one of the less crowded streets, “today I will doing something worth being remembered for.” It was a childish dream and a distant hope that kept him running to-and-fro with messages that contained far less information then the whispers of the town gossip. Though as fate would have it, as it always seems to have, that little dream was about to become a little less childish and a lot less distant.
I have more written but most is from picking and choosing which chapters I felt like writing at the time, and a good bit more is plot details and goals for the remaining two books in the series along with character outlines and histories. To make a long story short I will post more here as I write what wold come next... while you wait feel free to comment one what is up thus far... or offer ideas for characters that may come in later (as I am still in need of a few good side characters to help push the story along from main plot point to main plot point)