Porcelain Child/ChapterThreePrologue
Prologue, Chapter 03 : Ghosts, Mirrors of Steel and Jade
The city stretched out underneath the late evening sun, its perfect square buildings painted brilliant gold with the warm caress of the sun’s light. It was a testament to order, every building an exacting distance apart, any buildings above a certain height built with arrow-slits for internal defence, the walls painted calm pastel colours not only to soften the edges but to decrease the ability for a skulker to hide along them at night. Some may have been chafed to live in a military camp-turned-city, but that was the price to pay to live in a safe and perfect society. The fire aspect admired the city from his high viewpoint of the manse, but today Zaran was troubled, finding it hard to feel the same love for his home that he usually did. He had been troubled for a while.
The man rubbed his chin and pulled the ornate drawstring, closing the curtains and veiling the view of the city. The only light in the room came from the small globe on the stone desk. The light broke him from his malaise, someone had left a communication in the old first age artefact. Zaran leaned over and lightly brushed the smooth surface of the orange globe with his gloved hand and listened, his brow furrowed. It glowed a little brighter as the essence swirled around inside it, conjuring up the trapped voice inside.
“Lord Zaran, you ordered me to contact you regarding pressing news, and this is certainly pressing.” The voice began. “We have just received a communiae from the observer assigned to follow one of the Marshall’s assigned to the Teresu Vana case, Teresu Barton. The report says that he encountered the renegade, but does not have her in custody. Evidently he was beaten. The observer also states that he has not continued pursuit. That is all.”
The globe flashed brighter for a moment, then the essence settled and calmed itself, slowly plunging the room into near total darkness, the only light was bright shafts that peered in through gaps in the curtain. Zaran gritted his teeth. Every day that Vana grew stronger he grew weaker and more at risk. Zaran did not like being cornered, it did not become him, and he would do everything in his power to rectify the situation. He could almost feel the cold fingers of dread around his throat.
“Were you listening?” He asked the darkness.
“Of course…” A silky voice like a dozen whispers replied from nothing.
“Find Barton.” Zaran ordered sharply. Barton had failed, but he would find a way to motivate the others. He smiled coldly. Friendships were a weakness that he had never fostered, and one that could easily turn to hatred with perceived betrayal. A cold smile grew on Zaran’s lips.
“And when I find him?” The voice asked. Zaran just smiled in response and the curtains fluttered slightly as the presence left the room. Zaran stared at one of the tapestries, his eyes absently following the patterns in the fabric. To remove a thorn, remove the bush. You may have to kill a few roses to do it, but that was life and necessity.
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The birds had returned to the valley, or if they had merely been hiding they had finally given their voices to the pursuit of song once more. Animals darted left and right, a fox sprinted after a small spice hare, the balance of essence and nature finally was befinning to right itself now that the unnatural had been purged from the land. Even small flowers sprouted occasionally out of season as if almost relieved by the return of the proper order of things. Seed-pod godlings danced freely, going about their invisible autumn tasks of planting the essences of seeds in the ground to germinate with the coming of spring. A small team of three leapt paniced from a large rock abandonning their task of hefting the essence of a puri tree seed as an enourmous conentration of elemental power landed swiftly and quietly above them.
The dragonblood's dark travelling cloak fell around hiom as he crouched on the rock, listening carefully. The tales from the townsfolk in Glie still concerned him somewhat, but the threat was apparently over - however it was not fitting that a soldier become complacent and be caught off guard after all. The force of posessed bodies had been supposedly defeated by a Magistrate and his group of Archons; he had met one during his short visit as he passed through the town. The realm was a melting pot of trouble, but the dragonblood could at least respect the virtue of a wandering warrior.
He rested the silk wrapped daiklave on the rock and retrieved the small waterskin from his belt, taking a few modest swallows. 'Birds sing after a storm, why shouldn't we?' Gren chuckled to himself as he remembered one of Barton's pearls of wisdom. He looked up at a pair of songbirds as they darted through the branches and the slowly yellowing leaves.
He closed his eyes and concentrated on the link of brotherhood he shared with the other two. Viers was still in the west of the Blessed Isle, Barton however was close to the north, that much he could tell, but there was something that wasn't quite right. Viers seemed stronger.
"Sing away. Your storm may be over, but I think mine still rages." Gren murmered at the little birds before continuing on, hefting Scarlet Thunder along with him. He moved swiftly through the forest for most of the day and night, concentrating on his friends periodically, perplexed and concerned. Late in the afternoon he sensed Barton close at last, swiging down from a small ridge by a tree branch near a clearing. The area was wide and covered in wild long grass. In the center was a small gnarled tree, bare of leaves and alone on a small rise in the ground, almost like an island in a sea of grass. Leaning up against it, Gren could see a dark skinned man, his clothing ragged and torn.
"Barton-!?" Gren immediately pressed his back up against the tree, his eyes scanning the clearing for ambush as his hands slowly untied the silk from around Scarlet Thunder's blade, the jade glinted brightly in the light, the sword's colouring closer to orange than the more common crimson red that most fire-jade artifacts were in the second age. Gren saw no movement, and the concern caused him to move impulsively forward. He moved through the grass and up to where Barton lay, what he saw made his heart leap into his throat.
The earth aspect sat slumped up against the tree bloodied and beaten, his eyes closed and his head hung. The white jade spear lay over his lap with its shaft bent at an extreme angle. His clothing was singed and burnt, and his short-cropped hair burnt away, there were signs of fire everywhere, and much of the long grass had been torn by terrestrial anima flux.
"Barton!" Gren cried running up to his fallen friend and pressing a finger to the earth aspect's throat to feel for a pulse. "Barton, are you-" Barton's skin was cold. Gren clenched his teeth together and squeezed his eyes shut pulling Barton's limp body into his lap. Gren hung his head, his eyes stinging with tears and his heart burning with agonising sorrow. He wiped the caked blood of Barton's face with Scarlet Thunder's silk and a few tear drops landed on the dead dragonblood's face, a few on Gren's hands. Hands than began to clench into fists.
"Barton..." Gren murmered, then his voice turned to a growl as dark relisation dawned and rage began to burn in his chest. "Vana."
Gren clenched his fists in front of him and clawed at the air, his skin flushed a firey red and his tear-filled eyes began to glow like a furnace - a furnace fueled by the purest and most passionate rage. With his two hands he would kill the one who did this. With his heart of fire he would destroy the one that had killed his friend. No longer was it rivalry that pushed him on, it was vengeance. Flames burned at his shoulders and Gren screamed at the heavens, a single name over and over again untill his voice was raw and his throat burned. Vana. Vana.
Vana.
