Of Friends and Fiction

Immortals Chapter 2

Chapter 2

“Well well, I never thought I’d see the day when Ember Iranie went about in clothes like that!”

“Shut up, Navan,” Growled Ember, adjusting the neckline of her black dress. It was cut lower than she was comfortable with and she felt the need to constantly hitch it up after Navan’s comment.

The young man smirked and began cleaning his nails with his switchblade, pulled from up his sleeve.

“It was a compliment,” he paused and looked towards his dyad Max, a pale, very shy teenager with an awful stutter and a huge crush on Dawn. Ember’s dyad had come up to talk with him and Max looked close to fainting. Navan sneered,

“You’d think he’d never spoken to a girl before! Oh wait- ouch!”

He rubbed his arm where Ember had just punched him. “You’re no fun in the mornings...do you only wake up fully at night? Ugh…” He pulled out a small hip flask and offered it to Ember. “Here, maybe this’ll turn you into the energetic Noxx you become in the evenings. Honestly, you don’t even have your knife on you! This is a sad day indeed.”

Navan gave it a tempting shake and the irritable brunette snatched it from his hand, sniffing it with a dubious expression on her face.

“Vodka. And is that a hint of lime in there? Really now, Navan, you should be able to do better than that,” Ember corked the bottle and tossed it back. “Besides, you know I don’t drink. I’m surprised to find that you do.”

Navan chuckled and pocketed the bottle, “I don’t. I just stole this off one of the Whitebrand members over there,” he jerked a thumb towards a crowd of teenagers and young adults dressed in black with a white symbol emblazoned on their sleeves. “I’m waiting to see how long it’ll take him to realize it’s gone.”

Ember rolled her eyes and turned to watch as the crowd of Dyads grew thicker around them. Luca dressed in silky, gleaming white suits and gossamer gowns chatted and giggled, always polite and sweet. A little distance away, Noxx milled in a chaotic swarm, laughing, jeering, and flirting. Their black silk and leather gave them the appearance of a multitude of ants, a stark contrast from their counterparts. While each group were very uniform in their distinct styles of dress, the Noxx showed their individuality through a variety of different symbols, anything from tattoos to wild hair styles. Most Noxx under the age of thirty-five belonged to one of the fifty or so gangs that roamed the city. At night, these gangs would search for fights or other such diversions to capture their interest. Of course, not all Noxx belonged to these gangs. Some chose to remain alone or in select, very small groups. They were the freelancers, the people who enjoyed causing trouble and stirring up fights between the gangs for their own amusements. Some of the best were often paid to do so by gang leaders who wanted to start a fight or get revenge for slights against their persons, whether real or imagined.

“So,” Ember said in a low voice, “Did you get any assignments for us tonight?”

Navan grinned, “Did I ever! And it’s the best kind of fun too. We slip in, wreck some havoc, and slip out in time to watch the fireworks. Literally.”

Shaking her head, Ember laughed quietly but it died in her throat as she caught sight of a group of Noxx in black cloaks with heavy grey plating on the shoulders designed to look like a jumble of bones came into view.

“The Bonemantles...you heard what happened to their leader, right?”

“No, what happened?”

“Well that’s the question isn’t it?” Ember murmured, “No one knows for certain, but word on the street is that he vanished almost a week ago. His clan only just confirmed the rumor since they appointed a new leader.”

Navan’s face grew grim, “Another Noxx gone...Izo’s the fifth in two weeks now! I don’t like this at all, that’s far too many for this to just be a coincidence. Who’s the new leader?”

“Rai Sharde. I don’t know much about her, but she’s got to be strong if she became leader instead of one of the male members-”

“Or she has a particularly strong hatred for Dross and freelancers like us,” growled Navan. “It can’t be sitting well with them that their own leader ended up making his Dyad a Dross.”

At the mention of the Dross, Noxx and Luca who had lost their Dyads, Ember suppressed a shudder. It was well know that people who “went Dross” soon followed their Dyads in death. In most cases, it was blamed on illness or an accident. However, mutterings among the Noxx had hinted at a more sinister cause. Murder.

“No. I can’t imagine it is.”

A long, low note echoed around the circular city center and traveled through the streets, the noise magnified by the strategic engineering of the those who had built the city. As one, the Noxx and Luca turned to face the stage set up at the far end of the circle. A tall, muscular man with swarthy skin that made his blonde hair appear almost white in contrast, stepped up to the podium and cleared his throat for attention. He needn’t have bothered, everyone was already waiting to see what he said, Luca with respect, Noxx just with the hope that it would soon be over.

“Welcome to the Tri-millennial Celebration of the Medic,” said the man. Though he spoke softly, his voice was heard by all in the crowd. “I am Hiram Quan, representative of our Medic. I pass to all of you his regrets that he cannot join you personally on this historic day, but he begged me to remind you all that his mind and spirit are with you constantly.”

An outbreak of muttering rose from some of the Noxx.

Navan was one of them as he leaned close to Ember and hissed, “Is that supposed to be comforting? Tch! I don’t see why we should bow down and worship a creep like him! He gets rid of the Dross and I wouldn’t be surprised if he’s behind the Noxx disappearances too-”

Ember clamped a hand over his mouth, “Listen I hate him just as much as you do, but saying that stuff out here...well there are too many ears. Save it for later.”

Quan was continuing his speech, ignoring the disturbance, “I am certain that we are all able to rest at ease with that thought in our minds. And now I ask you to look around you at this beautiful city. Remember the delicious meals you consumed this morning; admire the elegant clothing you wear. Breath in the clean, pure air and revel in the peace you have known all your life. All of this is possible because of our great Medic.”

The representative's voice was smooth and soothing. His face expressed sincerity and a reverence that drew the crowd in and made them trust him. Even the Noxx were having trouble resisting his charms.

“He emerged from the chaos of war and brought us into the light. He fed the starving, cured the ill and injured, raised thriving cities from the ashes of their predecessors, and established order across the world. He asked for nothing in return for his services-”

“Except complete control…” muttered Navan. Around him, several Noxx caught what he had said and nodded, scowling at the speaker at the podium. A voice called out a vile string of curses and others encouraged the action with low whistles. The Luca looked scandalized and Ember jabbed Navan hard in the ribs.

“Do you want a fight to break out? Shut up!”

“The Harmony System,” continued Quan, “remains the Medic’s greatest triumph. Because of this system, unity is assured. The pure restrain the tainted. Evil shall never again hold sway in our world!”

Quan raised a triumphant fist in the air and smatterings of applause broke out around the crowd. A spirited, beautiful melody began to play and all voices, young and old, began to recite the adage they had been taught since birth. The motto of the Harmony system. Most of the Luca and even a few of the Noxx adopted prayerful tones and positions.

“Luca and Noxx, peace and war. Both together make order assured. Obey your leaders; keep your spirits tame. One is two and two are the same.”

Hundreds of calm, sweet voices chanted alone, “Luca always do what’s right; we don’t resist and never fight. We greet the world with a smile and laugh; upholding balance as the world’s better half.”

The Noxx broke in, droning their part in flat, emotionless tones. Ember stood stiff, as if at attention. Her green eyes blazed with barely restrained anger and hatred for the words she spoke: “Noxx are wild, violent, insane; scorning all that seems mundane. At the Luca’s feet we must continue to fall, lest we bring to pass the end of all.”

“Preserve the order, keep the peace; know the Medic never sleeps. Good or evil, light or dark; stay in line, play your part.”

As the entire crowd fell silent once more and the music of the anthem slowly faded into whispering echoes, Hiram Quan raised both hands as if in benediction. A huge black flag bearing the symbol of the Medic rose behind him, billowing in a slight breeze.

“Three thousand years. That’s how long the Medic has served us. He understood the cost of peace better than any of us and made the greatest sacrifice. He accepted leadership and entered a comatose state in order that he would continue to live on, his body and mind preserved long past their time while still allowing access to his mind through neural scans. A slave to immortality, a servant to the world. The city of Khinas stands as an example to the world and to those who might resent the Medic: without him we fall; with him, we will rise. Humanity shall remain unbroken!”

The world exploded in a shower of razor sharp shards of glass as the windows of the surrounding buildings blew outward. The glass fell shattering again as it hit the pavement, microscopic shards cut Luca and Noxx alike. The beautiful tinkling noise was the only sound for a long moment as people stared in shock at the blood oozing from the various cuts on their bodies. Eyes turned to Hiram Quan for guidance but he looked as stunned as they did. A rapid rat-tat-tat sounded from the buildings at the back of the crowd, there was a spurt of crimson, and the representative of the Medic fell backwards onto the platform, dead.

Then someone screamed. Others soon joined in, running in panic as the loud staccato noise sounded again, now on all sides. Gunfire.

Ember was wide eyed in shock, unable to force herself to move. Navan started away towards where he had last seen his dyad but stopped and turned to face his friend,

“Come on! We’re easy kills out here, let’s find Dawn and Max and run for it!”

His words didn’t register and he grabbed her by the shoulders and shook her hard.

“Get moving! Do you want to die?!”

Ember’s eyes cleared and she looked up at her friend then around at the screaming people. Where was Dawn? Neither of them could afford to go Dross…

“Let’s go!” Shouted Navan, and he started shoving his way into the crowd. Heart pounding, Ember followed close behind him.

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Immortals Chapter 1

Chapter 1

Soft music filled the spacious room mingling with sweet birdsong. Dawn, a sixteen year old girl sat Indian style on one of the many large cushions scattered on the smooth black wood floor. She smiled as she gazed at the wall sized scene showing her a beautiful range of mountains and trees. The soothing fragrance of herbal tea filled the room. The faint light of morning from the image was the only illumination in the room. Dawn took a sip of her tea, enjoying the stillness of daybreak.

Then, without warning, the tranquility was shattered. Lights flicked on, glaring harshly and rock music blared from a room down the hall, the bass sending vibrations through the apartment. A door slammed and the volume dropped slightly. Dawn sighed and stood up as another girl entered the room, bedraggled and frizzy brown hair hanging down into her face.

“Good morning, Ember,” Dawn’s soft voice was barely audible over the music and she received only a grunt by way of response.

Ember slumped into a chair at a table in the open dining area and buried her face in her folded arms. Dawn crossed to a sleek coffee machine on the counter nearby and began preparing a mug of it as she tried again.

“Did you enjoy yourself last night? I heard from Chris downstairs that his dyad, Jose got into a fight down near one of the Nott recreation centers.” Her dubious tone said exactly what she thought about the “recreation centers.” “Apparently he came home with a severely fractured wrist.”

A trace of a smile appeared on Ember’s face and her blonde friend sighed.

“Please tell me that wasn’t you’re doing.”

The brunette looked up, grinning openly.

“He hit first,” she gestured to the bruise along the underside of her jaw.

“But still,” Dawn murmured, “I feel that I’m partially responsible since I did not instruct you not to fight… Perhaps I should bring him some of my baking later today.”

Ember snorted rudely, “He’d just slam the door in your face and cuss you out. Besides, Nott are supposed to act like this. Remember, we’re all insane!”

She pulled a wild, crazed expression before laughing at Dawn’s surprise.

“Gotcha.”

Dawn looked prim and sighed, “I sometimes wonder how anyone ever expected me to balance you out...You’re just so impulsive!”

Shaking back her tangled hair, Ember stood and walked to the couch, vaulting over the back and crashing on it with the remote. “What’s life without a little adventure? Besides, being impulsive is good, I like being surprised.”

“That’s what worries me…”

Ember chuckled and flicked a switch on the remote, switching the wall-sized image of the mountain to a live broadcast.

“It has been two thousand years since Earth was struck by meteorites, activating the buried warheads that ripped our world apart,” A deep, mournful voice spoke as images flashed by on the screen. Lush fields gave way to barren, scorched wasteland, great cities labeled with strange, foreign words: London, New York, Tokyo; the list seemed endless and each was in a state of horrible decay. Buildings collapsed in on themselves, water flooding the streets, rusted iron support beams clawing the cloud choked sky like emaciated hands.

Ember rolled her eyes and raised the remote to switch the channel, but Dawn quickly cried: “Wait, today is the Celebration of the Medic! We must watch this.”

Groaning, Ember set the remote aside.

“But why? They show this all the time in our history classes, even if you weren’t paying attention you’d know it!

“But everyone will be watching it,” Dawn said. “If the Medic decided to show this today then he must have a reason.”

She walked over and waited for her brunette friend to move before sitting down comfortably against the cushions.

“...believed this was the coming apocalypse, for approximately one third of human-kind was annihilated in the ensuing chaos and famine and then others fell to a parasite spawned from the nuclear waste from the warheads. None seemed safe from this wave of death that threatened to extinguish all human life.”

Images of sick people, covered in blood and diseased, decaying skin, their eyes sunken and blank. Dawn gave a little cry and hid her face, covering her mouth as if she would be sick and even Ember looked a little grey at the sight but looked resolutely ahead of her, facing the screen unflinchingly.

“But when all seemed lost, a hero stepped from the shadows and established order in the midst of chaos.”

A symbol blazed to life on the screen, vivid against a black background. A silver syringe imposed over the blood red image of a rifle, a symbol of the Medic’s triumph over the chaos of war and death.

“He gave no name, but set about his task of healing the sick and tending to those suffering from starvation by creating new systems for food distribution. To the world, he became known simply as “The Medic.”

Dawn clasped her hands rapturously over her heart and sighed admiringly. Ember rolled her eyes, “The man has enough admirers, he doesn’t need another…”

“Eager to put his brilliant mind to even greater use, the remaining political leaders of the world were determined to bring The Medic back to their home countries to restore their lands. Mild debate turned into heated arguments and soon the countries teetered on the brink of war so soon after they had escaped the terror of near annihilation.”

Video clips of a badly mildewed and crumbling courthouse filled with men and women clearly agitated, some gripped knives at their waists others talked animatedly, waving their hands and gesturing wildly to a man in a white coat, his face in shadow. Ember leaned over to Dawn and muttered,

“Twenty bucks says you have that picture as the screensaver on your phone…”

“Shh!”

The voice sounded again, this time a little more hopeful and admiring.

“In order to stop the impending disaster, the Medic proposed a new system of organization. To prevent people from suffering at the hands of evil workers, our savior created the Harmony System. Everyone was to be paired with a their opposite personality in order to create a perfectly balanced society. Two categories, light and dark; Luca and Noxx. The system worked and has been a success for over two thousand years.”

The images of hardened, diseased people faded to show matched men and women talking pleasantly as children played happily below the proudly waving flag bearing the symbol of the Medic. Ruins faded and were replaced with tall, shining buildings surrounded by perfect green fields and beautiful parks. Lower buildings soon were replaced by taller ones, each ring of buildings increasing in height, all climbing to the pinnacle, and awe inspiring tower of gleaming silver emblazoned with the Medic’s symbol on all four sides.

The image was a familiar one. It was the city Ember and Dawn lived in, Khinas, City of the Medic. The capital of the remainder of human civilization.

“Today the world celebrates this hero who has guided us for so many years. May he continue to rule us for many years to come.” Intoned the voice before the screen went blank.

Ember tossed the remote aside and stood up, stretching.

“Boring! Honestly I wouldn’t mind some variety at the very least, not the same thing day after day…”

“You should show more respect,” murmured Dawn as she also stood. “Come, we need to prepare for the ceremony at the city center. Get yourself cleaned up properly, I’ll do your hair once you shower.”

Ember scowled and looked as if she would very much like to refuse, but finally turned away.

“Whatever you say…”

An hour later, an irritable Ember sat on a stool by Dawn’s bed as her dyad sat behind her and brushed out her long hair. Now that it was properly taken care of, her brown hair shone with a red gleam like polished mahogany. With skilled fingers, Dawn braided Ember’s hair slowly.

“Why do you hate the Medic so much?”

Ember gave a derisive laugh,

“Let me think about that...he gives Noxx a curfew every night-”

“Which you always break…”

“He makes it so we’re set apart so we don’t taint your precious Luca innocence-”

“For good reason, the old shows that you watch-”

Ember bit back the correction that rose up inside her, getting to her feet and pulling her braid out of the blonde’s hands, undoing her work.

“Honestly Dawn, I’m sick of being looked down on by all the higher ups. If Noxx are supposed to balance out Luca and vice versa, I don’t see why we aren’t seen as equals!”

But inside, she knew why. Dawn did too as she didn’t meet her eyes. Noxx weren’t meant to balance Luca. Luca were meant to make sure that Noxx didn’t destroy the fragile peace that had been created.

Ember made a disgusted noise in the back of her throat and forced herself to relax, at least outwardly. She shook her head irritably,

“Nevermind. Forget I said anything. You know it’s just the…” She trailed off with a despairing gesture towards her head.

Dawn’s eyes flickered with sympathy as she gently pulled Ember back to the stool and sat her down to restart her braiding.

“I know Ember. It may not be your fault that you were born a Noxx, but you shouldn’t challenge our city leaders. You know that as well as I do. The Medic-”

“Don’t speak of him!” Seethed Ember. “Just because you’re madly in love with that- that tyrant, doesn’t mean I also think he’s perfect! Curse him and his blasted Harmony System!”

Her voice shocked, Dawn cried:

“Don’t you dare speak like that! If you were overheard-” She broke off with a shiver and recited with the reverent tone of a person praying, “Preserve the order, keep the peace; know your Medic never sleeps. Good or evil, light or dark-”

“Stay in line; play your part,” Finished Ember resignedly.

Smiling kindly, Dawn twisted her friend’s hair up into an elegant knot at the back of her head and held it in place with a single pin. Then her eyes lit up with an idea and she reached into the drawer of her nightstand. From a bag of crushed red velvet, Dawn withdrew a comb carved from white ivory and tucked it into the braid. The white was a stark contrast to Ember’s otherwise dark attire.

“There. Now you’re ready to be seen in public.”

Ember looked at her reflection and shrugged. The black silk dress was belted around her waist and fell to her knees. Black leggings clad her legs and black combat boots were laced on her feet. The ivory comb was the sole light colored item on her person. But even so...

“Not terrible I suppose.”

Dawn beamed, knowing that this was Ember’s way of saying how much she really did like how she looked. Always the tough one.

“Let’s go.”

As Dawn got into the glass elevator that would bring them both to street level, Ember paused to give herself one last look in the mirror and smile. Then she dashed to the elevator, leaping inside just a second before the doors shut on their apartment.

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Hero Essay

Dear friends,

We recently had a competition at my new school where everyone had to write an essay on a hero born before the 1500s. I did mine on Athanasius and, since most of the people at my school hadn't heard of him, I was curious to see if it stands up to VP scrutiny. :D Please post any and all comments below!

Athanasius - The Man who Dared to Stand against the World

“JESUS IS NOT GOD.” Arius’s voice rang through the council, daring the silent room to answer. His words hung in the air, bold and unchallenged. In the silence, the joyful chants of the crowds waiting outside echoed the inevitable truth: Arius had won, once and for all. Bishops slowly began to whisper, their eyes fixed on their new leader. Then, a voice rose above the others, and the whisperers turned their heads to gawk at the man who dared to challenge the people’s song, to ignore the bishop’s threats, to speak the heretical words that had cowered behind every man’s smile. “In John 10:30, the Master told us ‘I and the Father are One.’ And though the world stand against me, I will follow Christ.” So began the lifelong struggle of Athanasius “contra mundum” - the man who dared to stand against the world. Two thousand years later, his legacy of perseverance, courageous leadership, and tireless dedication remains an inspiration to Christians all over the world, challenging them to surrender everything to Christ and stand up for what they believe.

What makes Athanasius a hero? Remarkable in many ways, Athanasius’s radical life was characterized by a determination that persevered through months of scorn, exile, and persecution. From the time he was appointed bishop on June 8, 328 and criticized for being too young, Athanasius faced constant attacks from fellow Christians, church leaders, and even the Emperor of Rome. One of his most significant enemies was Arius, a heretic who claimed that Jesus was not fully God. Though Athanasius defeated Arius and his followers at the Council of Nicea, the Roman Emperor Constantine eventually forced Athanasius to allow Arius back into the church - and Athanasius refused. Many have criticized Athanasius for argumentativeness, but his actions are no more severe than 2 John 1:10-11, which says: “If anyone comes to you and does not bring this teaching [that Christ and the Father are One], do not receive him into your house or give him any greeting, for whoever greets him takes part in his wicked works.” Going against popular opinion was no easier in Athanasius’s day than it is today. Athanasius’s boldness earned him seventeen long years of exile, and he was continually attacked and persecuted - both publicly and in secret - by those who opposed him. In a similar way, America is now threatened by equally dangerous heresies - such as the “tolerance” of evils like abortion, homosexuality, and other gods - that threaten to destroy the church and undermine the Bible’s authority. Therefore, though he lived several thousand years ago, Athanasius’s heroic perseverance remains a beautiful testimony and a bracing reminder of the message that all Christians need to hear - follow the authority of God’s word, and never give up.

Athanasius’s life was also characterized by a second quality that makes him a hero - his courageous leadership. Athanasius not only defied the false teachers of his day, but he also led the rest of the church to follow him as he followed Christ. From a young age, Athanasius showed his desire to care for the flock of Christ when he became one of the youngest bishops in church history. Despite his many long years of exile, Athanasius spent his forty-five years as bishop of Alexandria dedicated to serving his people, not only through sermons, but also through brilliant treatises and biographies written to strengthen their faith. In addition to his two famous treatises Against the Gentiles and On the Incarnation, Athanasius also wrote a biography of the early monk St. Anthony that inspired church fathers for years to come, including both St. Benedict the Great and St. Augustine. Described by Augustine as the book that was instrumental in leading him to faith, Athanasius’s biography laid the foundation that inspired generations of future believers to follow harder after Christ. However, some Christians have questioned the positive impact of this influential book, arguing that it did more good than ill and hatched the worldview of Asceticism. Although the book does tell the story of a hermit, the criticisms are ill-founded because its purpose is not to force everyone to live in a hermitage, but rather to foster a greater spirit of dedication and abandonment to Christ. Church history shows that those influenced the most by this book (including St. Benedict, author of the Monastic Rule, St. Augustine, and Athanasius himself) did not become hermits, but instead development strong, close knit communities of believers that witnessed to those around them or led the church as authors and bishops. As a matter of fact, St. Anthony himself eventually chose to leave his hermitage to serve those around him - setting an example not of forced abstinence from God-given joys, but of joyful sacrifice and a willingness to “count all as loss for the sake of Christ.” (Philippians 3:8) To summarize, Athanasius’s leadership at Nicea, among his people at Alexandria, and through his world-changing writings challenges the comfort-loving mindset infecting the American church, and provides a convicting example of the courage and sacrifice God calls for in all true Christians.
Finally, Athanasius is an inspiring hero because of his selfless, diligent efforts to use his talents to serve God. Athanasius is one of the best examples of an author gifted with incredible intelligence and grace who chose not to write what was popular or profitable, but instead what would serve the church. Athanasius’s books were written to praise and inspire God, and their boldness came from a strength and confidence only God can provide. Though many called him a “dwarf” and said he was too young to be a bishop, Athanasius let no one despise him for his youth but put other believers to shame by his radical devotion to God. In particular, Athanasius’s book On the Incarnation is a gem of biblical truth - as C.S. Lewis puts it in his introduction, “When I first opened his De Incarnatione I soon discovered that I was reading a masterpiece… for only a master mind could have written so deeply on such a subject with such classical simplicity.” Tirelessly working to advance the gospel, Athanasius is a heroic example of a talented man who gave all of his gifts to God.

From the books of the Bible to the Nicene Creed, Athanasius’s legacy of perseverance, courageous leadership, and tireless dedication is deeply etched into the pages of church history. Though he lived thousands of years ago, he remains a hero whose love for Christ inspires Christians all over the world to live radical lives and never be ashamed of the gospel.

Thanks for reading! :)

~Joy

(P.S. Shoutout to everyone from Omni II A last year! :D)

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Prisoner of Fear, Part 2

When he arrived at the throne room, he discovered to his dismay that all the other guards had finished reporting several minutes ago. Nordulon, angry that Craothor was late, demanded to know what he had been doing. Unsure how to answer, Craothor stammered, “I-I was just h-h-helping one of the p-p-prisoners, O Mighty One.”

“Helping one of the prisoners?” Nordulon roared. “I thought your job was to keep them in line and report back to me, not help them!”

His mind swimming with fear and anxiety, Craothor desperately tried to think of a way to answer Nordulon. Finally, he managed to say, “I was helping one of the prisoners know how terrible you are, sir. One of them was being quite disrespectful.”

Not fully convinced, Nordulon fixed his gaze on Craothor, and his red eyes seem to burn through Craothor as he said, “Next time, put your allegiance to your King before helping filthy prisoners. If this happens again, you will be sorry!”

“Yes, sir. It won’t happen again, sir.” With that, Craothor ran off, his heart pounding as he anxiously raced to clean the kitchen, which was his next assignment.

Craothor’s hands were still trembling as he wiped the counters and swept the floor, and he couldn’t rid his mind of anxious thoughts of Nordulon. Then, all of a sudden, Craothor had a sudden horrible realization. He suddenly realized that he had no idea which cell had belonged to Azarion and contained the secret trap door! “There is no way I could find the right cell without being discovered by Nordulon!” Craothor realized with despair. His eyes darkened as he let out a sigh of frustration. “I knew I could never escape.”

That night, as Craothor lay in bed and tried to fall asleep, his fears and doubts continued to grow. “What am I going to do?” he wondered. “How can I tell Arelle? And what if Nordulon finds out?” As he tossed and turned, his fears slowly gnawed away at his courage. “There’s no way I could escape,” he told himself. “There never was any way.” He paused, a familiar despair beginning to fill him. In the dark of night, Craothor said to himself, “The only thing I can do now is tell everything to Nordulon.”

The next morning, as Craothor awoke, he was full of anxiety as he thought about the day’s events. As he headed toward the South Hall to begin his first chore, he began to question his decision. “How can I betray Arelle?” he asked himself. But then, an image of Nordulon’s scowling face crept into his mind. “There’s nothing else I can do,” he decided. When he had finished scrubbing the floor, Craothor crept toward the kitchen and quickly salvaged a few pieces of food, hoping that Arelle would still think they were planning to escape. At the change of the watch, he started toward the dungeon, handed Arelle the food, and then told her to wait for him while he got one more thing. Then, as Arelle waited, he cautiously entered the throne room. “Nordulon will be so pleased with me,” Craothor thought to himself.

The moment Nordulon saw Craothor, his ugly face contorted into a scowl. “Well, if it isn’t Craothor, the prisoner’s best friend!” he mocked. “What are you doing here?”

“I have an important message for you,” Craothor said somberly.

“Well, what is it?”

“The Mermaelin princess, your newest prisoner, has tried to escape.”

“WHAT?” Nordulon roared. “How did this happen?”

“She was seen stealing food from the kitchen, and then tried to drug one of the guards and break open her cell door,” Craothor lied. “Thankfully, I caught her before she got far.”

“That wretch will pay for this!” Nordulon fumed. “Bring her to me, guards!” Two burly guards soon appeared, carrying Arelle and the stolen food. Craothor saw a look of confusion in Arelle’s blue eyes at she stared up at him, unsure of what would happen next. “No one tries to escape from my dungeons!” Nordulon yelled. “Guards, bring out the fire-whip!” Craothor watched in heartbroken astonishment as the guards covered Arelle’s back in fiery scars. As they tortured her, Arelle’s burning eyes remained fixed on Craothor. When the guards were finally finished, Nordulon came up to Arelle and whispered something in her ear. Instantly, her confidence faded, and Arelle broke into tears. “Take her to the death ward!” Nordulon commanded. “Tomorrow, she and her people’s last hope will be destroyed!”

Craothor was furious with himself for betraying Arelle and causing her so much pain. “How could I have let my fear get the better of me?” he asked himself. That night, still tormented with grief, he decided to visit Arelle. “I’m sure she will be angry with me,” Craothor thought to himself, “but I still have to try.” As the guard changed, Craothor crept toward the end of the death ward’s pitch-black hall and whispered, “Arelle?” The only answer was darkness. “I am so sorry, Arelle. I never wanted to hurt you. I was just so afraid that Nordulon would discover us, and I knew we could never escape.” Still, there was no answer. Finally, Craothor heard a quiet voice break through the overwhelming darkness. However, instead of the bitter resentment he expected, Arelle's voice was quieter than he had ever heard it. "I failed," she whispered. "I left him." Her voice broke. "It's over." Stunned by her despair and the crushing weight of his own failure, Craothor sat alone in the darkness, abandoned to the misery of his own thoughts. Why had he visited Arelle? What had he expected? Why had he looked to her, the one he had betrayed, for a glimmer of hope? There was no remedy for the pain he felt, and the light in her bright blue eyes would soon be gone forever.

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Prisoner of Fear, Part 1 (Rina)

Dear readers,

Here's Part 1 of a short story I wrote from the perspective of Craothor, one of my main characters. I hope you enjoy it, and I'd love to hear your feedback about anything you would change/improve.

Thanks,

Rina :)

Prisoner of Fear, Part 1

The sound of a girl’s weeping echoed through the dark halls of Nordulon’s palace. Angry bells signaled the arrival of a new prisoner, their discordant music arousing swarms of palace guards. Amid the mass of ebony armor and wicked-looking maces, a lonely sixteen year boy named Craothor timidly clasped his sword and dreaded having to watch the torture of another innocent prisoner. The clanging of the bells soon escalated, and the demon Nordulon, clad in armor black as the shadows, slowly raised his hand for silence. After a pause, his thunderous voice boomed, “Today, we celebrate the downfall of the Mermaelin! With their king and queen dead and their only heir in my dungeons, I shall take over all of the undersea realm – and with it, all of the world!” The mass of soldiers around him immediately erupted in shouts of triumph, but Craothor felt torn. Part of him wanted to celebrate the army’s victory, but another part of him shuddered at the thought of Nordulon’s darkness covering the whole realm. Just then, the guard beside him gave him a heavy shove and grunted, “Hey, you! Why aren’t you celebrating?”
“I guess I’ll be one of them forever,” Craothor thought as he forced a smile and made himself clap in honor of Nordulon’s victory. A few minutes later, the crowd began to break up, and Craothor hurried toward the dungeon where it was his turn to guard the prisoners. As he glanced at the prisoners’ miserable faces and pitiful expressions, Craothor felt a familiar hopelessness creep into him. “This is where I belong,” he thought to himself. Just then, the prison doors swung open and two towering guards dragged in the new prisoner, a teenage girl with tattered brown hair, fair skin, and sorrowful blue eyes the color of the ocean. After shoving her into a cell, the guards locked her door and stormed away to report back to Nordulon.
A few hours later, Craothor paced back and forth as he studied the patterns on the floor and waited for the watch bell to ring. As the minutes began to drag on, he felt a strange longing to talk to the new prisoner. Though he did not know exactly why, there was something in her clear blue eyes, sad as they were, that gave him hope. Finally, he plucked up the courage to ask her, “What is your name, prisoner?” Startled by his blunt question, the girl looked up at him, and Craothor sensed a hint of bitterness in her mournful eyes.
“Arelle,” she answered coldly.
Disappointed, Craothor tried again. “What happened to your family?” However, the moment he saw the girl’s miserable expression, he knew the answer all too well. Quickly, he added, “My parents are dead, too.” “Oh.” He sensed the girl soften slightly. Craothor didn’t know what to say next, and for a few minutes the two stood there silently staring at each other. Finally, Arelle leaned in closer to the cell door and asked, “Then why do you serve Nordulon? Didn’t you love your family?”
Stunned, Craothor replied, “I-I had no other choice.”
“Did you ever try to escape?” Arelle whispered, even softer than before.
“No... I guess I never thought I had a chance.”
“But what if you did have a chance?”
“I don’t know.” Then, very slowly, he added, “But if I could, I would try.” Just then, the ringing of the watch bell echoed through the dark hall, and Craothor knew he had to report back to Nordulon. “I will come back tomorrow,” he whispered to Arelle as he ran off into the darkness. However, as he neared the throne room, doubts crept into his mind. Gazing at the numerous guards and heavy iron gates, he wondered if he really could escape. Despair slowly crept into his mind.
Just then, Craothor remembered a secret he had kept hidden for many years, a secret that frightened him so much he had tried to forget about it. But amid all his efforts, Crathor had never really forgotten. Deep down, he still remembered the hidden pa
ssageway.
Nearly ten years ago, when Craothor was only 9 years old, he was set guard over an old, wizened prisoner who had been kept in Nordulon’s dungeons for longer than anyone could remember. The old man’s name was Azarion, and Craothor had guarded him for several years. Late one night, as Craothor stood watch outside Azarion’s cell, the old man whispered to him, “Can I trust you, Craothor?”
Not sure what to expect, Craothor answered, “Yes, sir.”
“Good,” Azarion replied with a weak smile. “Now listen carefully. Beneath the floor of my cell, there is a small hole with a tiny lever inside. If you pull the level three times, a secret trap door will open, uncovering a hidden passageway that will lead you to freedom. If you are ever in need, open that door and you will find help.” Then, leaning in closer, Azarion had whispered, “Goodbye, Craothor. May my trust not be in vain.” After that, he had given a weak smile, sighed, and closed his eyes. Craothor never saw him again. For many years, Craothor had kept Azarion’s words a secret for fear of Nordulon. Deep down, he felt sure that Nordulon would discover him, even if he was safe inside a secret passageway. However, Arelle’s words had given Craothor new confidence, and he was now determined to try.
The next day, Craothor eagerly waited until it was his turn to guard the prisoners of Nordulon’s dungeons. After the watch bell rang, he ran over to Arelle’s cell as fast as he could and quickly told her about Azarion’s secret. When he finished, the two of them worked out how they could get enough food for their journey (Craothor agreed to “plunder” the palace kitchen) and how Craothor could get into Arelle’s cell and the passageway without Nordulon noticing. Finally, they agreed that Craothor would return early the next morning with food and other provisions right as the watch was changing, and then the two of them would sneak into the passageway while everyone else was busy. The two were still working out the final details of their plan when the watch bell rang. Not wanting to leave Arelle, Craothor lingered for several more minutes. However, as he saw the guards on the next shift filing in, he realized that he had to report to Nordulon. Bidding Arelle goodbye, he ran off, his mind swirling with fear and excitement.

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