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Authors: Colin Ososki

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BOOK: Endfall
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              The knock on the front door came at 6:00 AM. Two members of the Parliament took Milo from his home and walked him to the center Salem, where there was a stage build for public hangings. Snow fluttered down from the cloudy morning sky. Milo thought he would have a depressing moment where in his head he would accumulate his memories, but instead he wasn’t thinking. He effortlessly let the Parliament members walk him up the stairs of the stage, where now people from the city were gathering.

              The night before his father had said to him, “Don’t be afraid, Milo.” He thought about this briefly and in his head responded to his father the way he wished he had last night.
I’m not afraid. I’m furious.
He looked at the snow-covered ground for the entire walk, but now as they reached the height of the stairs, he looked at the men that had taken him there and shot them both quick looks that spoke his thoughts.
This is wrong.

              One of the men, who Milo had seen before, perhaps at the dinner hall, glanced back at him with a look that told of sorrow. The other man simply turned away with a remorseful expression. These men, although they knew it was a harrowing act, could do nothing to stop it. Mr. Charlie entered in his dark colored chariot into the crowd of citizens, who he knew all had an ill hatred towards him. A Parliament member followed behind him, stepping out of the chariot with a silver microphone and handing it to Mr. Charlie, who had now found a comfortable seat on his wooden chair. Milo felt the noose being draped over his head. He discernibly noticed a hooded figure in black weaving through the crowd.

Mr. Charlie then stood from his chair and spoke. “Proceed.”

Milo sought the crowd for people he knew. He didn’t see his father, or any of the doctors, nor Lyrah.

             
I told you that you can trust me, Milo.
It was her voice. Milo’s eyes widened.

              The man reached to pull the lever and there was a crisp cracking sound that Milo heard from his right ear. The lever had not been pulled, and he looked at the man responsible. Instead, the man had ceased movement to look at his arm, which was being callously manipulated by an unseen force. The man shouted, but it was just a mix of sounds, not words that could be deciphered. He cried out, “my bones!” Milo cringed at the sight of the man’s finger bones unpredictably cracking and jolting around under his skin. The veins lining this man’s arm began to throb viciously, and then he collapsed in agony as the veins abruptly broke free from his skin in a bloody flare.

              Everyone turned away from the disturbing sight. A few people began to vomit, including Milo. Mr. Charlie rose from his seat with a devilish look in his eyes. Milo looked down at the blood-soaked wood below him, and came to the realization that he had not been hanged.
Am I doing this?
He swiftly pulled the noose off his neck and bolted off the stage, heading for the Forest. Few members of the crowd cheered him on, driving his speed and fury, while others still stood screaming at the sight of the mangled Parliament member. As he ran, he heard a few more loud cracking sounds, similar to that of thunder, followed by more shrieks from the crowd.

              Mr. Charlie roared, “Stop him!”

              The Parliament member lay on the stage dead in a pool of fresh blood, and with his spine torn halfway from his body. Half the crowd had left, either for the disgust of murder and shed blood or for fear of a similar demise being cast upon them. The remaining members of the crowd stood in an awkward bunch, wondering what events would occur next.

              Mr. Charlie began to walk back to his chariot. As he walked with enraged strides, he called into the microphone, “Where does my Parliament stand on this! Why haven’t you acted?” He shot a bitter stare at the Parliament members who stood near the chariot, all with ready blades in their hands. No member replied to him. “That boy has a reason to die, and you all have a reason to hunt him.”

              The man who had given him the microphone stepped forward, shivering. He picked his head up and said, “Men like you have a reason to die.”

              Appalled by the rebellious act, Mr. Charlie stood angry. In one quick motion, his heavy hand swung down the rebel’s neck, putting him directly in the snow.

-----

              Milo entered the forest swiftly and cautiously. It was calm here, the wind softly moving the frosted trees. He decided he could stop running, and sat behind a fallen tree. He confirmed he was out of sight from Salem, and rested.

              “Milo!” A voice from the trees was whispering to him, calling his name. Milo, dazed, looked up. Up in the tree next to him, was a figure in a black cloak. Milo saw her face under the hood; it was Lyrah.

              “What are you doing here?” Milo asked.

              “I need to talk to you.” She leaped down from the tree branch covered in snow where she stood, and landed beside Milo.

“Right now?” Milo barked as he stood up. “Do you have any idea what just happened back there?”

She looked deeply at Milo for a moment, and then faced the snow. She put her hands into her cloak pockets, and lightly shook her head before looking back up at Milo with an agilely iniquitous smile. “Milo, there’s some things you need to tell me.”

Milo simply stood still, with the same look. After a second of overturning many possible responses, he said, “First, there are things
you
need to tell
me
.”

Lyrah stepped forward. “Like what?” Her eyes forced a strange bleakness into Milo’s mind, and he spoke again.

“You can hear my thoughts, can’t you?” He asked. His tone was raised slightly, as a result of his rising anger and confusion.

“In some ways, yes I can. But you are a difficult one to understand, unlike average. You are peculiar, Milo.” When she said this, Milo began to feel the wind harsher than usual and a misty chill was weaved through him. He looked at the scar on Lyrah’s face.

“Peculiar?” The oddness of the things she said we’re beginning to dim. Without thought, Milo’s next words emerged from his throat. “Are you human?”

With an abashing expression, Lyrah asked, “Human? Of course I’m human.” She took a small step back from Milo. “No more than you.”

Milo wasn’t too frightened by this, more amazed. “How can you do this?”

              Lyrah shrugged and said, “I asked to know something from you.”

              “What do you need to know?”

              She hesitated. A snowflake lightly landed in one of her eyes, but was swept away quickly, and she said, “Did you feel anything strange that night when I showed you the lynx?”

              Milo did not have to seek his mind for the response, “Yes, I did actually. Do you know anything about it?”

              “No,” she said, stepping closer, her eyes now shifted from being fixed on Milo and now she looked to the sky, which was a pale greyish-blue color. “I wish I knew. It was strange.”

              “You felt it too?” Milo asked. He, too, now looked to the sky. The clouds were a dim color, foreshadowing gloomy weather.

              “Yes. And for some reason, I cannot help but think of it.” She said.

              Milo, watching the clouds in the sky, responded, “Thoughts are weird.”

              Lyrah seemed to be in higher spirits. The sun emitted a glow that shined through the clouds, forcing Lyrah and Milo to look away. She spoke softly, “Milo?” Milo, adrift in his thoughts, didn’t respond. He was staring with a dazed look in his now fully blue eyes.

             
Milo?
It was Lyrah’s voice in his head. He instantly looked back down and turned at Lyrah. “What is it?”

              “There is a calamity coming.” She said. The look in her eyes had shifted from wonder into a look that was more apprehensive. “Mr. Charlie will not stop until he finds you, and I’m distressed to say that bloodshed is coming.”

              “What?” Milo had never seen war.

              Lyrah spoke even quieter now, “I’m afraid so. The Parliament has sent spies so Hallowmere for some reason. I think there’s going to be another war.”

              “Spies? Hallowmere?” Milo was deeply confused. Hallowmere was a small snow-covered city across the bay from Salem. He had seen it from a distance before. “Why war?”

              “Mr. Charlie is not for a united Pæraleth. He wants things that only his supporters agree with.”

              “Not everyone always agrees with a leader,” Milo said. “I never got into politics but I thought everyone could understand that simple truth.”

              “People don’t stop to think of all the angles usually,” said Lyrah. “They are lured by emotion. Everyone wants to feel important.”

              “So a war; of what?” Milo asked. “Over the eyes?”

              “That,” said Lyrah, slowing her speech, “and there’s more.”

              Milo took a step back, looking down at the ground. He was sent deeply back into his thoughts. Lyrah sensed a bit of trust was lost between them. “It confuses me as well.” Lyrah said.

              “Is there anything we can do?”

She stepped slowly towards him. “I know where the rebels are meeting to prepare for the uprising. I can take you there,” She said.

“So soon, there’s a plot?” asked Milo.

“Someone knew Charlie was going to be elected,” said Lyrah.

“Well,” said Milo, turning his head back towards Salem, “I suppose I don’t have a choice.”

 

 

 

 

 

 

HAVENSHEIL

 

 

Lyrah and Milo had walked more than halfway through the Aldusk Forest when the treetops were ambushed by a massive wave of snowfall. It was unlike the gentle, frosty snows of the past few weeks. This time, it was a whistling blizzard that blinded them as they stepped through. The wind howled harshly at them, making it difficult to hear each other at times, and branches broke free from trees and came crashing down.

              Large puffs of snow came up from the ground in waves and threw ice in their eyes. It had been a long walk, most of it with the absence of talking. The two were both simply struck by their own thoughts and sent on a train of thought that was unlikely to be lost with a simple distraction. Both of them were used to this, thinking to themselves without speech and getting lost in their ideas and observations. Milo trailed behind Lyrah quite a far length, but she turned back every so often to make sure he was still following.

             
Unfair.
Milo thought, without the care of Lyrah's ability to read his mind. He simply thought what he wanted; it didn't matter to him to keep things secret anymore.
How could a man do that? And what of the doctors in Salem? I suppose he won't keep his word.
Now Milo was scared for his father, one of three doctors in Salem.

              The skies had become darker, and the glow from the sun had disappeared behind the shadowy clouds. The wind was cold, probably colder than Milo had ever experienced before. Milo quickened his pace to catch up to Lyrah. He wanted to speak. As he drew closer to her, the wind grew stronger. She had begun to climb an enormous hill with a layer of trees growing atop. The most snow had landed there, and it was difficult to travel through.

              “Lyrah?” he asked, although he realized that his voice wasn't loud enough for her to hear. He began to shout into the wind, “are you sure you know the way?”

              She didn't call back to him for a few moments, until she stopped on the top of the hill. She looked out over the Forest ahead, then turned back to Milo and said, “We're here.”

              When Milo reached the top of the hill, he stopped to look out ahead. Lyrah was already at the bottom of the hill, running towards the striking sight of the rebel encampment. Interwoven through the small hills of the valley were bright orange lights that shined through the mist of the storm. Milo began to run down the hill, and swiftly entered the snow in a fall, and tumbled down the hill. He was now soaked in snow and cold, but he didn't care.

              He called for Lyrah, but the wind was strong and covered his voice. “Lyrah, where are you?” There was no response. The snow was blinding him and it was difficult to tell which direction he was headed in. He tripped in the thick snow, falling in the bitter snow drifts. He looked up and saw the misty haze of snow in front of him revealed a stone statue of an animal. Milo squinted his eyes to see it better, making any attempt to block out flying snow and ice. The statue was that of a lynx, like the one Lyrah had showed him. But this lynx was different. The lynx wore armor of some sort, crafted of the most amazing art, and built for battle. It was strange to see an animal wear armor like this.

              “Milo, over here.” It was Lyrah's voice, coming from the right. Milo turned and saw her there, motioning for him to come towards her. He stood, and ran over to her.

              “I can't see anything in this storm!” Milo shrieked.

BOOK: Endfall
4.15Mb size Format: txt, pdf, ePub
ads

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