chapter 1
previous chapter
It was always dark in this room, despite the abundance of tall (albeit heavily curtained) windows and large (albeit grimy) domes on the ceiling. The very air in the room strongly hinted to anyone who breathed it that visitors were not welcome here. There were shadows everywhere, and it was in fact so dark that these shadows had their own shadows. In this room, stray beams of light that wandered in would hastily apologize and hurriedly leave as soon as possible.
A lone figure stood with its back to one of the walls in the room. The figure was hooded and bowed, and the heavy silence in the room swirled by silently. The entire chamber was otherwise empty, and it was as eerie as a tomb. A very large, very quiet, very shadowy and very dark tomb.
Thunder rolled overhead, and there was a flash of lightning a few seconds after. Since this is, of course, yet another blatant violation of grade-school-level physics, nature compensated by rolling thunder a second time. And then it started to rain.
It began slowly, then became louder and louder as raindrops pelted the building. More lightning, and more thunder. The rain assaulted the walls relentlessly, and outside the wind howled viciously.
And the figure began to move. Like the rain, it moved slowly at first, as it raised one gloved hand, clutching what appeared to be a rusted dagger. Then, it leapt forward and blurred. The shadows twisted. The figure, moving faster and faster now as he flew across the length of the chamber, slashed wildly, and the darkness closed in.
There was a scream. It did not sound very pleasant.
* * * * *
Across the island, the nocturnal rain fell.
The dark storm clouds carried it to every nook and cranny of the island, and washed away the grime and the dirt. All across the City, people rushed for cover as the sky unloaded its full fury on mankind. It fell in bucketfulls, and it rolled down the gutters and the roofs, the alleys, the markets, the pavement, the cobblestones, and most interestingly, it completely soaked a little boy huddled on the rooftops.
The boy's hair was a brownish tinge and completely soaked, he had a skinny body which was completely soaked, and he wore a wretched brown outfit, which was of course completely soaked. And all this was certainly very interesting but also, as it turns out, not very important. What was important was the fact that he appeared to have a complicated tattoo burned across one entire arm.
Actually, it would be totally inadequate to describe the tattoo as "complicated". It seemed that whoever designed it had decided to cram every known arcane symbol into that one tattoo, then fill what little space remained with lines and circles and hexagrams. Then, not satisfied with being merely complicated, the designer had upgraded to "incredibly complex" by squeezing in symbols in other colours as well, so little red runes mingled freely with bluish pyramids, as other multicoloured symbols danced around them. And the weird thing is, the tattoo shifted whenever you looked at it a second time.
In short, it had all the charm and special effects of a particularly funky disco light. Except, of course, it was carved onto the arm of a little boy, from shoulder to fingertips.
Like the ancients, the boy had long ago forgotten his own name. To his chums, he was known as Cantrip, for reasons that nobody in particular could remember. He was an urchin, and he had spent all 16 years of his life growing up on the streets of the City. Which was of course a remarkable achievement, and it also meant that he had all the cunning and all the self-preservation instincts of a particular sneaky rat.
Right now, he was stuck on the rooftops in the pelting rain, and huddled right beside him was another urchin of similar build and age, and who was, most probably, equally capable of surviving on the harsh streets of the City. This particular fellow went by the name of Prawn, whose origins were, as always, lost in the murky depths of Time. There was a silence between them that dragged on, punctuated by the falling raindrops.
"I reckon even the guards'd given up by now in this awful weather," muttered Prawn glumly.
"Yea, 'cept now we're stuck up here coz they've gone and took away the bloody ladder, aint we?" replied Cantrip bitterly, flicking off a stubborn raindrop clinging to the tip of his nose. "And now im freezing cold and stuck on top of the bloody rooftops in the rain. No thanks to you, Prawn."
"Me?! It was you'd suggest we help ourselves to a few of 'em apples, Canty!" Prawn protested.
"A few apples, Prawn. Not the whole bloody cart. And I reckon they're REALLY pissed at us now."
Down below, chaos reigned. Several stalls lay in ruins, and a couple of cows were peacefully grazing the scattered remains of various assorted fruits on the floor. A few merchants could be seen scanning the rooftops intently, and judging by the large, armed crossbows they were aiming at the roofs, they were not very friendly people. Several City Guards ran across some nearby rooftops, shouting to be heard above the noise of the storm. Further down the street, a large group of cart remains lay smashed across the pavement, and these particularly included the remains of a large and very colourful fruit cart.
It was going to be another long night for the two.
* * * * *
Many rooftops away, another figure stirred. It was a man, and the description that leaps to mind is "bounty hunter". Long, grey hair (carefully dyed: you had to have style as a bounty hunter, after all), a belt with more knives than anyone could ever use, and a large, vaguely magical looking sword slung across his back. An eyepatch over his right eye too, of course: nothing raises the cool factor like an eyepatch. Gives the features a hint of danger, of course. Certainly one covered eye seems to be a prerequisite for being a cool looking hero these days.
His name was Loopelberry Cabbage III, but since you did not get far in the bounty hunter business with a name like that, he had adopted the rather cooler sounding nickname of "Seraph". Quite an excellent piece of work there, in fact: he had shortlisted five potential candidates before settling for Seraph. Powerful sounding name, with a faint whiff of 'dont-mess-with-me'. And of course, there were bonus style points to be scored for swooping down on your bounty and whispering "I am Seraph" into his ear. And now he was on a slightly different mission.
He was looking for a boy.
Actually, he was on several different missions. Times were hard in the bounty hunting business, so he was doing search-and-retrieve jobs on the side. Even the coolest looking ones have to pay for food and rent, after all. He carried a parchment with the descriptions of his targets in a small waterproof container, taped to his ankles. But right now, he was looking for the boy, and he was getting close. Not many people have a bizzare tattoo carved into one arm.
Seraph blinked in the rain, then moved. All that remained in his wake were footsteps in the puddles, which gradually faded back into nothing in particular.
* * * * *
Prawn and Cantrip sat shivering, as the night grew older and the sky continued raining. The mess below had been cleared, the guards and merchants had gone home, but it was a sheer 50 foot drop to the next rooftop, so they were stuck up here for a while. Rainwater gushed along merrily in the City below, overflowing the drains and sewers. Months of filth were dislodged and mixed into an even bigger, liquified mess.
Thunder and lightning.
And the shadows erupted from the darkness. Cantrip had just enough time to be vaguely aware of many dark shapes suddenly moving on the edge of vision, and a cold chill sent a shudder down his spine. Prawn gave a shout, which was stiffled and faded into the silence.
Then the shadows moved in, and they were lost...
...floating in a sea of strange shadows...
* * * * *
The funny thing about dreams is, you are never sure if you are dreaming.
You could dream that you were a great purple giraffe prancing sideways across the great African plains, and you might actually believe you really are. In a dream, all the little bubbles of sanity that exist in reality are stripped away, leaving behind a world limited only by imagination. Anything can happen in a dream, and you momentarily forget the real world, escaping into a distorted reality of half-truths and illusions. If you could control your dreams, you would never want to wake up.
Cantrip dreamt that he was falling. Then, there was a second shadow clutching him, and they were falling together. Grey, blurry clouds parted as they fell, and far far below were the lights of the city, distorted and coloured in psychedelic shades of black and white.
Shadows passed by. And he was aware now of the Spire, a great distorted shadow moving parallel to him in the background, and then he was screaming downwards. The ground was getting nearer, and it was getting cold.
Very cold indeed...
...and then an even stronger grip closed around his body, and he shouted, and the shadows faded away...
Cantrip woke up.
next chapter
It was always dark in this room, despite the abundance of tall (albeit heavily curtained) windows and large (albeit grimy) domes on the ceiling. The very air in the room strongly hinted to anyone who breathed it that visitors were not welcome here. There were shadows everywhere, and it was in fact so dark that these shadows had their own shadows. In this room, stray beams of light that wandered in would hastily apologize and hurriedly leave as soon as possible.
A lone figure stood with its back to one of the walls in the room. The figure was hooded and bowed, and the heavy silence in the room swirled by silently. The entire chamber was otherwise empty, and it was as eerie as a tomb. A very large, very quiet, very shadowy and very dark tomb.
Thunder rolled overhead, and there was a flash of lightning a few seconds after. Since this is, of course, yet another blatant violation of grade-school-level physics, nature compensated by rolling thunder a second time. And then it started to rain.
It began slowly, then became louder and louder as raindrops pelted the building. More lightning, and more thunder. The rain assaulted the walls relentlessly, and outside the wind howled viciously.
And the figure began to move. Like the rain, it moved slowly at first, as it raised one gloved hand, clutching what appeared to be a rusted dagger. Then, it leapt forward and blurred. The shadows twisted. The figure, moving faster and faster now as he flew across the length of the chamber, slashed wildly, and the darkness closed in.
There was a scream. It did not sound very pleasant.
* * * * *
Across the island, the nocturnal rain fell.
The dark storm clouds carried it to every nook and cranny of the island, and washed away the grime and the dirt. All across the City, people rushed for cover as the sky unloaded its full fury on mankind. It fell in bucketfulls, and it rolled down the gutters and the roofs, the alleys, the markets, the pavement, the cobblestones, and most interestingly, it completely soaked a little boy huddled on the rooftops.
The boy's hair was a brownish tinge and completely soaked, he had a skinny body which was completely soaked, and he wore a wretched brown outfit, which was of course completely soaked. And all this was certainly very interesting but also, as it turns out, not very important. What was important was the fact that he appeared to have a complicated tattoo burned across one entire arm.
Actually, it would be totally inadequate to describe the tattoo as "complicated". It seemed that whoever designed it had decided to cram every known arcane symbol into that one tattoo, then fill what little space remained with lines and circles and hexagrams. Then, not satisfied with being merely complicated, the designer had upgraded to "incredibly complex" by squeezing in symbols in other colours as well, so little red runes mingled freely with bluish pyramids, as other multicoloured symbols danced around them. And the weird thing is, the tattoo shifted whenever you looked at it a second time.
In short, it had all the charm and special effects of a particularly funky disco light. Except, of course, it was carved onto the arm of a little boy, from shoulder to fingertips.
Like the ancients, the boy had long ago forgotten his own name. To his chums, he was known as Cantrip, for reasons that nobody in particular could remember. He was an urchin, and he had spent all 16 years of his life growing up on the streets of the City. Which was of course a remarkable achievement, and it also meant that he had all the cunning and all the self-preservation instincts of a particular sneaky rat.
Right now, he was stuck on the rooftops in the pelting rain, and huddled right beside him was another urchin of similar build and age, and who was, most probably, equally capable of surviving on the harsh streets of the City. This particular fellow went by the name of Prawn, whose origins were, as always, lost in the murky depths of Time. There was a silence between them that dragged on, punctuated by the falling raindrops.
"I reckon even the guards'd given up by now in this awful weather," muttered Prawn glumly.
"Yea, 'cept now we're stuck up here coz they've gone and took away the bloody ladder, aint we?" replied Cantrip bitterly, flicking off a stubborn raindrop clinging to the tip of his nose. "And now im freezing cold and stuck on top of the bloody rooftops in the rain. No thanks to you, Prawn."
"Me?! It was you'd suggest we help ourselves to a few of 'em apples, Canty!" Prawn protested.
"A few apples, Prawn. Not the whole bloody cart. And I reckon they're REALLY pissed at us now."
Down below, chaos reigned. Several stalls lay in ruins, and a couple of cows were peacefully grazing the scattered remains of various assorted fruits on the floor. A few merchants could be seen scanning the rooftops intently, and judging by the large, armed crossbows they were aiming at the roofs, they were not very friendly people. Several City Guards ran across some nearby rooftops, shouting to be heard above the noise of the storm. Further down the street, a large group of cart remains lay smashed across the pavement, and these particularly included the remains of a large and very colourful fruit cart.
It was going to be another long night for the two.
* * * * *
Many rooftops away, another figure stirred. It was a man, and the description that leaps to mind is "bounty hunter". Long, grey hair (carefully dyed: you had to have style as a bounty hunter, after all), a belt with more knives than anyone could ever use, and a large, vaguely magical looking sword slung across his back. An eyepatch over his right eye too, of course: nothing raises the cool factor like an eyepatch. Gives the features a hint of danger, of course. Certainly one covered eye seems to be a prerequisite for being a cool looking hero these days.
His name was Loopelberry Cabbage III, but since you did not get far in the bounty hunter business with a name like that, he had adopted the rather cooler sounding nickname of "Seraph". Quite an excellent piece of work there, in fact: he had shortlisted five potential candidates before settling for Seraph. Powerful sounding name, with a faint whiff of 'dont-mess-with-me'. And of course, there were bonus style points to be scored for swooping down on your bounty and whispering "I am Seraph" into his ear. And now he was on a slightly different mission.
He was looking for a boy.
Actually, he was on several different missions. Times were hard in the bounty hunting business, so he was doing search-and-retrieve jobs on the side. Even the coolest looking ones have to pay for food and rent, after all. He carried a parchment with the descriptions of his targets in a small waterproof container, taped to his ankles. But right now, he was looking for the boy, and he was getting close. Not many people have a bizzare tattoo carved into one arm.
Seraph blinked in the rain, then moved. All that remained in his wake were footsteps in the puddles, which gradually faded back into nothing in particular.
* * * * *
Prawn and Cantrip sat shivering, as the night grew older and the sky continued raining. The mess below had been cleared, the guards and merchants had gone home, but it was a sheer 50 foot drop to the next rooftop, so they were stuck up here for a while. Rainwater gushed along merrily in the City below, overflowing the drains and sewers. Months of filth were dislodged and mixed into an even bigger, liquified mess.
Thunder and lightning.
And the shadows erupted from the darkness. Cantrip had just enough time to be vaguely aware of many dark shapes suddenly moving on the edge of vision, and a cold chill sent a shudder down his spine. Prawn gave a shout, which was stiffled and faded into the silence.
Then the shadows moved in, and they were lost...
...floating in a sea of strange shadows...
* * * * *
The funny thing about dreams is, you are never sure if you are dreaming.
You could dream that you were a great purple giraffe prancing sideways across the great African plains, and you might actually believe you really are. In a dream, all the little bubbles of sanity that exist in reality are stripped away, leaving behind a world limited only by imagination. Anything can happen in a dream, and you momentarily forget the real world, escaping into a distorted reality of half-truths and illusions. If you could control your dreams, you would never want to wake up.
Cantrip dreamt that he was falling. Then, there was a second shadow clutching him, and they were falling together. Grey, blurry clouds parted as they fell, and far far below were the lights of the city, distorted and coloured in psychedelic shades of black and white.
Shadows passed by. And he was aware now of the Spire, a great distorted shadow moving parallel to him in the background, and then he was screaming downwards. The ground was getting nearer, and it was getting cold.
Very cold indeed...
...and then an even stronger grip closed around his body, and he shouted, and the shadows faded away...
Cantrip woke up.
next chapter
posted by nerdook at 5:00 PM
1 Comments:
Like the rain, it moved slowly at first, as it raised one gloved hand, clutching wat appeared to be a rusted dagger
Yea, 'cept now we're stucked? up here coz they've took - taken away the bloody ladder, aint we
- somehow, gone and taken away ladder sounds very chinese. 'ki(gone) gia(take) chao(away)'
And now im freezing cold and stucked on top of the bloody rooftops in the rain
Okay i shall stop correcting errors.. haha.. Just nothing better to do. Well, at least this means that someone is Actually reading ur novel-to-be
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