Novels

Chapter 2. Things go Astray. (The Sword Summoner: History Repeats)

~ Matthew Roys ~ Leave a comment

As soon as Trey and Billy had been recorded, they were ushered quickly through the stone corridors to the Language room. A tall, dark skinned, broad shouldered figure stood at the door. His shiny bald head was almost blinding as it reflected the morning sun. It was their teacher, Mr Xion. He wore fine clothes of subtle hues that fit him perfectly, while his face was handsome and his body well-toned. Everything about him was well kept and luxurious.

“Everyone enter the room in silence and seat yourself at your designated desks,” the man ordered the class in a stern voice. This was his usual before class speech.

Trey took his place at the very centre of the classroom. He preferred a back corner near the window and Mr Xion knew it. He didn’t like Trey and was always trying to make his lessons unbearable. All because of an accident involving a stray arrow nearly hitting him through an open window the previous year. Trey hadn’t intended the arrow to ricochet. It just went to prove that practicing archery while suffering through a bout of hiccups was not a good idea.

The test dragged on and Trey’s attention found itself straying to the different shapes on the floor. It was like cloud watching, but more varied.

“Trey!” barked Mr Xion. “What have I just been saying?”

Trey looked up slowly. “Something in the language of the northern desert tribes,” he replied.

“Yes, but what?” sneered Mr Xion through gritted teeth.

“I don’t know.” Trey shrugged his shoulders dismissively.

Mr Xion had been expecting this and had his next words planned. “You don’t seem very interested in my lessons, any reasons?” There was a long silence, then Mr Xion spoke again. “Well?”

Trey thought for a moment. “Well sir, I can’t say that I don’t like this lesson or you, because it is rude and you’ll give me a caning, and I don’t really want one.”

“Then why don’t you say that you are interested in my lesson, that should work,” said Xion with a smug look of satisfaction.

“I was taught never to lie,” Trey replied simply.

Xion’s face turned from tan to red in a second. “Trey!” he growled, barely holding in his anger. There was a piercing ding sound. The break bell rang and everyone started to file out of the classroom, including Trey.

“Talk about saved by the bell, Trey,” laughed Billy as they walked down the corridor. “I’ve got to do some stuff now for the archery team so I’ll see you later.” He turned a corner and left Trey by himself. 

Trey weaved through the ambling crowds of pupils and found his usual breaktime spot, a small table on the edge of the school grounds looking out at the bell tower and his house. He sat down, made himself comfy, and started to lose himself in one of his trance like thoughts.

“Oi! Move, I’m sitting here now!” came a sneering voice. 

Trey turned his head to see who was ordering him to move. It was Derrick Rol, or ‘Sharkey’ as his friends called him. He was about Trey’s height, thin, with ape like arms. His short brown, spiky hair looked like a hedgehog that had been swimming in grease and his eyes were a dark brown that sat in sunken sockets.

“Shift now or I’ll shift ya myself,” threatened the boy in a deep voice that was clearly fake.

Sharkey was meant to be the ‘big dog’ around the town, even though he was only a year older than Trey. His father had been convicted of war crimes after the infamous Ghibok war, and had spent several years in the Lord’s dungeons. He had been released and Sharkey had been born but it had been only a few short years until the man was back in the dungeon for domestic violence. Sharkey had grown up sharing his father’s violent temperaments. 

“Come on, you better move before you get hurt, kid,” said one of the older students who had placed a hand on Trey’s shoulder. Sharkey’s reputation preceded him.

“No, I’m alright where I am thanks,” Trey said casually.

“What?” Sharkey shouted in disbelief. His voice was petulant, clearly unused to not getting his own way instantly.

“I said that I am okay, thank you,” Trey repeated calmly.

Sharkey grabbed Trey’s neck and shoved him off the bench. Trey stood up, walked back to the bench and sat back down. Sharkey’s face turned red with rage. He swung his fist towards Trey’s face but Trey merely swayed to one side and Sharkey missed him. Sharkey then lunged his full body at Trey. His arms flailed around him in blind anger. Trey’s leg shot out and kicked him in the stomach, sending him staggering backwards. Sharkey recovered then charged again, this time getting ready to hit Trey with all his strength. Trey anticipated this move so he stood up, hit Sharkey in the throat, kneed him in the gut then turned slightly and elbowed him in the cheek. Sharkey collapsed to the floor.

Unknown to Trey’s peers, he’d had a lot of training and was stronger than he looked. His father had been an officer in the city guard and had been a skilled warrior. Even though Trey had never met him, he still felt a longing to live up to the man’s legacy. His practice sessions with Billy were the highlights of his week.

Trey felt a hand on his shoulder that pulled him around, immediately followed by a fist to his nose. He fell backwards, but as he was falling he remembered a move he had seen once used by performers at a travelling circus. He lifted his right leg up, placed it on his attackers thigh, grabbed his jumper, and as Trey hit the floor, he kicked up and flipped the thug straight into Sharkey.

Trey struggled to his feet and looked around. Sharkey’s friends surrounded him. They started to close in. He knew that he didn’t stand a chance against all of them. Suddenly, someone broke the tight ring of thugs.

It was Billy. He must have seen the trouble and ran there. The gang charged at the two friends. They started well, winning every thug that came at them, their basic training serving them well, but they just kept coming. Billy’s strong arms ensured that those he hit stayed down while Trey, who was a swordsman at heart, dodged most of the clumsy attacks. The bullies only used strength, knowing nothing about how to fight with skill, but soon both Trey and Billy became tired.

“Looks like we’re beat,” grunted Billy through gasping breaths. A purple bruise was already forming on his cheek. Trey sighed. They were only going to be beaten up, but it was going to be a defeat that caused them both a lot of pain and humiliation.

“Woo hoo! This is gonna be fun!” came a crazed shout from behind the crowd that had gathered around the brawl. A figure dashed forward through the observers, cackling madly. It was a boy from Trey’s class called Zak Malma.

Trey had never really talked to him. To put it lightly, he was insane. He had once voiced his opinion that sheep had been the rulers of mankind and only awaited the chance to retake that position once again. But here he was coming into the fight for no reason. His messily spiked hair was a mixture of mostly darkest black with odd streaks of vivid blond that flew around his face wildly as he ran. His blue eyes looked ecstatic as he smacked the first thug in the face. His jumper was on backwards.

He had a long ruler in each hand that he used like swords. The thugs couldn’t fight back against his reckless attacks. The cracking sound of the wood mixed with the pained shouts of his victims. During his rampage he also managed to hit some of the crowd as well, causing chaos as the bystanders attempted to stop him. Like a chain of dominoes, more and more of the students began to lash out. Soon there was a riot spreading across the entire school grounds.

Social groups had joined together, creating factions among the chaos. What had started as simple reactive violence rapidly became a full-scale battle with Zak at its centre. Teachers attempted to control the situation, but could do little to stem the fighting. Within the hour it had spread, spilling out into the city itself. 

A dark figure smirked, watching it all unfold from his window. 

The city guards in their polished armour eventually stormed the school and put an abrupt stop to the fighting, but everyone in the city was appalled by the children’s behaviour, and they had to point the finger at someone.

Previous – Chapter 1. Another Day

Next – Chapter 3. Expelled.

Chapter 1. Another Day. (The Sword Summoner: History Repeats)

~ Matthew Roys ~ Leave a comment

Birds scattered as the old morning bell began to toll. Its deep echoes rang throughout the city of Pastrino. The noise was met by stirrings as the city below began to awaken, and the people rose from slumber to begin their day’s work. All except one: Trey Sted. He was still fast asleep like most mornings.

People were amazed how he could sleep through the morning bell since his house stood in the shadow of the bell tower on the wide hill that marked the centre of the city. It left any who were that close to the tower with ringing ears when it chimed, but Trey never stirred from his sleep.

“Trey, wake up! Trey, get out of bed!” his mother called from the doorway. Trey didn’t move. His cover was wrapped tightly around him like a cocoon even though it was the middle of summer. His mother called again. “Trey, get up now or you’ll be sorry.” Still he lay motionless. “I warned you, Trey.”

She went down stairs and left the house. A large aqueduct snaked its way across the city overhead, from which a pipe led down into the Sted’s garden, like similar pipes did for every other house in the city. You were always under the shadow of the aqueduct in Pastrino.

Sarah Sted had a way of waking up her son. She grabbed a wooden bucket and turned on the tap. A steady flow of water poured into the container. Once it was full she staggered back upstairs. She reached Trey’s bed and managed to lift the bucket just above his head. In one big movement she tipped it upside down. Water cascaded over him, and much of the room around it.

Trey’s eyes opened but his body barely moved. The remnants of water weaved through his long, dark brown hair, then soaked into his thin mattress. His green eyes looked tired, but they always had a shine deep within them. 

“Morning, Mum,” he said, moving his dripping hair from his eyes. He’d gotten used to his unusual wake up but could never go back to sleep because his mattress was soaked. He yawned again and rubbed his eyes.

“It’s almost time for school so I want you dressed and downstairs in five minutes.” Sarah instructed him briskly.

“Yes, Mum,” muttered Trey as he eyed the soaked bed longingly. 

Sarah left his room to carry on with her jobs, leaving Trey alone to get dressed. Getting up, he glanced around the narrow room. Between his bed, a chest, and a small bookshelf, there was little space left to move. He walked over to the chest where his school uniform was and just stared at the dull grey trousers and jumper.

Trey didn’t like school; that was, he didn’t like getting up at first light, he didn’t like crowds, and he didn’t like the uniform. The actual subjects were enjoyable enough, other than languages with Mr Xion.

Motivation was a hard thing to find for someone like Trey. Day after day he was forced to learn things that he would never need, all under the premise of future success. This meant little to Trey though since he had no grand ambition for fame or fortune. All he wanted from life was to live a quiet existence with enough money in his pocket to allow his mum the peace that she deserved. Learning a language from a country he would never visit just seemed a waste.

He got dressed then had a quick glance through his window at the city around him. That was what he liked most about his room; since his house was on a hill at the centre of the city, he could see nearly all of Pastrino. Not that there was a great deal of beauty to be found in the gloom of the aqueduct.

He could see the squat school off to his right and the tall shape of the old Sprite church to his left. He could also see the farmers’ fields in the distance, just past the city’s crumbling, once white walls. The winding aqueduct disappeared beyond the horizon to join up with a distant river that provided the city’s water supply. A crowded mass of grime coated white stone buildings lay below him like sea foam washing up on a beach.

With a yawn, he hopped down the stairs into the kitchen to get his breakfast. Trey loved his food and the thought of breakfast was the only thing that encouraged him to stay awake. The only time he could really eat until he was full though was at big events when he didn’t need to pay for the food. His mother had to look after him and the house by herself. She did other people’s odd jobs to get by.

His father had disappeared just before Trey was born and no one knew where or why. Some thought he was dead while others believed that he had just run away from his responsibilities. Trey had even heard some people call him a murderer, pinning the death of a young girl on him. Trey didn’t know the answer, and he never asked too much about it as he knew how much it hurt his mother to talk about it. 

Trey grabbed some food and began to eat. Sarah had just finished wiping up the water that had fallen through the floorboards from Trey’s room and stopped to look at her son. His mother couldn’t work out why Trey was treated like he was. He just didn’t seem to fit in. He was distant, always in a dream, wandering through life without a direction or purpose. It was like Trey had his own little bubble and just couldn’t connect with the world beyond it. 

He did have one friend though, Billy Delb. They had been friends all of their lives, even though Billy was more popular than Trey. They spent most of their school time together but didn’t see each other much outside. Billy had lots of clubs to go to and Trey enjoyed staring out of the window for hours on end just relaxing. Billy’s parents had been in the same class as Sarah during their school days and the friendship had been passed down to the next generation.

There was a series of knocks upon the front door. Sarah opened it and Billy stood just beyond. His short, light brown hair shone in the light of the sun and his brown eyes looked bored. He had a well-built upper body because of the hours of archery practice he did every day. His father was the school’s archery instructor after all.

“Are you ready, Trey?” he asked. “I’m really looking forward to school today.” Sarcasm dripped from his every word. He rolled his shoulders absently. Unlike Trey, Billy was never happy unless he was moving.

“Why?” Trey asked, thinking over the day’s schedule. “Oh.” He sighed. He remembered he had a language test first lesson with Mr Xion and then no good subjects afterwards. 

If only he’d been born sooner, Trey thought. Back when his mum had been at school they had still taken practical subjects like swordsmanship. Then the former lord of Pastrino had passed away and was replaced with a man involved with the Neototes. They were a group that saw the past as nothing more than a hindrance to the evolution of society and tried to cut all ties to the more ‘barbaric’ ages. 

“Come on then,” Trey said wearily, dispelling his sour thoughts as he pulled his school bag onto his shoulder. “Bye Mum. See you later.”

“Bye Mrs Sted,” said Billy.

“Bye,” she replied with a smile. “Be careful.”

“I’ll try,” Trey answered as he closed the door behind him. Trey had a strange feeling about today. He got this feeling whenever something was going to happen. Was it something good or bad, he pondered to himself as they walked to school along the same path they had used since their first day there. Maybe he would pass Language, that would be a strange miracle, he mused cynically.

Previous – Prologue: Time of Troubles

Next – Chapter 2. Things go Astray.

Prologue: Time of Troubles. (The Sword Summoner: History Repeats)

~ Matthew Roys ~ Leave a comment

At the dawn of the fourth era of man, three cities were built in the land of Farava. To the southeast was Onlasar, carved into the very rock of the Endii Mountains near to the vast southern sea of Verinadia. It was the oldest of the three cities and was known as the shield of the East. Established during the Klade wars, it had been converted to defend the eastern lands from the vicious barbarians who ravaged the rocky landscape and raided the windy coast.

In the northwest, only a few leagues east from the ruins of the Old Kingdom’s once sprawling capital, was Lanstiro. It was the most fortified of the cities, constructed to stop the monstrous creatures known as Forukks that roamed in the far west from escaping their shadowy realm of Miankkuth. It had been built in celebration of victory over the Klades. The Old Kingdom had been shattered, but humanity had survived. Lanstiro’s strong walls and stronger warriors were the mighty sword of Farava’s people.

The final city was Pastrino. It was built in the centre of Farava and was the most pleasant of the three cities. No threats were able to bypass Onlasar or Lanstiro, so its people were peaceful and naïve as to what occurred beyond their city’s vast white walls. Dense forests as ancient as the world itself boarded its northern boundaries while the sun parched Amion desert separated it from Onlasarian lands. Steep cliffs that led to the lower steps of the country partitioned Pastrino from the outer confines of Lanstiro. 

The foul creatures of the west were eventually beaten down, forced to stay in their own twisted domain by the powerful warriors of Lanstiro. Confident in their victory, the Lanstirians failed to be prepared when the Forukks amassed once more and laid siege to the battle hardened city. Lanstiro’s contact with the other cities ceased.

Onlasar sent its finest scouts to investigate, but they never returned. Then in the snowy winter, while harsh blizzards ravaged the land and visibility was poor, Pastrino was attacked by the demonic Forukks and warped human savages from the shadowlands. They fought bravely, but they were no warriors, and after two days of battle, few men remained. In what looked to be the last stand, the few surviving defenders fortified the city’s bell tower and made ready for the next wave of invaders. 

Before the enemies reached the tower, a lone man appeared to face the horde. He had no weapons or armour of any kind. A blinding sapphire light flooded the blood soaked streets. The stranger now held in his hands a blazing blue sword with a lance like hilt that was embossed with jewels. He charged forwards and slashed. Screams echoed through the ruined city. A cloud of dust rose around them as azure energy ripped through the Forukk’s ranks like a ravishing wave. When it cleared, the barbarians and Forukks were dead.

After a council between the remaining people of Pastrino and representatives from Onlasar, the decision was made that the two cities should send their combined armies to Lanstiro to discover her fate.

Men from the outlying villages joined the gathering army in droves. Even the isolated warriors of the desert rallied to the call. It was the largest gathering of soldiers since the Old Kingdom had fallen. The assembled armies marched with all haste to the lost city. 

The once lush ground had taken the first steps toward becoming a barren wasteland. Trees that had formed vast forests had been felled, and a creeping fog rolled across the newly formed plains. As the army moved onward it encountered no signs of life. Unable to hunt, food became scarce. Finally, they crested a high hill that revealed structures on the horizon. 

The fortress city was bigger than ever. Its walls were blackened and spikes lined every surface. Beaten metal covered the cold stone like armour. Newly constructed parapets and turrets formed a web of defences around the original structures.

The Faravian armies marched forward cautiously. The sky suddenly darkened, and for an instant, the allied soldiers thought it was rain. Many never thought again. Arrows punctured armour and flesh alike. The largest battle since the Klade War had begun.

Arrows rained down upon the allied armies as they desperately tried to force open the iron doors. They had expected to face the Forukks in revenge of their sister city, but instead had been betrayed. 

Siege crossbows fired and the bolts plunged into the stone of the city’s walls, leaving a rope line that could be climbed. The first of the allies reached the top of the fortress and were immersed into heavy combat. Bulky, leather skinned Forukks, and heavily armoured men in the red and black livery of Lanstiro, battled with the lighter armoured soldiers of the East. As more allies scaled the wall, Lanstirian bodies joined the litany of dead.

A bright light filled the area around the fortress like the dawning of a new day. In the middle of the battle stood the stranger, his glowing azure sword pulsing with life. He ran towards the wall and his sword became large near its hilt as it roared with a sudden violent energy that fired him up into the sky in a blaze of blue flame. As he came down he ripped into the enemies on the wall.

The stranger led the assault on the gate, killing all who stood in his way. The outer sections were quickly captured, but the city itself had also been fortified. Barricades had been erected in the streets while archers fired down at the attackers from boarded up windows. Pits, rockfalls and other such traps had been installed at every turn. 

The battle lasted hours and cost many lives, but with the stranger’s aid, the allies managed to push their way through the city’s gruesome defences, capturing the buildings in concentric rings as they forced themselves closer toward the centre. Finally, they managed to push through into the central castle, breaching the keep after a brutal assault.

In a bloody one on one battle between the stranger and the enemy leader, the traitorous monarch was killed and the turncoats were captured and executed. The remaining Forukks managed to retreat back into their own mysterious lands amidst the chaos. None dared to follow them into Miankkuth’s death filled shadow.

The victory felt hollow. The body count was high and the damage to Farava as a whole was unimaginable. The very air within Lanstiro seemed to corrupt the mind, turning friend against friend. To counter this, much of the city was destroyed, while the rest was abandoned to the merciless hands of time. 

Despite this victory, Forukk assaults continued against the humans’ defences as the years passed by. Many farms and villages were wiped from the maps. In an attempt to bring about true peace for the land, the stranger set off alone into Miankkuth to put a stop to the attacks once and for all. The corrosive fog that marked that land had now consumed the ruined fortress of Lanstiro, vastly expanding the monsters’ domain. Forukk sightings ended, but never again was the sword-summoning stranger seen by human eyes. All memories of him faded with the many generations that passed peacefully by, as did the memories of the Forukks, and of the battle itself.

But history has a way of repeating itself and old enemies never lie still forever. Peace makes men grow weak while hatred lets others grow strong…

Next – Chapter 1. Another Day.

1. (Something Like Life)

~ Matthew Roys ~ Leave a comment

Something Like Life.

I watch as the world passes by without me. From my perch atop the old Record Ridgway factory, I can see for miles across the city. The void is calling me. It’s the only thing that ever does. 

I’m just high enough to trigger that strange human urge to jump, but low enough to fear the fall would only shatter my bones. Cold stone and corrugated sheeting surround me, rust, broken glass, and thick moss covering everything like a post-apocalyptic botanical garden of abandonment. 

I sit on the concrete lip and admire the frescoes of graffiti that punctuate the 1930s architecture. Ninety odd years doesn’t seem too long a time, all things considered, but the view from here has changed drastically in that time. So has the world. The men who worked their trade in the factory below were long gone. My granddad had been one of them. The company was sold to an American firm, and all production moved to China. Sheffield Steel couldn’t hold a candle to Chinese slave labour apparently.

Despite the brooding figure I like to imagine I strike, I’m no vigilante or prowler of the night. In fact, it’s eight in the morning on a cold Tuesday, and I’m hunched up in a little ball with a pounding headache after drinking a full bottle of Jack the night before. Why choose a derelict factory? Why not? I find it a good place to reflect. The factory, like me, is little more than a ghost. 

My manuscript had been rejected by every agent again, and my healthy coping mechanism had of course been to resort to excessive levels of alcohol. I’m pretty sure that I’d decided to kill myself as the weight of my failure pulled me down into the dark depths of depression, but I’d got distracted at some point by drunken thoughts and ended up building a Lego house when I found an old box of the stuff while searching for a rope. Feeling groggy and strangely reflective, I’d wandered up to the factory when I woke and couldn’t fall back to sleep again. I always end up here when I need to think. Maybe I’m here to contemplate life. Maybe I’m here to end it.

Time passes in erratic waves up here, as though the weathered stone is caught between two conflicting presents. Look down and the world is a hectic kaleidoscope of colours and movement as thousands of people go about their meaningless lives. Look up and all is a slow churn of blue, white, and grey as clouds creep across the skyline, stretching and shifting their shapes subtly, almost unnoticeably. 

As someone who spends far too much time staring at the clouds, and also as someone with what is often insultingly called a philosophical nature, you’d imagine that I’d wax lyrical about the sky. Many poets had. But then, at the end of the day, what even is the sky? A big old pile of nothing. I wandered lonely as a cloud… Ha! Sure. This is England. Every cloud and their mother are up there partying it up. A British cloud wouldn’t know loneliness if loneliness hijacked a plane and flew straight through it.

This mess of idle thoughts is pretty common. Welcome to my mind. Watch the low door frame as you enter and don’t bother wiping your feet as the place is a shithole already. To the right we have alcohol dependence, and down the corridor you’ll find self-deprecating humour and an empty room where I’m told the emotions should have been installed, but nobody ever got around to it. There are cracks in the walls big enough to slide your hand through, and the roof is held on by duct tape. It may not be much, but it’s where my thoughts call home.

“Now then, Quasimodo! Get down here before that ugly mug of yours puts some poor gargoyle out of the job.” 

I sigh, consider ignoring the voice for a moment, then glance down. Corgi wouldn’t go away because of something as simple as me ignoring his very existence. This is a shame, since the cold terror of the void is usually better company than the pudgy excuse for a man that has invaded my sanctuary. 

“That’s not what your mum was saying last night.”

“Really? Mum jokes? I expected more wit from you. Has the drinking finally killed off your last brain cells? Anyway, my mum’s dead, so joke’s on you.”

“Decomposition produces a surprising amount of warmth and the silence of the grave is a welcome change from the usual incessant chatter.”

“Cheery fucker, aren’t you?”

“You know you love me for it.”

“Someone’s got to. If I stop talking to you then nothing would stop you throwing yourself off there.”

“You’ve quite the ego. Who do you think drives me to come up here in the first place?”

I contemplate just how much of a bastard Corgi is as I edge myself from my perch and begin the short journey through the inner ruins of the once proud unit. The tools here had been world famous, the workers well respected, and now it is empty and half flooded, a haven for street artists and urban explorers. 

It doesn’t take long until I slip out of the factory and squeeze through a hole in the metal fence near where Corgi is waiting for me. We hate each other. It’s really the best foundation for a friendship you can have. It takes effort to hate, so it only makes sense to reserve it for people you can just about tolerate.

I take a final look at the shell of former industrial glory. You can almost see the shadows of the workers, ghosts of a dead age. I find them pleasant company. They don’t buy me drinks though, so I have to turn my attention to less favourable souls like Corgi and the lads.

We leave the factory and weave through the streets until we reach the city centre. A fine drizzle is in the air, but that’s nothing surprising. The cold bites at me. It’s nice to feel something. As we walk, we trade small talk, mostly about video games. It’s all we ever really talk about. Most other topics spiral towards depression with surprising speed. Politics, the environment, relationships, careers, or aspirations, all of them are sensitive subjects these days.

The Bible-bashers are out in force today, their signs and stands filled with booklets cluttering the already cluttered pavement. One is set up next to a homeless man. They each ignore the other’s existence. I don’t really get it. I’m no God botherer, but my general understanding is that kindness and charity were the foundations of faith. Yet these guys stand around all day with their signs, oblivious to the real world suffering around them. Give food to the poor, raise money for the homeless, lobby for better education. Hell, fuck off abroad for some charity or other helping out developing nations. Do anything. I mean, don’t get me wrong, I don’t do anything either. But unlike them, I don’t pretend to care. 

Corgi grabs one of the booklets as we pass and leafs through it. He stops at every image of a woman and holds it up for me to see.

“Her?”

“Too old.”

“Her?” 

I consider the picture with the same scrutiny that a fine art dealer would examine a Da Vinci painting. “Passable. Good body. Weird eyes though.”

“Ooh, what about this one?”

“I’d nail that one like Christ on the cross.”

Corgi laughs then slings the booklet into a bin as we pass. With enough boredom, you turn everything into a game. The more bored you are, the shittier the game. Casual sexism roulette is an easy one. Devalue others because you don’t value yourself.

I cheer up a little as we reach our destination. Nothing quite warms the soul like a sign for a J.D. Wetherspoon. I pull open the door and bow theatrically to Corgi as I let him past. The pub is quiet this time of day. Huddled close to the bar are a handful of older men, mostly ex-labourers of one kind or another, who sit nursing pints of John Smiths. They show up every day at nine o’ clock on the dot when alcohol can be served, and stay there for most of the day. This place is the closest thing to a home they have, and it’s a sight mirrored in every pub across the country.

Slightly further back than the pissheads are the old biddies sipping their fifth refillable coffee and gnawing at a slice of toast that they had started eating an hour ago. This is another universal constant. 

A young girl is manning the bar. She looks slightly haggard. My expert eye knows a hangover when it sees one. Probably a student. The faces of the bar staff change every time I visit, though they all have a slightly worn quality to them. The key is to mix up which pubs you visit on a regular basis so none of them can get used to your destructive lifestyle and feel pity for you. Variety is the spice of life after all. That’s where the old pissheads went wrong. They became part of the furniture and the staff know exactly how sad their lives are. When your eventual funeral is made up of more Spoonies than actual family and friends, you know you fucked up somewhere.

“I’ll have a BBQ burger and a vodka tonic,” I tell her in a voice pitched low enough to ease her headache. Her eyes seem to thank me. It always pays to be nice, at least when it takes absolutely zero effort to do so. 

“Dude, it’s twenty past nine in the morning,” Corgi says accusingly. His voice makes the girl wince. He has that effect on people.

“Yeah, you’re right. Make it a double.”

“Burger or vodka?”

“Yes.”

“Double vodka tonic isn’t covered in the deal.”

“Better throw in a cider while you’re at it then, please.”

She shrugs and taps away slowly on the screen. Corgi orders a large mixed grill, then we take our drinks and settle into a corner table as far from anyone else as possible. I quickly down the vodka then nurse the cider as we wait for the food.

“So how’s the writing going?” Corgi asks me. 

“Well, I’m sat in a Wetherspoons drinking before ten. My spirits are clearly high.”

“Nobody liked your story then?”

“Fuck if I know. That knowledge requires communication. What I get is the cold silence of jack shit. But hey, it was only two years’ hard work. No real loss, right?”

“I don’t know why you keep trying. You clearly aren’t very good at it.”

I’m torn between dry sarcasm and trying to defend myself. I could explain that agents receive hundreds of submissions every week, but that sounds like an excuse even as I think of the words. I’m not sure I even believe it either. Maybe I am just not good enough. That would be more fitting with my usual MO. Sarcasm it is then.

“Tell me again how your apprenticeship went. You know, the one that would guarantee you a job for life? Oh, that’s right! You did unskilled grunt labour for pennies, then got let go the second they’d have to start paying you minimum wage.”

“Point taken.” Corgi looks deflated, and I almost feel sorry for him, but then the food arrives and his emotions instantly bounce skyward. He tucks in and I have to respect his ability to devour steak without wasting time on such menial things as chewing. I return to the bar a few times and start to reach that perfect state where time ceases to have meaning. It’s only when a shadow passes over me that I really look up from my latest drink. 

Three men of varying shades of ugliness are standing over us. In generous terms, they are what could loosely be described as the rest of ‘The Lads’. Tink is a tall fellow with that wide kind of build that isn’t fat or muscular, just kind of there. Larry is scrawny with a shaved head and a sense of fashion that screamed neo Nazi, even though he is soft as a brush and listens to shitty teen pop, while Toto is dark skinned with dreadlocks and an easy smile.

“Are you boys ready for tonight?” Larry asks, clapping his hands together.

“Yesh,” I answer. I may be drunk. Fuck if I know. A drunk guy should be the last person you trust to make a judgement call about anything.

Toto gathers up my empties and shakes his head, but a soft smile still plays across his lips. He’s always a glowing pillar of positivity. 

“It isn’t eleven yet and you’ve had three doubles,” he tells me, as if I didn’t know that already.

“And a cider,” I add proudly. “You said we’d do pre-drinks.”

“Yes. An hour or so before we go out. At ten. PM.”

“PM, AM, easy mistake to make. You’re still going to have a drink, right?”

Toto’s smile grows. “Of course. My round. Though, I think pints will do us for now.”

“Whatever you say, mate.”

I settle further into my seat as Tink and Larry join us around the table. Corgi chats with them about any old bollocks. I’m not really listening. A war is raging inside my skull, the alcohol fueling both sides like the Americans at the beginning of every war. On one hand I am drunk and surrounded by friends with a party on the horizon. On the other, I’m drunk and fucking miserable. Part of me wants to brood, the other part wants to laugh. My body compromises by hiccuping then slamming my head onto the table.

“You have bad coping methods, my friend,” Toto tells me as he returns with the drinks. This doesn’t stop him from handing me my cider though. Toto’s good like that.

“We can’t all have your cheerful disposition,” I say without raising my head. The words come out mumbled.

“We each hold the key to our own happiness.” 

Toto speaks with a calm assurance. The sentence holds warmth and confidence, enough to convince you that the world wasn’t really all that bad. 

This time I do laugh. 

“All I seem to be holding is cheap alcohol, so maybe you’re right.”

“You are a clever man. Don’t beat yourself up. The world is all too eager to do it for you. Keep trying. All you need is a little luck, and luck is nine tenths probability. Try enough and you have to get lucky eventually.”

I can’t help but to chuckle. Toto is that rare breed known as an optimist. To him, the glass is always half full, even if it’s being smashed over his head. Not that anyone would dare to try that. He has an intimidating presence that’s at odds to his nature, kind of like Larry, except Larry is as fearsome as a wet bit of bog roll, while I have no doubt that Toto really can fuck a man up. With him and Tink, we lesser mortals have a nice shield between us and any threats that our drunken antics might incur on any given night.

“I wish I had your optimism, mate. Maybe it’s easier to be happy when you’re a cheery bastard. I’m preconditioned to see the worst in everything. Frankly, I think you’re a naive idiot living in a dream world of rainbows and ignorance. But hey, you know what they say: Ignorance is bliss.”

“You are wrong,” Toto says, his eyes suddenly hardening in some undefinable way. “You take the easy path. To be negative is simple. It’s optimism that takes real strength. You call it naive, but to see pain and think you are powerless to make others’ lives better is what’s truly naive.”

We all stare at him wide-eyed. Even I find myself speechless, and that’s pretty damn uncommon. It’s Larry who finally speaks up after taking a large gulp of his hipster real ale.

“Bloody hell, you two. Without drawing the obvious race card, why’s it always have to be black and white? Middle of the road. That’s where most things live.”

“Why would anything live in the middle of the road?” I snap. “Bloody stupid place to live. You’d get hit by a fucking car, dickhead.”

Toto’s eyes soften again and he breaks into a booming laugh that instantly lifts the mood of the room. Well, our moods anyway. The crones scowl at him with that thinly veiled racism that English grannies have mastered. 

Tink drains the last of his lager and stands up. Watching him stand is like watching a deckchair unfold. 

“Right, lads! That’s me done. I have to pick up Tommy then run errands before getting ready. I’ll see you all tonight, yeah?”

“Yeah, yeah!” Corgi chips in, his metaphorical tail wagging excitedly. “A good party is just what we need. Some drinks and some pretty girls. It’ll help us all forget the shitshow that is our lives. It’s going to be great!”

I don’t even have the energy to stamp on his heart and tell him no women will spend a second in his company. The alcohol is hitting me hard now. I’ve passed the equilibrium and am on the rough side of the curve. I try to stand but can’t.

“Agreed!” I nod. “I just need to cool off for a bit first. Anyone fancy carrying me home? It seems my legs have forgotten how to be legs.”

Tink and Toto exchange glances. Finally Tink shrugs. “Fine. Just don’t throw up down my collar again.”

Next – 2.

Buccaneer Jones and The Fires of Peace – Chapter 1.

~ Matthew Roys

A cannonball crashed through the wall of Buccaneer Jones’ tiny cabin. He yelped and fell out of his bunk, then frantically scurried underneath it. He stared through the hole in the wall at the raging ocean outside, and the pirate ship that was rapidly approaching.

There was a thunderous noise from above as The Singing Seal returned fire with its own cannons. Buccaneer grabbed a padded hat from a hook and rammed it onto his head, the thick material covering his ears to muffle the sounds. He picked up a dog-eared old botanical encyclopedia then shuffled back beneath his bunk and tried his hardest to ignore the battle around him, even as sea water sloshed into his cabin from the hole and the smell of gunpowder swirled around him. 

The two ships closed the distance until men and women could swing from one to another with cutlasses gripped between their teeth. Now shouts and laughter filled the air, punctuated with pistol shots and the clang of swords.

Buccaneer sighed and started to hum loudly. Despite his name, Buccaneer didn’t like fighting. In fact, he hated it, just like he hated his name. To his friends he was just Bucc. Not that he had many. Bucc was considered odd by most people. He didn’t like violence, couldn’t stand loud noises, and he willingly washed at least once a week. How were you supposed to treat someone who didn’t like to fight, pillage, and drink?  Continue reading →

Thorns of the Shadow: The Taste of Lead and Lightning – Chapter 1. (Book 2)

~ Matthew Roys ~ Leave a comment

(Book two of Thorns of the Shadow. Contains spoilers of book one.)

Heat rolled in shimmering waves across every surface. The sun hung proudly in a cloudless sky above. It was the kind of day that seemed to drag on and seep the energy from the world. 

On a suburban street, in a house like every other upon it, a young woman sat slouched across a sofa where she had been for the past few hours without moving. She was called Catherine Redthorn, but preferred to go by KT. Her black hair ended half way down her back and she had an athletic build that was currently clad in black jeans and a simple white vest. A few scars marked her arms but many more lay hidden in a chaotic pattern across her torso.

On the other end of the sofa was the sprawled out shape of her twin brother, Mordekai,  known better as Kai. He was taller and broader than his sister but shared her green eyes and love of dark clothing. He too bore scars, as did their mother and father, but nothing near to the level that punctuated KT’s skin. Continue reading →

Chapter 1. (A Crown of Blood and Ash)

~ Matthew Roys ~ Leave a comment

Streaks of green flame slid through the darkness of the sky, leaving an ever changing trail of colours in its wake. The stars around it shimmered and distorted like reflections across disturbed water. Mallan Rilarendir watched it idley from the rooftop where he was laid. Vague thoughts crossed his mind, but mostly he was content to just enjoy the view. It was rare to have a clear sky.

“You ever think it’s strange how the past never really goes away. It’s always here in some way or other. We lay here and look at the sky, watching as chunks of a once powerful civilisation drifts through space, and we know all about it even though it happened long before we were born. It’s like they didn’t want to be forgotten so they keep drawing our attention to them, whispering for us to remember them.”

From Mallan’s side, Lilarith Rilarendir snorted. “I think you think to much. Of course the past is here for us to see. Every second becomes the past, becomes history. Us waiting here now, talking about nothing, is history. Maybe in the future someone will think we’re important and look back to this moment. That’s what decides the past. Nothing more than what people in the present believe deserves remembering.”

Mallan shrugged and continued to watch the comet split the sky asunder. He was only a young boy, but to him the great war was something that fascinated him. Even trying to imagine the scale and power involved as titans clashed was something beyond his comprehension. Yet it happened. The fragments of alien worlds were a constant reminder of it.

“But believe me,” Lilarith continued. “People will remember us. I’ll grab destiny by the horns, and with your help we’ll tame it and ride it on to victory after victory. Just you wait.”

The conviction in her voice was captivating. She believed every word she said with every fiber of her being. So did anybody who listened to her. She was just that kind of person. She commanded belief as easily as she breathed. Mallan knew that if she said everything would be okay then he’d run straight into an unwinnable fight without hesitation. Lila was the one constant in a swirling world of fear and violence.

Lila yawned then flipped onto her feet in one swift movement. She stretched then glanced around her.

“It looks like it’s going to be a bit longer before Kass shows up. You want to play a game?” she asked.

Mallan got to his feet himself with a smile. “What have you got in mind?”

“I’m thinking a game we haven’t played in ages. I challenge you to stone throwing! Kass isn’t here to win so it’s anyone’s game. Go on, I’ll let you pick the target.”

“Sure,” Mallan nodded. He stepped up to the edge of the rooftop and scanned the city. Sherham was a mess of buildings with little thought towards street planning. Half a prewar church stood beside a wooden shamble complex built in the last few years, while an imposing tower of concrete from the war itself loomed over them from the other side of the road. Few buildings were from a single period of time, additions, extensions and repairs were haphazardly slapped across just about everything in sight. 

Further away, his eyes were drawn to the large ring of the stadium that was built around one of the many craters from the war. That was far more than a stone throw away though. Beyond that, encircling everything he had ever known was the cloister, a grand wall that protected the city, its surface curling inwards like a half dome. Closer to them stood The Office. It was a large, squat building of brown stone that served the city council’s public offices. It was made distinctive by the ancient relic that was securely fastened to the roof: A large plastic ring that still bore faded pink paint. Some of the locals said it was a symbol of avarice, others that it was an old world symbol of law enforcement. To Mallan, it looked like a perfect target.

He pointed to the object, noticing that Lila had already gathered an armful of various sized rocks. Stones and general rubble was the one thing that Sherham had in plentiful supply. She handed him one then motioned with her head for him to take the first shot.

Mallan sized up the target then threw the stone. It clanked heavily into the ring and bounced to the street below. Lila placed the stones in a neat pile then grabbed one for herself. She threw it almost instantly, taking no time to measure up the distance, yet it still hit the plastic just a few inches from the hole. She made a slight frustrated sound then stepped back.

With the next stone in hand, Mallan took his time to carefully aim. Lila had won the last three games and he didn’t want to make it four. There was no coming back from something like that. He took a deep breath then swung out his arm. The stone flew straight through the hole and clipped the wall of the next building. He grinned, then controlled his features. It was too early to celebrate.

He had been right to stay reserved. Lila cast her stone clean through the ring and returned his grin with interest. The pressure was on now. All he had to do was replicate exactly what he had done on his last throw. He looked over the pile of stones and selected the roundest one he could see. Seconds ticked by as he tried to line himself up exactly as he had been before. He released the stone and watched as it dipped and skidded across the rooftop below the ring.

Lila scooped up a stone without looking and stepped up to the ledge. She made her through almost instantly and Mallan could tell from the moment it left her hand that she had won. The stone sailed through the centre of the ring then smashed a window somewhere on the other side.

“You overthink things,” she said with a slight shrug as she stepped down. “The world’s only as complicated as you make it. I remember my dad telling me that once.”

Mallan frowned. “That doesn’t sound true.”

Lila just shrugged again in response. That was the way she was. The girl had a natural luck about her. Things always tended to work out how she wanted it to. It was one of the reasons that Mallan was drawn to her. She had convictions, and against all odds, she saw them through.

He blinked as a stone whistled past his head, followed closely by two more. Without turning he watched all three follow a perfect path through the ring.

“It doesn’t count if you use your eve,” Mallan muttered. He turned to see a taller boy with dark skin and long black hair standing behind them. It was his best friend and third member of their family trio, Kassim Rilarendir. He held three more stones in one hand, maneuvering them between his fingers in complex patterns with a casual ease.

“No eve use here. I’d have looped them around the ring a few times for extra points if that was the case.” One of the stones rose up from his hand and circled Mallan’s head to emphasise his point. “I just have a feel for these things, you know?”

Lila approached the boy eagerly. “Yes, yes, we all know how the mighty Kass is the greatest at flinging dirt. Let’s get to the real news. Is everything ready?”

“As ready as it can be. The warmups have already started so most folk will be inside. Main gates are well guarded but the tunnels only have a single guard. We should be able to slip past him nice and easy down there.”

“What are we waiting for then?” Lila exclaimed. “We’ve got a show to see. Come on!”

She jogged across the roof then hopped down onto a wall below, disappearing from sight. Kass gave Mallan a knowing look then followed suit. Kass was older and took to most things he tried with ease, but just like Mallan, when it came to Lila, he was a follower along for the ride.

The twisting streets below were all but empty of humans. Dogs barked and stray cats lazed on just about every surface, sauntering around like the city was theirs. Mallan was surprised by just how quiet it was. He’d known that the match would draw a lot of people, but to think so many had saved enough for entrance was impressive.

Their goal was the stadium that dominated the ruined skyline of the city. The Champions Stadium served as the centre of modern life in Sherham. The competitions and sports played within was a big draw, and today’s match promised to be the best seen for a long time.

“We’re definitely going to make it in time, right?” Mallan asked. 

“Of course we will!” Lila declared with her usual confidence. “I’ve planned everything out. Even if we have to face down an angry guard we’ll still have time to spare. Such an important match is going to have a lot of lead up. You think I intend to miss this?”

They ran on, vaulting over low walls and skidding around corners without slowing. Their path led them veering away from the stadium to the outskirts of the city were a small pipe connected with a sickly stream. The fetid water was green and smelled bad but the three children jumped straight in. The stream didn’t even reach the top of their boots.

The pipe itself was about a foot wide with three rusted metal bars sealing off the entrance. Kass bent down and grabbed the central bar.

“I just want to stress how difficult this was,” he said in an easy tone. “I didn’t even know I could use gravel like that until I tried. Controlling tiny particles of grit to errode the pipe around the bars took a long time. You’ll be happy to know that I Used a rock to scout out the tunnel. It opens up after about thirty yards into the main sewer. Not bad, eh?”

“Not bad at all,” Lila said with a devilish smile. 

Kass twisted his grip and the bar came loose. He passed it over to Mallen then removed the other two, keeping one for himself and giving the other to Lila. Without any question or complaint, Lila got down on her knees and slid into the tunnel. Mallan went next, steadying his breath as they were immersed into darkness. 

“Hey, Mal,” Lila started. “I don’t suppose you want to manifest an eve right about now? Like fire, or maybe just the ability to glow in the dark?” 

“Afraid not.”

“I’ve told you,” Kass said. “Mal’s eve is that he doesn’t feel fear.”

“That’s not an eve, that’s psychological scarring. Something like that anyway.”

“I’m right here, guys…”

The good natured jabs didn’t really bother Mallan. Not much did. It was true that he didn’t feel emotions in the same way that everyone else seemed to. That being said, the fact that he had yet to develop and kind of eve at his age was something that played on his mind a lot. It wasn’t exactly uncommon, but it made life markedly harder.

Kass was able to control earth. At first he had just had a good sense of the land. Then he could move individual stones slightly. Now he could direct rock and dirt with ease. It was an ability with unlimited uses if you had the imagination. This power alone had helped the trio get to where they were today.

Just as Kass had said, the tight pipe opened into a wider tunnel that was knee high in slurry. Mallan took a flintbox from a pocket and lit a small lantern that hung from his belt. It didn’t do much to dispel the darkness. He glanced around through the gloom. 

“If I’m right, which I am, then down that way is the locked gate. There’s no way past it in here but they neglected that little hole. If this section of the sewer is the same as the outer city then there should be a way to come out right at the stadium,” Lila explained.

Kass picked up where she left off. “I spoke with old Gungil. He worked down here years ago and says the tunnels are a mess. The crater cut straight into pre-war basements and sewers. Some collapsed, others were joined to newer tunnels. Walking around the stadium, I’m pretty confident that there is a half collapsed pathway from the sewers into the stadium’s waterways. From there we sneak past one guard then find the small rain grate that looks into the arena.”

“Easy as that?”

“As easy as that.”

They moved through the sewers quickly, backtracking several times as they familiarised themselves with the layout. Under Kess’ guidance, it wasn’t long before they found themselves in a crumbling section of tunnel that looked to be long abandoned. It ended abruptly where a wall of rubble blocked the path.

Mallan watched as Kass scrambled up the rubble. The fickle light of the lantern barely reached the roof of the tunnel, leaving his friend obscured in darkness. They waited in silence for a moment until Kass skidded back down. 

“The rocks here are old. They’ve been under a lot of pressure. We’ll have to be careful. Stay back until I say.”

Kass approached the wall slower this time. He placed the palm of his hand on each rock for several seconds. 

“Here,” he muttered. His hand was resting on a large rock that was midway up the pile and rested on the right-hand wall. “This is the only rock here. If I can move it without displacing anything then we’re in luck.”

He took a deep breath, placing one hand on the rock in question and the other on the rubble beside it. There was a deep rumbling sound. The very walls of the tunnel shook. Dusty rained down on them. Neither Mallan or Lila moved an inch. They had complete faith in Kass.

Little by little, the rock edged its way out until it final tumbled down to land dangerously close to Mallan. Kass motioned them through the hole. As Mallan passed he could see the strain on his friend’s face. Sweat was rolling down his face. No sooner had they passed him, Kass shuffled through the gap then collapsed into the grime.

“You okay?” Mallan asked as he helped Kass back up.

“Yeah, just took a little more effort than I thought. Holding that much weight in place is apparently not easy. I had to shift some around a little too to prevent it all falling the moment I let go. Not too bad an effort, if I do say so myself.”

The section of tunnel here extended a few dozen yards then stopped. There was only a single passageway leading from it, but unlike the usual mossy stone, the archway around the passage looked much newer and was in the simplistic style of postwar construction.

Lila approached the door slowly. “That’s got to be the way under the stadium. No talking from here. Keep your eyes open for guards. Mal, shutter the light.”

Mallan snuffed out the flame, plunging the dank space into darkness once more. Kass took the lead while Lila motioned that she’d cover the back. Mallan found himself in the centre of the small group without any real role to play. That was how things usually worked out. 

They crept along as quietly as they could, although any attempt at stealth was ruined by the splashing of water that accompanied their every step. The poorly made cement that marked buildings constructed over the last century was not made for constant water exposure. A spiderweb of cracks ran along every surface. The lightest of touches sent chunks tumbling noisily into the water.

The waterways snaked and branched off without rhyme or reason. Even Kass’ sense for the earth was having trouble choosing the right paths to take. He came to a stop and held up a hand for them to be quiet. On the edge of hearing was the distinctive sloshing of footsteps. 

“We won’t be able to sneak past any guards with this water,” Kass whispered. 

“I’m not turning back.” Lila hissed. “Take him out.”

“You sure?”

She nodded decisively. Kass frowned but did as she asked. He took a stone from his pocket and waited as the approaching splashes grew louder. A shape emerged from around a corner surrounded by an aura of light. It was the shadow of a man. Then a stout man in the basic grey uniform of the city guard followed. In one hand he held a lantern, in the other a small pistol. A metal baton also hung from his waist. The man noticed them immediately. Without hesitating he raised the gun. 

“Hands up! What the snazz are you doing down ‘ere?”

All three of them obeyed, lifting their hands above their head. Mallan noticed that the stone floated out of sight behind Kass’s back. The boy’s finger twitched slightly and the stone shot forward. It kept low, skimming over the water until it visibly turned and dove upwards, curving at the last second to slam into the guard’s temple. He made a sharp grunt then fell to the floor.

“Quick! The match is going to start any second!” Lila said, completely unperturbed by the violent crime they had just participated in. She was already jogging past the guard.

Mallan and Kass followed, Mallan pausing long enough to position the guard with his face out of the water. They now sprinted through the tunnels until a new sound started to reverberate through the stone. 

At first it was a physical force, something felt rather than heard. Then it became a low rumble that rose in intensity until it became the clear sound of thousands of voices cheering in unison. Up ahead a beam of light cut through the mirk. The children clustered around it like their savior. 

Mallan allowed Lila and Kass to press their heads up close to the small grate that was set in the wall at the perfect height for them to see through. He positioned himself so he could see over Lila’s shoulder.

The light resolved itself into a desert landscape. His view was limited but Mallan could see the sandy ground and large boulders that dotted the circular space. Beyond the sand rose a large wall that transitioned into a series of steps that sloped at a gentle angle outwards. People stood tightly packed along the steps, all of them focussed entirely on the arena below them. 

“We made it in time!” Lila laughed triumphantly. “We finally get to see them.”

A horn blew and the cheers of the crowd became even wilder. A mechanically enhanced voice cut across the noise.

“Ladies and gentlemen, the time has finally arrived, and boy are you in for a show tonight. I want you to offer a warm welcome to the heroes that have graced us with their presence here. We have two esteemed teams ready to put their skills to the test for your entertainment!”

The cheers were near deafening now. Some unseen signal called the crowd to be calm. The voice continued.

“Our first team today are known far and wide across the world yet hail from this fair land! This year marks their ninth as Reclaimers. With six stadium wins, nineteen migrations and a total of over twenty six thousand logged hours in the Scorch, this is a team with a proven pedigree. Please show some love to the Scarlet Arrows!”

The crowd was going wild. Mallan bobbed and twisted his head to try and see the entrance way but was blocked by one of the boulders. Then three figures walked into the centre of the arena, soaking in the adoration of the people. They each wore red bodysuits beneath chainmail and leather armour. An assortment of pouches and items hung from wide belts. It was only the weapons that were different, one having some kind of metal crossbow, another a sword and shield, while the third had what looked like a flamethrower.

“You see their arms?” Lila asked. “Those metal things have arrows in them. The hooded guy with the crossbow is Robin. Say’s he’s Robin Hood reborn. With his eve he could be. He controls localised air currents and can direct things like arrows with ease. He’ll stay back and try to keep the other team pinned while the other two move to flank. I guarantee it.”

The Scarlet Arrows returned to their side of the stadium as the announcer continued.

“Our second team are relative newcomers to the Reclaimer scene but have left a big impression in that time. Travelling here from across the Ship Graveyard, these three have racked up three migrations, twelve thousand hours in the Scorch and two stadium wins. This will be their first appearance in Sherham’s Champion Stadium so give them a warm welcome. I present to you, The Future Rains!”

Mallan could see the entrance at this end. He saw another three Reclaimers enter the arena to the roar of the crowd. These three were very different from the last team. Each wore different armour without any central theme flowing through them. At their centre was a shorter man with two pistols and a large coat. Flanking him was a large woman with an equally large hammer, and a tall man who didn’t seem to be carrying any weapon at all.

“They’ve won,” Lila announced confidently.

“You think?” Kass said. “The Arrows have way more experience. They’ve mastered their technique.”

“That’s why they’ll lose,” Lila answered. “They do what they do well. And everyone knows it.”

Mallan considered this. “So you think these Future Rains know what to expect and will have a plan? But doesn’t everyone know what the Arrows do? Why would this be different?”

“Look at them. They’re all kinda ugly, right? They aren’t here for fame. They aren’t here on good will or glamour. Their stats say the same. In two years they’ve done as much as the Arrows did in five. Every story I hear about them in battle is different too. They adapt and they survive. The Arrows are here to put on a show, the rains are here to win.”

“Is everybody ready!” shouted the mechanical voice. “Then let the match begin!”

A screeching airhorn sounded then bolts began to fly. Mallan watched as a dozen bolts wove and weaved through the air, approaching the Future Rains from several directions. He didn’t have Lila’s faith in the team but he did have faith in Lila. The match was now a game of seeing not if the underdog team would win but how.

Flames erupted from the tall man’s hands, incinerating the bolts in a heartbeat. More bolts followed though before the man could ready another blast of fire. The woman, Jayne Farstride as Mallan recalled, had already started a direct charge forward. The bolts ignored her and aimed straight for the shorter man, Lampron. He didn’t move. The bolts passed straight through him without the slightest flicker of emotion crossing his face. There was no blood, nor any holes in his clothes or flesh. 

Lampron stepped forward, unfazed by the attack, and sedately approached the closest boulder as the taller man, Tim Tallow, strode towards the opposing team with fire streaming out from his hands.

“That’s a hell of an eve,” Kass said admiringly, his eyes following the waves of flame.

“Yours is better,” Lila answered without looking away from the battle. 

The two teams exchanged attacks in a terrifying display of power. It was obvious why these men and women were regarded with such reverence. The Reclaimers were the best of the best, the strongest humans that put their lives on the line to protect any that needed to cross the ashes between cities. Their reputation had made them into celebrities, and now many worked as much for entertainment as they did for utility. 

Mal watched the two teams clash. It was the first time he had seen Reclaimers in action, and the sight filled him with amazement and doubt. He couldn’t ever imagine being at that level. 

Then, just as Lila had predicted, The Future Rains came out on top. The stadium erupted with cheers as the match ended. Lila laughed derisively. “I expected better from them. Both teams, to be honest.”

“Are you disappointed?” Mal asked her.

“No. It just added to my excitement. These guys are considered some of the best in the trade yet they fought like that? Hah! That just proves that we’re going to be the best Reclaimers ever!” Lila grabbed Mallan and Kass’ hand without looking away from the stadium. “Just you wait. In a few years we’ll be out on that sand, all of those cheers and chants aimed at us. We’re gonna shoot straight to the top. Believe it!”

Next – Chapter 2.

Chapter 1. (Forge of Icarus)

~ Matthew Roys ~ Leave a comment

“If everyone isn’t in a line by the time I cross the threshold then there’ll be no dinner for the lot of you.”

There was a bustle of feet as two dozen children ran through the drab corridor to line up before a simple stone fireplace. Their clothes were well worn and they all bore a uniform haircut regardless of their age or gender. At a glance they looked to vary in age from three to twelve, though all of them looked underfed and overworked. Their eyes weren’t the mature eyes of adults or the haunted eyes of soldiers, but neither were they the eyes of average children.

A nervous ripple ran through the line. Every head swiveled to the doorway where a tall man stood beside the rat-featured speaker who called himself the Orphan Master. The master’s given name of Ral Colcot was far less grand and suited him much better. The children examined the stranger with every inch of scrutiny that he gave to them.

“Listen well,” the orphan master announced. “This is Sir Theaspin Rothsgrave and he has graced us with his presence. None of you deserve to even share the same air as such an esteemed lord but he has gifted you all with just such an opportunity. Muster what dignity you have and obey his every word. Is this understood?”

“Yes, Master!” the children answered as one.

Rothsgrave sneered. This ‘orphan master’ seemed to derive great pleasure from his complete command of these children. He was lanky with thinning hair and sunken eyes. A failure of a man who took out his frustrations on the one group of people who couldn’t resist him. Pathetic. Rothsgrave took a step forward, his presence filling the room. Continue reading →

Chapter 1. (Reflections of the Blood Moon)

~ Matthew Roys ~ Leave a comment

A gust of wind blew down an old dirt road. Dust billowed and rose like a dark cloud, obscuring the town ahead for a few brief seconds. Konta Farshore shielded his eyes with a pale hand. Each fleck of grit that hit him stung his near translucent skin. He didn’t breath. Any irritation on his lungs would have caused hours of painful coughing.

The wind faded. Konta waited a few moments then lowered his hand and resumed his breathing. If he’d known the weather would pick up like this he would have stayed at home. He shifted position on his seat. Bruises were already forming where the jostling of the cart had knocked him against the wood. 

   He yawned then set his eyes on the sparkling blue horizon. The Eastern Ocean extended out into infinity, consuming the world beyond the cluster of brightly coloured buildings that formed the port town of Blencca. It was a large settlement that was fuelled on an economy of fish and little else. Despite this, it was the centrepoint of the area and drew in the residents from the hundreds of farms that dotted the plains around it.

Konta and his family were one such group. They had just had the first harvest of the year and were making the trip down to the merchant quarter to sell that which they didn’t need. Tannar Farshore, Konta’s father, sat beside him with reins in hand, urging the old horse onwards at a gentle pace. Two of Konta’s brothers, Jakks and Samil, walked either side of the cart. Jakks walked hand in hand with a young woman bearing the unmistakable bulge of heavy pregnancy.

Konta was the youngest of seven children. He had four brothers and two sisters, all of who might as well have been another race entirely. Looking down at his eldest brother he couldn’t see any similarity that was reflected in himself. Jakks, and all of the men in the family, were tall with broad shoulders and tanned skin. Coarse hands and muscular arms were the hallmarks of all the local farm workers. He was so strong and confident. Continue reading →

Chapter 1. Cataclysm and Butterflies. (Insanity Nova)

~ Matthew Roys ~ Leave a comment

The sharp click of the button was not the end or the beginning of events. It was the last step in a long process that led to the partial collapse of the very fabric of the universe. Beyond a sheet of transparent carbon alloy the infinite darkness of space shimmered. A million stars pulsed in unison and time itself shuddered with the uncertainty of a failing reality. 

“Kiss my living life goodbye

Embrace the fact that I will die

Know that all is but a lie

And never ask your maker why

Tomorrow comes tomorrow passed

Our shattered dreams are all that last

The dice of fate have now been cast

I know my birth of sleep draws fast.”

The singer had first heard that tune whilst still in her mother’s womb and would hear it again as they closed her tomb. She giggled uncontrollably. The world was just so damn musical. No matter what language or species, people made poetry and sang songs. Her own thoughts danced a merry jive through her head.

The words were from an old nursery rhyme. Like all good songs for young children, the topic was about as morbid as possible. Children seemed drawn to the darkness of the world like twisted mirrors of moths, seeking out that which killed them until their wings were clipped and their bodies wrapped in a cocoon of rules and culture before emerging as fat caterpillars good for nothing beyond eating and breeding.

 And here she was, Zorya Triumph, a caterpillar given wings. Wings that could tear the universe asunder. As such, she had named the ship Cataclysm and Butterflies. She laughed again, multi-shaded blue hair falling across her face as she rocked back and forth on her chair. The strands danced like blue flames. Continue reading →