Book One: Fate
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CHAPTER THREE: A Father's fate
Tylor awoke to find an immense pain in his neck. Sitting up quickly he rubbed it with his hand and groaned. The cause was sleeping while using a solid wooden log as a pillow. It looked as though the sun had only just appeared and was barely showing on the horizon. Getting his bearings and rubbing his eyes until they adjusted to the daylight, he yawned loudly and stretched. They had to get an early start; they could not afford putting off getting to Wrathe any longer.
Tylor…
Startled, Tylor looked around, spinning on the spot. Karen lay asleep in much the same position he had been, using an old dirty log as head support (her hair was in a complete mess). Joel had dressed during the night, but still remained in his blankets in a sprawled out position, snoring loudly.
Tylor, lie down…
He held his head as things started to get blurry. The greens of the trees, the browns of the bark, the dusty road; they all started to blend together in a collage of sickly color. He tried to stand straight but fell back to his knees. It felt like a huge weight was pushing his body down, fighting against him. He had no choice but to give in and lay down onto the gentle, smooth, grass. The spinning world around him disappeared into darkness.
Once again, he was in the dreamscape of shadows he often found himself plagued with in his dreams, but this time something was different. He was himself, he knew this was the place of his nightmares and he was conscious, or at least it seemed that way. Almost like some mental cue, the black area began filling with thick fog.
Answer me.
The voice spoke no longer from within him, but rather all around him from deep within the fog. It no longer stunned him with the deep foreboding feeling he got when he heard it from within himself. He could reply this time, he knew it. Speaking out loud, he asked who was there and who was speaking to him. Things remained silent for what seemed like a few seconds. The fog swirled around his body, moving despite the lack of a breeze and he began to succumb to a haunting feeling of being watched.
It is time you knew what happened to your father.
His eyes widened. He shouted out again to the voice in the fog, demanding to know what it meant. His reply was silence. Before him, a field appeared. It was being thrashed around by a strong wind and rain poured down with fierce contentment. The image seemed to be enclosed within a cube, the wind and rain did not venture from within invisible barriers. Tylor could not feel the effects of the horrifying weather that was before him, nor could he step within it. He could not move at all.
The location, the field being savaged, he knew where that image was from. That was a field outside of Samilo, a large tree in the distance confirmed it as no one else would grow such towering apple trees casting shadows over crops than the forever stubborn, Mr. Loson. He was the farmer who had lived a few houses down from him. Was this his imagination? Had he grown so used to that type of vivid dream that his mind wanted to create different images? He could almost feel the dagger like rain drops and feel the harsh wind.
Then before him, fighting in the field he now recognized, appeared his father and another man. His father looked tired, in pain, and also very scared of whoever stood before him. He watched as his father’s weary frame took up his classic melee stance. Tylor had lost trace of the other figure, which looked like nothing more than a shadow. He had seemed to vanish, but his father still looked forward to where he had once stood.
Kicking off his strong foot, Tylor’s father spun on the spot and struck the other man as he suddenly reappeared behind him. The shadowy figure was thrown into the mud ridden ground with incredible force. Tylor tried to move within the cube but could not. Standing helpless, he watched as they continued to fight. They moved with incredible speed, his father struck at images of the other man left and right as he moved with lightning reflexes. The speed at which they struck, dodged, and landed blows was faster than any normal person could be capable of doing.
Then, in an instant, it happened. Zan was struck down by his attacker. He was knocked downwards with even more force than he had dealt out to the attacker. He lay bruised and broken in a pool of mud, while his attacker stayed standing tall and proud before him.
Tylor cried out and began fighting against invisible bounds which held him, trying to get to his father, but there was nothing he could do. He watched his father’s lips moving, saying something he could not understand as a purple light emerged from the attacker’s hand. He watched in horror as the purple light became a huge beam, striking his father through the chest and then exploding into a large sphere of purple light.
“This isn’t real…” he stuttered
He looked to the floor, saying over and over that it was not real, that it was a stupid dream. It could not be real. He would wake up and forget about it, it was all just a dream. His father was not attacked by a strange man and did not die. It was all just a dream.
These events took place three nights ago, the time of the storm. Your father was attacked and killed by this man.
“Who are you? Why are you doing this?” was all he could shout out.
He did not want to listen to this. He screamed out for the voice to shut up and everything once again fell silent. The image of the stormy field, within the strange semi invisible cube, vanished. Once again, all that remained was darkness and the mysterious thick fog. It was silent for what seemed like minutes, but for all he knew it might have just been seconds. He was afraid, terrified of what he had just seen. It could not be real, but seeing his father being murdered so brutally by the man dressed in black was distressing. He twisted on the spot again, looking for something.
By his foot he suddenly knocked against his leather satchel. The bag he had taken from his room in Samilo to carry some spare clothes for himself and Joel, there was nothing odd about it. He felt compelled to reach for it, to look inside it, even though he knew what was in it. It was filled with clothes and nothing else.
Nothing important.
You are preparing for a journey. You must not dwell on your father’s fate but rather on his destiny, which is now yours. You see, you have already packed, the anticipation made it so. To continue you must...
“Hey Tylor, wake up!” said a familiar, youthful, voice.
He awoke to see the concerned face of Joel leaning directly over him. Grasping his hand, Tylor was helped to his feet. Though his head still felt heavy on his shoulders and he was a little dizzy, he was able to keep straight. The sensation which caused his collapse was no longer present. Joel explained that he was concerned about him and it looked as though he was having a nightmare. It was true too; he did have a horrible nightmare, much worse than the usual sort he had been condemned to as of late. The nightmare he had just experienced felt real. Not to mention its content, that was the most horrifying thing of all. He did not want to see harm come to his father, yet what he had imagined made him sick to his stomach, almost similar to the feeling he had felt when he and Joel found the strange hole in a field outside of Samilo.
That hole! Tylor exclaimed inwardly. It was in Loson’s field, across from the only field with large apple trees and the field where I saw… no, that’s just a coincidence. It has to be…
Reassuring Joel that he was fine, Tylor looked over to see Karen awake from her slumber (she did not seem to suffer from the same neck pain from using the log pillows that he had). She was slightly dazed and shielded her eyes from the rising sun spreading its light across the sea and shore side fields. With all three up they could now make their way to Wrathe with plenty of time to spare before another night fall came upon them.
“Tylor, you look a little pale. Is everything alright?” Karen asked as she stood up.
No, he thought, no…it isn’t…
He looked to the floor. He felt like crying. Insisting he was fine and that it was probably just how he slept, they began packing their sheets and clothes away. Karen seemed to have one eye on him all the time. Perhaps she was concerned, or just suspicious.
Grabbing one of the large shirts used as Joel’s make shift bed, Tylor pulled over his leather satchel. Opening the dusty flap on top, his head began to pound once again. Trying to ignore it he placed the crumpled shirt into the satchel. Closing it and moving back from the bag seemed to stop his sudden migraine. Perhaps sleepless nights and vivid dreams had finally affected his health. Hopefully Wrathe would have some form of medical treatment building where he could be examined, just to make sure everything was alright. Samilo mainly relied on herbal remedies but Wrathe received trained physicians from the main land.
Returning to the fresh water stream they had been at the day before, the trio washed up. The clear sparkling water was so bright they could still make out the dusty sea bed below. It was turning into another splendid day, it seemed.
To Joel, Tylor had seemed very despondent since he had been awoken from his troubled sleep. He had not said anything else to neither him nor Karen. She had been right too; he did look very pale, the brilliant light of the sun only aided in showing it more. Sure, he had joked about having trouble sleeping when they slept at Copper’s, but he never realized it could be so bad that it made him look ill. Whatever it was, Tylor would not let it get to him, not one of the warriors of Samilo. They could not let something stupid like a dream get them down.
Regardless of the reason, Joel decided it was best to let Tylor forget about whatever he had seen in his dreams. Getting to Wrathe and finding his father would probably do the trick. Then they could travel back to Samilo and start rebuilding. And of course, they would have to talk about Joel moving in with them. He was sure Zan would be fine with it; he was always like a second father to him too. Coming back to reality, Joel realized he had fallen behind Karen and Tylor again, who were already back on the road towards Wrathe.
He ran to join them.
A few hours past before Tylor finally saw Wrathe within view on the horizon. For a port town it was quite large, especially in comparison to Samilo. The port town was spread across a few miles in length, taking up quite a large chunk of the shore line. Wrathe was the location where the original settlement of the island took place, Samilo grew from people traveling and exploring the island years later. It was essentially in three sections or districts; docks, housing and commercial. Even from the distance they stood at the large metal struts, girders and steam clouds spread over the horizon, emitting from the dock district, the central point for off loading goods from the main land and to service ships before they set out. Steam powered machinery was used to do the heavy lifting of cargo on and off the larger carrier ships. The trading area (an area set aside within the docks district) was where people from the main land met with islanders in order to discuss and do trades. Fish, wheat, wood and other commodities were all traded for various items from the main land. Sometimes, it was building materials or sometimes extravagant foods. This was the district his father would normally be in when he traveled to Wrathe.
Within the commercial district, closest to the docks and situated around the center of town, there was also a variety of shops to serve the population (inns, pubs and the like). Ships sometimes docked for a few days because of the size of cargo, meaning the demand for lodgings and drinking establishments was quite high not to mention the people of the town who actually lived there would need somewhere to purchase their food. Wrathe, being a commercial town, had to use the likes of shops where as in Samilo it was a simple community where everyone shared, it worked small scale but if dealing with the main land, it simply could not work.
The first district they would get to upon entering the town was the housing area. This was where the normal, long-term, inhabitants stayed. It was far enough away from the noisy docks to offer peaceful nights and close enough to the commercial district for ease of shopping. People in Samilo were quite friendly with some of the people staying in that district.
Wrathe’s outer rim was protected by a wooden barrier similar to Samilo’s (before the storm tore most of it down). This was used to stop wild animal attacks. The wood was old and stained and probably had not been replaced in years, but did its job. Karen, Tylor and Joel stood before the old gates, relieved they finally reached their destination. Slowly, they opened the gate, and entered the town being sure to seal it behind them straight after.
Midday, it seemed, was a busy time for the town. The group was greeted with a bustling street filled with people. The street went directly down the town’s center, where the commercial district lay. The sweet noise of a soft breeze, singing birds and tranquil streams had now been drowned out by the sound of a town talking. To their left and right lay lines of houses and down the center was the path to the town center. The main road probably passed straight through the commercial district and headed all the way to the docks. Children ran round them as they began walking down the main road to a seating area, the youngsters were happily playing on the steal benches and potted trees. Sitting down on a cold bench, caught in the shadow of a particularly large oak, Tylor looked around once again. The people seemed happy. Children played, women sat laughing on the right and couples walked hand in hand deeper into the town. It was obvious that there had been no storm there. So it seemed that Samilo was the only place on the entire island to suffer the tragedy. He should probably have felt comforted by that, but he did not.
His ear twitched as he got used to the sound of so many people talking at once, he heard half conversations talking of dinner, money and people. It was a little unsettling that compared to some locations on the main land, this was a small area. He looked over to Joel, who smiled when he saw him look. It seemed like he was enjoying the sights. Of course, it was the first time he had ever been there. Samilo had no form of machinery, they did not even use steam power for anything. His studies had taught him of many of the other fuels used by different people and steam seemed the most popular. Nor did Samilo have such tall buildings or a community of this scale. It was nice Joel was enjoying it, but it was a pity he was not.
Tylor sat legs apart and leaning forward slightly, his hands clasped and head bent downwards watching the smooth gray stone floor. He had to find his father as soon as possible to get rid of his nagging feelings after the horrible dream. Of course, first they would have to bid farewell to Karen, who would probably leave after catching her breath. After that he and Joel could look for his father and the people who passed by Coppers to look for relief support. Karen turned to face the other two seeming relaxed, although fatigued. She still had sweat dripping from her brow. The armor and the sun were making for an unfortunate mix. Was she waiting for one of them to talk? He really could not tell.
“So, what are we doing now?” said Joel, breaking the silence between them.
He looked to Karen, hoping she would say something. She did not have any reason to stay with them now they had guided her to Wrathe, so surely she would be ready to part ways with them. She met his gaze and stared directly at him.
“Well then,” she said at last, breaking the stare with him and standing up, “thank you for showing me the way here. If you need anything, anything at all, I’ll be in town for another day. Goodbye.”
And with that she turned and left, walking out of the protective shade of the trees and into the warm, crowded, street in the direction of the commercial district. She quickly disappeared into the mass of people. Joel looked a little disappointed at the abrupt goodbye. His hands were crossed firmly across his chest and a straight expression graced his face. He leaned back into a slouching position on the bench and sighed. Batting a strand of scruffy blond hair out of the way of his eye he blew at it with his mouth. Tylor knew how Joel felt from his demeanor, but what about himself? Had he been so stuck on his own problems that he did not spend the time to get to know her? Probably not, but then she did tend to prefer talking about other things. Was he sad she had now left and he would probably never see her again?
This strange feeling again, he thought, like when we met, like…something is calling between us, so strange…
Looking back in front of him and being greeted with an inside view of the old town gates, he sighed. Pulling his thoughts back to those of finding his father was the most important thing now. Yes, Karen was gone and yes, she seemed interesting, but finding Zan was much more important. The best place to start looking would be the trading area within the docks district, of course, but that was quite a large area and Tylor had no idea how it was laid out. They could always try looking for the people from Samilo first, but they could be anywhere in the town. It left them with quite a predicament. They might be able to take the chance and assume that for trading discussions there was only one specific place assigned to this, but that, again, was just a guess.
“Let’s ask around and try to find out about where trade meetings take place, hopefully it will just be the one place and someone there will have seen my father,” he said, laying out their objectives to Joel.
Sitting up from his lazy position, Joel nodded in agreement. They both began following the main street through the town. Not knowing Wrathe’s intricate layout made that the best way to get around, although there were plenty of side passages and streets that inhabitants seemed to use to get around quicker.
Tylor had not realized it, but militia only openly appeared to be walking the streets after they walked into (what they assumed to be) the commercial district. It was easy to tell them from normal peasants and traders. Attached onto old leather belts were rusty swords, daggers and the like and under their linen shirts sat a small plate of steel for protection. The people seemed fine with them walking around showing weapons openly, though that did not sit well with him.
This district was even busier and filled with more people than the housing district had been. The people here seemed more focused however and the only children about had their hand firmly clasped to their mothers. Down the sides of the main road were stalls set up by traders with wooden boxes and tables filled to the brim with goods for sale. It was a variety of different things too, one stall might have sold fruits where as the next might be cloths and silks. It made for a lovely collage of colors and was a splendid thing to see. Shop keepers called out to passer bys peddling their stock and gaining an audience that reveled in their sales pitches, which Joel found particularly funny for whatever reason.
Houses here were quite large, none single story. Most had two floors and some even had three or four stories, not to mention pointed slate roofs. Gutters lined these roofs and traveled the length of the house to drainage pipes below. Their sanitary system seemed a little more efficient and automatic than Samilo’s. This was necessary for the larger population. He could only imagine how things were handled on a city size scale.
As they walked from stall to stall, looking over all that was for sale, a firm hand was placed on Tylor’s shoulder. Turning round sharply, he found a large man standing before him. He recognized the man as one of the fishermen from Samilo. No doubt, he was one of the people sent to get relief to help Samilo. He obviously knew Tylor and Joel too, though his name was unknown to them both.
“My boys! Old Man Copper told us Zan’s boy was stay’in with him, took ye a while to get here, didn’t it?” He said, grinning.
Joel piped up and explained the situation and about them having to camp out for a night. He laughed again and called them adventurers. Tylor asked how the search for supplies and help for Samilo was going. The man’s demeanor changed as he said it.
“That’s not so good lad, none of these bastards believe a word we’re say’in!” he snarled, “They say there was no storm and without any evidence they can’t send anyone. We gave up trying to convince ‘em and are heading back home tomorrow. They’re sending someone from the militia with us. Once he sees what happened we’ll get our help but that means putting off any major rebuilding for another few days. I tell you it makes my blood boil!”
Tylor felt sick to the stomach again. He knew Wrathe had not experienced the storm, but he never even thought about the fact that they would not believe that it had happened to Samilo. It did sound quite far fetched that only that area of the island could suffer, but it happened. He had seen it and so had the man stood before him, yet they still did not believe him. False illusions of a trust worthy friendship between Samilo and Wrathe snapped and shattered in his mind. Joel swore and kicked at the stone ground with his boot. The Man sighed and shook his head. He then asked if they wanted to travel back with them tomorrow and that they were hiring a cart to make good time to Coppers.
“A’course we can only get as far as Old Man Copper’s, but you know what its like,” he said with another growl.
All to well, Tylor thought to himself.
With his father being a trader he had heard in depth rants about the trading and travel system between Samilo and Wrathe. Samilo was formed by Wrathe settlers and from then on were said to have a connection, they had strong bounds of friendship (though he doubted that now) and were peaceful with each other. However, travel and trade had always been a problem. Samilo never had a dock of any kind made, the fisherman of the village used small boats which could be stored on shore and the only boats which docked with Wrathe were either large people carriers or even larger stock holders. Both these types would find it too costly to make additional trips to Samilo directly. Not only was there the fact that they could not travel there because of lack of a dock to birth in, but there would be no profit in it, so they flat out refused.
Getting stock to Samilo was also affected by travel. For much the same reasons, no horse driven cart would ever go from Wrathe to Samilo directly. It took too long and was not profitable. They took stock in carts as far as Coppers, dropped them off and are paid for that. Leaving in early morning a cart could make the trip to Coppers and back to Wrathe in a day but going to Samilo would take longer.
This meant, after his father or another trader had successful purchased goods for Samilo, they would be carted to Copper’s then picked up by people from Samilo using their own carts. It was a horrible, slow, inefficient system yet no one ever tried to change it. Traditions stuck, or so it seemed.
“Thank you that would be great, after all the walking we did. Do you know where we can stay for the night?” Tylor asked.
The man leaned past them and pointed to a large building a few meters down the road with an old wooden bill board hanging above its door. The board read; “O’Leary’s”. He explained that was where he and the other people from Samilo were staying and that they could get a room there. He walked with them, as he guided the boys to it. Inside, he waved at a table in a corner of the bare room where some men were sitting. They acknowledged him as he sent the boys over.
The layout for the inn was much like Copper’s; a bar area upon entrance with the actual rooms either in the back or on the second and third floors. The bar was pretty empty, stools and chairs left at bare tables aside from the occasional patron and the Samilo group in the corner. A young man who sat behind the bar, scrubbing a tumbler with a cloth, stared as the man who guided Tylor and Joel to the inn as he approached him. The boys sat down with the people from the village. Tylor did recognize one of the men, but not as someone he talked too much at home. The others he had probably seen about the village to, but never engaged in conversation. They were drinking quite heavily for the time of day, perhaps drowning their sorrows. They had not said anything directed at the two boys yet, but must have known them to have been from Samilo. The man who had shown them to the inn returned to the table and explained he had arranged for a room for Joel and Tylor and tossed him a small rusty key with a leather strap attached. Tylor thanked the man and said they would go store their things then have a look round town. Joel quickly stood up to join him.
“Oh,” Tylor said as they walked away, “Have any of you seen my father around town or know where he might be?”
Most gave blank expressions, signifying a no. The youngest of the bunch piped up saying that he might be in the dock districts trader’s union hall. He gave some half intoxicated directions that Tylor decided not to listen to. He could ask around and find the place once they had looked over the room that they had been kindly given and leave his satchel in there.
Walking up brown, carpeted, stairs with a freshly varnished banister, Tylor and Joel searched the corridor for their room; number 03. It was quite easy to find, the inn could not have had more than around seven rooms for patrons. Key in lock, the door opened with a creak as Tylor’s head peered round it. It was a small, quaint, room. Another door stood directly ahead on the opposite end of the room with a table to the right and a window on the left of it. To the left sat two single beds with small seats sitting next to one another. Joel walked past him and jumped onto one of the beds, he stretched out and sighed.
“Nice place,” he said, looking to the cream colored roof and then to the other door across the room.
Tylor agreed as he walked past to see where the other door led to. To his amazement, it opened out onto a balcony situated at the back of the inn. It looked like guests of all three of the rooms on that side of the inn could connect to it via doors in their rooms; three sets of tables and chairs confirmed this. It was too hot outside to try and relax, but the coolness of the room was refreshing. He closed the door and sat down on his bed, lying back like Joel did, to stare at the ceiling.
“Can we put off going to this trader’s hall place for a little while? It’s nice and cool in here and its really hot outside,” Joel moaned, trailing off.
“If that is where my father is then I want to hurry and find him. You can stay here while I take a look around, if you want?”
Joel looked over to him and nodded before closing his eyes. Tylor stood up and placed the satchel on his bed. Saying he would return soon, he went out into the hall and closed the door behind him.
Wandering the streets of the commercial district on a normal day might have been an extraordinary experience. All the smells of many strange and wonderful foods and the décor of the shops and other buildings were magnificent. However, Tylor could not help but rush through it all. After questioning a few of the shop keepers, he had been pointed in the direction of a large warehouse building at the end of the docks district. Apparently the trader’s hall was where all the various traders met to discuss trade options, rules, and latest purchases. It was a method for keeping track of prices, to make sure no one trader was being conned by sailors or shop keepers. A militia member always attended and kept track of all prices and stocks. When not in use, the hall was used like a bar, exclusive to traders and militia only to talk, drink, and share stories.
An hour passed before Tylor finally found the trader’s union hall. The building had no sign or distinguishing marks to show its purpose. It was a large stone building with a copper roof. A building two stories high with a rusted roof and peeling paint on the outside walls did not suggest a location where important trading events happened. A large tattooed man guarded the entrance to the warehouse, he peered down at Tylor.
“What d’ya want, boy?” he said in a deep gruff voice.
Tylor explained that he wanted to know if his father was there or had been in the last few days. The large man turned and opened the door. Tylor started to walk in but was pushed back out by the man. Speaking again, in his low dull tone, he explained no children were allowed, but he would go ask the traders. After passing on Zan’s name, Tylor waited patiently. Ten minutes passed before the tall man returned to give him the information he was hoping for. With the same gruffness he spoke to Tylor.
“Zan Sabre was last ere three weeks ago for the Dorlan trade meeting. That one was about Samilo’s wheat intake I think it were. He hasn’t been here since, now get out o’here. Your daddy isn’t here, got it? Beat it!”
He watched as the man walked back inside the building, slamming the door behind him with a loud bang. Tylor stared blankly at the old door and warehouse before him. His father had not come to Wrathe and the last meeting he was present at was three weeks ago. What did all this mean? Turning, he walked slowly back up the main street towards the inn. His mind was trying to make sense of all that had happened, making guesses, assumptions, but never coming up with anything that feasibly could have happened.
He refused to let his mind wander to the dreams, they had nothing to do with what was happening and they meant nothing. Of course, if that were not true, why think about them at all? If he discarded those dreams, what other possible scenario were there? His father was seen leaving Samilo at night by Samantha Kon but Copper had never seen him nor did anyone at the place he would likely to be in Wrathe or washed out to sea. There was no denying it now; his father had to be-
Tylor assured himself. No I refuse to believe this. It isn’t fair! My father is alive. He’ll be around here… somewhere.
Joel wandered back into the room he shared with Tylor. After his friend had returned from finding the trader hall, where all meetings were apparently done, he had hardly said a word. Even when they went down for dinner with the others from Samilo, he avoided conversation. He looked as pale as he had that morning; like he was ill or something had disturbed him. Since he had not mentioned what he found out at the trader’s union hall he could only assume that Zan was not there. Tylor would tell him when he was ready, but if that is the case, what else could have happened to Zan? Could he have met the same fate as his own parents? Joel closed his eyes tightly and shook his head. He had been avoiding thoughts like that for too long. Now his closest friend could go through the same thing, but he would be stronger than him. Tylor was a warrior, warriors did not cry. He watched as his friend removed his shirt then lay down on his bed, facing the ceiling. Joel walked over to his own bed, silently, and lay down in a similar position.
The traveling he had done with Tylor had become an adventure, or so he had thought. They got to camp out alone and hear about the main land, they had never done anything like that in their lives. They got to see a magic sphere in use and travel to Wrathe and saw all the fantastic shops and stalls throughout the bustling town. However, all adventures had to have sadness and despair and they also had to have an ending. Was this the end of theirs?
“Tylor, what did you find out at the hall?” he said, slightly afraid of his friends reaction.
No answer.
It was starting to get to him that Tylor was ignoring him. He sat up quickly ready to spout some form of insult but instead, stopped. His friend lay sound asleep, breathing in gentle rhythms. Joel sighed to himself and laid back onto his bed. Closing his eyes and letting some hair fall down in front of his eyes, he slowly let himself fall into peaceful sleep as well.
The familiar setting of pitch black was becoming tiresome to Tylor. He had had enough. He was sick of the nightmares and just wanted to get a good night’s sleep. At the usual muted cue, fog filled the room from invisible leaks in the shadows. Tylor sighed loudly. The voice began speaking once again, from outside not within but this time it seemed all too tedious and not as soothing as it was before.
You now know your father is dead.
He closed his eyes in pain as she said it. Images of watching his father fight and die to the strange man in black were forced on him. It was not possible that was what happened, it was his imagination playing tricks on him. It had to be.
You do not believe your own eyes? Zan Sabre died at the hands of a Man named Tai. This was his fate, unavoidable. If only he had not hidden from me.
Fate, he scoffed at the word. It sounded so hollow for an explanation of his father’s death. Nothing as simple as one word was enough justification for him. It was not fair. However, part of him knew that he had to accept it now; his father was dead, but murdered? It was impossible.
Fate has struck him down but his destiny must be continued. The lineage of the ages has now joined you into its ranks. Your doubts will not be slain until you learn more from one you trust. Seek out your mother for answers.
By lineage and by blood, your destiny is now sealed.
Tylor awoke in a cold sweat, the darkened room of the inn and the light blue moonlight shining in through the window was all that stood before him. To his left, Joel lay asleep. Getting up slowly and as quietly as possible, he slipped his shirt on from the previous day and stepped out onto the balcony. Resting his arms and leaning over the metal bar, he scanned the horizon. The town was quite dull at night. The only light was from house windows and that of the large moon sitting high in the sky. Stalls and shops had packed up for the night which meant there was no large array of colors lining the streets. Noise was coming from a few places within sight; most likely it was the sound of a few bars or inns still serving. Also, a low bustle of clanking metal came from the direction of the dock district.
No matter how hard he tried to fool himself that he wanted to stare at the nightlife of Wrathe, he knew he had to decide whether dreams had meaning and whether the subconscious instructions should be obeyed. Seek out his mother? He had not seen his mother for years. After she left his father and moved to the main land’s capital it made it almost impossible. They corresponded in letters twice a month, but that was all. She cared deeply for him, he could tell by the content of the letters but he had never really got to know her because of the distance between them. His father had never really explained to him why she had left and he was too young to remember. He had said on one occasion that she felt she could no longer love him, but something about that always seemed off. Her letters always spoke of her love of Samilo and of Zan, but always said it was impossible for her to return.
Although money was not a large commodity in Samilo, his father had been giving him coins whenever he had some to add to his travel money. He wanted to meet his mother since he was sixteen but traveling cost a lot. Every time he received money from his father he would add it to his collection. He had almost saved up enough to go. If his father was dead, he would have to tell his mother that was for sure. Should he go to the main land? Could he even do it?
“Tylor?”
His chain of thought was broken as he turned around, startled by the voice. Joel stood in the doorway of their room, rubbing his eye with one hand. His hair looked like a savage fire as it was going in all directions. He rested back on the bar of the balcony and beckoned Joel to join him. The kid deserved to know too, he had to tell him.
Tell him what? Am I really going to do this? He thought. Am I really going to see my mother?
“Tylor, tell me, please. What did you find out today?” Joel asked.
Joel wanted to know, he had probably guessed it was going to be bad news anyway. But just how much should he hear? Would he think he was insane? Should he say the voice told him his father was murdered by a man called Tai and that he had to go to the main land to find his mother? Would Joel laugh at him?
There was only one way to find out.
“He wasn’t there, Joel. That said…they said that he hasn’t been there for a while,” he trailed, “Joel, my father, I think… I think he’s dead.”
He looked the kid in the eyes as he said it; he had to make sure Joel knew he was not trying to make a bad joke. Tears were forming in his eyes as he sniffed loudly, but he did not look away. He was trying to take it like a man. He gritted his teeth. It seemed like the kid was angry at himself, maybe for reacting like that or maybe at what happened. Stretching an arm over to him, Tylor embraced his close friend, explaining that it was okay to cry. Joel pushed off him and sniffed again, refusing to let the tears flow. He asked how he knew and how it happened. Tylor paused.
It was now or never.
“I think…” he gathered his thoughts, “Do you remember that voice I mentioned? You thought I was joking or making it up. Well, I wasn’t.”
Joel gave him his full attention; he was hanging onto every word.
“In a dream that felt so real, I watched my father being murdered by a man dressed in black, named Tai. I was then told I had to go find my mother, on the main land.”
He had looked away when he had said it. Gulping, he turned back to Joel to scope his reaction. The boy was looking at the floor, but managed to say that he believed him. He felt relieved. Of course he could count on Joel to support him.
“Tylor, I’m not going to try to understand this, but you sound sure.”
That said, Joel returned to the safety of their room. Even from outside on the balcony, he could hear Joel crying into his pillow inside their room. He began to think that maybe he should too. He had wanted to cry for his father ever since leaving the union hall.
“Dad…” Tylor said, helplessly, and then, falling to his knees and dropping his head, he burst into tears.
His bare hands resting on the cold balcony bar was his only support.
The town of Wrathe, it was a pathetic sight. It looked dull and tiresome at night. The cranes of the dock district catching the beams of moonlight and spreading light over the old rusted roofs only confirmed its disgusting ill designed nature. The streets were now void of all people apart from the occasional drunkard. Nothing had changed since he had passed through it, four days previous. Compared to the main land this was nothing, an insignificant dot on a map no one looked at. It was a waste of his time to come here. He could only hope the next orders he received had some form of effort involved in its completion, or at least a half decent city to visit. He had met fate head on three days ago and he was disgusted at the results.
He looked out to the sea, it was his next target. Despite the abilities available to him, he still had to rely on the ships of Wrathe to carry him off the god forsaken island. It was pitiful but necessary for him to hide until that time.
“Pathetic,” he muttered to himself.
Slowly, he walked down the mound he stood upon, sinking into the land as he got back to the path which led directly to the gates of Wrathe. Upon reaching them, he peered at the feeble defenses of the weak town in disgust. Still, it was still more than Samilo had. Laughing out loud, Tai’s image dissipated into lines of thin air and then into nothing. Wrathe and its surroundings were once again, peaceful.
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