Book One: Fate
______________________________________________________________________
PROLOGUE
The wind tore through the trees as forceful as the raging waves of the sea. Nowhere on the small island was safe. Even the large hills to the south, which usually halted powerful winds, were simply bi-passed by this gale. The squalls ferocious winds were being drawn to the north-east of the island, towards a small village, with the intent to damage it and the surrounding crop fields. Trees were being beaten from left to right, creaking under the pressure that was pushing against it. Nothing compared to the sound of the wind rattling through the village, howling incessantly like a beast calling to its own. Leaves were torn and tugged from branch and bark of the nearby trees and were swept north in a cyclone which covered the village in dark green foliage. Even thick stone and rock seemed to rattle and shake, scared of the wind battering against it.
The people within the shaking tomb like homes could only cower in basement or corner, comforting their children under breast and shielding them against the evil gusts seeping in through newly formed cracks in the walls. Neither wood nor rock stood a chance against the storm. Carts that had littered the fields had been uplifted into the air by the wind and were being swept into the northern waters. Wooden window frames and hinges were now splinters of bark, caught up in the hurricane of carts, farming tools and the occasional thatched roof.
Through all the chaos the wind caused in the helpless village, two sounds roared predominantly through the air. Two sounds which even the wind could not silence nor compare to, despite its demon like echo, as it smashed against tree or building. The first sound was a high pitched chorus of wails as the mothers and fathers of the village helplessly tried to calm their shocked children. They called out against the wind, shouting and crying, not understanding how something as simple as a weather condition could cause so much terror. The second sound was more audible from the fields surrounding the wounded town, which had previously been used to hold crops, such as corn (the shoots had now been dragged kicking and screaming from the ground, up rooted by the wind). This was the sound of raised voices, two of them, in the belly of this wind beast, standing talking in a field.
Zan Sabre finally met the stare of the man in front of him. They were only about a meter apart, but even staring forwards was a task. He looked like a walking shadow. The wind attacking the island and his village was trying to stop them but both men stood firm, feet dug deep into the dirt. The wind had not subsided and now it was raining too. The speed of the wind made each individual raindrop feel like a dagger across Zan’s pale old face, but his gaze did not move from the darkened image of the other figure. Nor did the sting of the dagger raindrops on the rest of his body hinder him; the stinging in his arms and legs would subside in time as he grew used to the pain it caused. He swept his head sideways to knock a strand of gray hair out of the way of his eye.
Ignoring the wind, rain and pain, he scanned the person that stood one meter away from him. He had a muscular build and average weight, probably about his height (5ft 9) and all his face apart from eyes were shielded by a black cloth, helping to encase his form in shadow. This cloth covered his whole body, only halting before boots, gauntlets and to shape around the light body armor concealed beneath it. Now the cloth was damp and it stuck to his form, but the man did not care.
“Shall we begin?”
The man Zan studied had said it so quickly and softly he was not sure if he really heard it. The wind made any sound appear to come at him from every direction at once. Zan did not answer, but continued to stare. Their gaze still laid on each others face.
Zan moved one leg back and dug the tip of his metal plated boot into the ground, to act like a pivot point. The weakened ground was easily pushed aside to take the shape of his boot. Bringing one clenched fist away from his chest elongated and moving his other to his side straight and horizontal, he spoke as calmly as he could without the wind causing a quiver;
“Why come here now? Why could you not just leave me alone to live out my life as I see fit?”
The wind had made the tone of his voice alternate, he could not help that. Zan did not want any of this. They had storms before, but never like this squall, never so bad the whole village was at risk. He should be in the village padding the weak helpless walls of his home and protecting his son. However, just as the storm picked up, he had sensed the man’s presence and knew the time had come.
“You hid for quite some time, Zan. And when I finally find you, you have become the feeble old fool that stands before me,” said the figure, his voice still like a whisper on the wind.
“What would killing me achieve?” Zan asked, searching for logic to use, “I have left the life behind that you wish to kill me for, leave me to live out my days...”
Zan trailed off as a realization came across him. What was he doing? The memories of that life flooded back to him. There was no point in trying to reason with the man. He sighed inwardly, a sort of small, simple and helpless sigh. Had he really let all this happen? He knew what would happen and his thoughts now dwelled on his son’s future. For the first time since he had found the man, Zan’s stare had moved to the ground at his feet. He watched the individual grass stands being savaged by the wind and being plucked up by the air and then blown along to places unknown. Sighing and closing his eyes, he suddenly knew how much he had left unfinished. He was a fool, but there was one last chance, a chance he now embraced. He had to kill the man, the man who had come to kill him.
Opening his eyes once more, he moved his head upwards, fighting the wind, to once again meet the stare of the man who had come to kill him. To his horror, the figure of the man was no longer there, just more grass and corn shoots caught in the wind.
“Damn!”
Zan collected his thoughts; he could not listen for his attacker due to the horrific wind but could still try to second guess his movements. Zan had to sense them. Turning on his pivot foot Zan twisted his body round to face the opposite direction bringing his other leg into contact with the shoulder of his attacker, who crashed to the ground on the left. The grass and mud formed around his body as he fell, creating a subtle hole.
The attacker did not give Zan enough time to congratulate himself on being able to sense the movements he had made. As he leapt back on one hand, which dug into the mud below him, he back flipped to his feet. Grass and mud now slipped down his back, making his damp black clothes look browner. Zan could not see the man’s mouth since it was still hidden under damp black cloth, but he could tell the man was grinning. His cheek bones were raised almost crushing his dark eyes.
The eyes!
Another memory Zan had forgotten, or perhaps forced away, was the deep godless eyes of those men. They had no pupils, no iris, just a sea of black. Although he had seen the eyes before, since their bodies were only a meter apart, he believed the shadow of night had engulfed the man’s facial features. The wind and rain coupled with the darkness had proved too strong for him to get an accurate view of his opponent’s eyes. The surrounding facial features were the only way he could be sure it was eyes that he now saw and not just pockets of shadow. Normal eyes reflected some light; if you looked into someone's eyes you will see yourself looking back, but the dark eyes of his enemy seemed to swallow or absorb everything and rejected nothing.
“That was a test. It was a test to make sure you still had some of your Aura. I will not be playing this time, old man.”
Even the words made him cringe; your Aura. Zan had tried to run away from that, hiding on the island in a quiet farming village to raise a family, but now it had once again caught up with him. Now, being able to sense the man’s movements, he reawakened as much of the Aura as he could. His body became stronger. A dull glow surrounded his pale figure flickering white like a small flame. The wind no longer affected him, not anymore. His Aura made the environment around him fold and move away, that was how his attacker had been able to back flip with such precision even in such a powerful gale.
Zan was ready this time; he watched his attacker’s image as it appeared to flicker and vanish. It seemed that he had mastered instantaneous speed. Zan leapt to his right again, spinning on his pivot foot, just in time to catch another flickering image of the man round the head. The image dissipated into vertical lines as his foot passed through it, undamaged. The man was already behind Zan before he had a chance to turn again and attempt to counter. He smashed the old mans back with the elbow of his left arm, using his right to add pressure to the blow by pushing against the left hand’s knuckle. Zan could only stumble forward, his feet getting stuck deeper in the thick mud as he went.
From the knees down he was brown, the mud stuck to his thin fabric clothes. He looked up but lost all sense of direction as a fist was firmly planted on his left cheek making his face numb. The force of the punch was inhuman and struck with all the brute strength of a boulder. The ground under him had given way to form round his body and spread out into a small hole in the soft mud. Zan knew that his cheek had already begun to bruise. Touching it with his brown, mud ridden, hand only made it sting more, but it was a normal reaction to touch the wounded area. The dagger like raindrops seemed to hurt once again. The Aura around him was fading, allowing the wind and rain to hinder him once again. He made a feeble attempt at sensing his attacker’s location, but it was hopeless.
“Was that it, old man? Was that your valiant attempt to stop me completing my task?” shouted the voice, once again on the wind. “This is the great achievement? This is the task that has taken me so long to complete? You have done nothing but test my patience old man, fight back!”
Concentration was impossible now, the shooting pain in his cheek and back coupled with the constant pain of the raindrops and the deafening howl of the wind made it too difficult. He could tell his attacker had vanished again, moving at unfathomable speeds through the rain, but could not pin point him. And then there it was, the straightened palm of a gauntlet placed in front of his feeble, bruised, face.
He was not sure what it was at first, once again the weather had swallowed all detail and with eyes stinging from rain everything was but a shadow, different shades of black and gray shifted about like sand granules caught by the harsh wind. But there it was, a bronzed gauntlet made of copper, tainted black with age and had smears of mud and grass hanging from the hand. From the wrist down the gauntlet disappeared under the black cloth but Zan could just make out what looked like extra padding, to add more power to his strikes no doubt.
In any fighting tournament held in Wrathe his opponent would have been disqualified for that. If only their fight was just a game, a referee would call out the match was over, Zan’s attacker declared the winner, and they would bow to each other and then walk away. There was no walking away from this, however. He had been running for a long time, but now his past had caught up with him and was striking back with a vengeance.
His attackers palm flattened as his fingers stretched and elongated out from each other, pushing against the copper restraint of the gauntlets. From the center of his palm a small dark purple light appeared. It grew into a small sphere like shape, drawing in small near transparent purple beams of energy. Zan’s attacker had mastered something which he did not even know was possible with the Aura. He knew speed and strength increased, but being able to summon Aura into a physical form of energy had always been something that escaped him after forgetting years of training. The dark purple ball continued to grow, the raindrops around it seemed to burn or fade away as they came into contact with its edges and the wind seemed to do nothing to it. Looking into the center of this purple ball, Zan could see millions of small beads of light floating around within the sphere, absorbing the purple beams from outside allowing it to grow in power. The man was preparing to unleash its power, which would most likely kill him outright.
“It’s over, old man. I expected at least a fight from you. Oh well, you have done nothing but disappoint me.”
The rain and wind seemed to suddenly vanish as Zan finally realized the awful truth, he was going to die. His body became numb with fear. The environment no longer affected him, and it was as if he was floating in the darkness, unable to see, feel, or think. The purple ball of energy now filled the entirety of his attacker’s hand. The Aura was reaching the limits of its charging time and was preparing to unleash its deadly beam.
So that’s it? Zan thought to himself. This beam is going to kill me and I can do nothing to stop it. I wondered what death would be like, especially for those with the ability to use Aura. And because of that power my son must now go through what I did when I was his age, but hopefully he doesn’t realize…that I have a son...
Zan raised his head so that his line of sight passed the purple sphere to look his attacker, Tai, in the eyes. Looking into those deep pools of liquid black only made him shiver more. Still looking up in Tai’s direction, he slowly closed his eyes and sighed once more.
“Goodbye, Tai.” he said.
“Sorry, old man. It was fate,” Tai replied.
The sphere in Tai’s hand became a beam of energy. Striking the feeble old man through the chest it instantly shattered his simple, mud ridden, clothes causing his body to flail helplessly. Cracks followed various paths along what remained of ground below him and then filled with deep red blood. After striking through Zan the energy struck the mud and dirt below him, exploding and causing the small beam to erupt into a huge circular blast with a radius of around two meters, smothering what was left of the old Mans corpse and everything else around him. Zan felt consciousness slipping slowly away.
Tai’s image flickered away turning to nothing more than wind just as the edge of the explosion reached him. He reappeared a few meters away. Tai looked into the heart of the purple blast with a satisfied grin gracing his lips. Whereas the old mans resistance had not pleased him, his demise certainly had. The mud surrounding the blast swirled and melted away as it continued to grow bigger. Rain, upon touching it, sizzled and evaporated. Neither weather nor land held back the force of the blast, all crumbled in its wake.
The purple sphere had reached the limit. Its charged power had expired and so it stopped increasing in size. The shading of dark purple that it had cast on everything surrounding it faded as it shrunk down into the hallow pit of mud it had created, until it vanished completely. The rain and wind once again took over, as the savage gales began shoving mud, grass and what was left of corn shoots into the large hole while the rain created more muck, turning the hole into a brown pond. Nothing remained of Zan, nor any marks or remains to tell of the act of his death.
Tai looked up to the overcast sky and scoffed to himself. The Ouraset Jelosk had achieved exactly what it was meant to do and since it was used in such a small area its effects would mostly likely hold out until day break. His task was done. There was no reason to stay on the pathetic island any longer, an island which was thrown into chaos by a simple weather condition. He almost laughed again.
The rain no longer fell on Tai’s proud shoulders as his image once again flickered before disappearing completely into the wind.
The only sound that could be heard now was the evil wind. The village’s children were too sick of crying and too aware that it would not help. No more was the sound of two men talking in the corn fields disrupting the perfect symphony of wind and rain raging through the village.
Through all of it; the gale outside, the pelting rain, the cries of children, and the small explosion, one young man slept soundly in his bed. While outside the weather raged and tore at his village he slept peacefully.
______________________________________________________________________
Questions & Comments: iandawson@destinedbooks.com