Prologue

 

The boy was in the dark.  The sides of his earthen hole pressed against him, closing him in tightly.  Something skittered along his leg, and the boy absently knew it was a spider.  He learned long ago that spiders wouldn’t likely hurt him.  Only the father man hurt him, and then only when the light came in.  The boy was okay in the dark.  The dark meant he could sit, and he could sleep.  It meant the father man would not beat him, and it meant the mother woman would not quote scripture at him.

 

He remembered a different scripture from before, but only vaguely.  Everything from before seemed far away; so the only clear things were the dark, the father man’s fists, and the mother woman’s voice.  She spoke in her loud, passionate voice of a god named Kihraleth, who ruled the world.  The boy tried not to listen because he knew it was sinful.  He never said so any more though.  They put him in the hole for blasphemy; maybe if he silenced his voice, the father man would let him out.

 

There was a time when he spoke, the time before.  Before what, he wasn’t sure.  The boy just knew it was before.  He had a mother and a father then, not like these two.  He had a brother then, but even he was better than the father man and the mother woman.  Usually, the boy tried not to think of them, because it made him miss something called “home,” something from before.

 

Dirt fell on the boy’s hands and face as the father man shifted the planks above him.  A splinter of light blinded the boy’s eyes, so he closed them and buried them in his knees.  He felt a spider scurry down from his head, across his face, to escape the onrush of sunlight.  A part of him knew the light was dimmer now than before, but after the dark, it seemed painfully bright. 

 

A gasp sounded from above him, and someone swore to a thing called Sheirst.  When the boy could see again, a dark figure stood above him, but with longer hair than either the father man or mother woman.  It reached for him, and said something, but he could only wonder where the parents were. 

 

The silhouette moved, and a larger one replaced it.  The boy flinched, thinking of the father man, but the shadow only grabbed him by the armpits and pulled him out.  It set the boy on his feet beside the hole.  The fresh air was warm.

 

Something fuzzy and black wrapped around the boy’s mind and vision.  He felt himself moving, though he wasn’t sure where to. He heard a cry, and the scuff of feet on dirt.  Landing roughly on his back cleared his head.  The boy stared at the sky.  Dark clouds blocked out most of the sunlight, leaving only a greyish glow to distinguish day from night.  Something told him the sky should have been blue, but he was not sure what.  It came from before.

 

The long-haired woman sat beside him, and the boy could see that she was beautiful.  She had red hair and pale freckles, and there was something compassionate in her eyes.  He liked her better than the mother woman. 

 

“Hello,” she said softly, in an accent the boy did not recognize “My name is Meirdnye of sur Phueljaaoer.”  The boy blinked at her, unsure of what she had tried to tell him.  For a moment, she just watched him.  Then she spoke again: “You can call me Nye.”  He nodded.

 

Nye brushed her silky hair from her eyes before continuing.  “Poor thing, what is your name?”

 

The boy thought about that.  He was sure people had called him something, but that was before.  The father man called him many things, but few were names.  Still confused, the boy stared into the grey sky.  A bird—he didn’t know enough to tell what kind, just that it was big—flew lazily above him.  It soared high, and then slowly drifted down.  As it neared the ground, it seemed to move faster.  It raced along the horizon, grabbed at something, and then flew back into the air.  Watching it, the boy could only think how free it must feel, flying through the skies. 

 

When Nye repeated her question, the boy pointed to the bird.  That, he thought, I want to be that. 

 

She seemed confused.  “That’s a Saker Falcon.  Have you seen one before?”

 

He did not respond, only continued pointing.  At first, she watched confused, but then her expression changed.  “You want us to call you after the falcon?”  He nodded.  “Saker?”  He nodded again.  “But don’t you have your own name?”  He shook his head.  That name was from before, but he wasn’t anymore.

 

Nye stood and spoke to the others.  The boy—Saker—sat up slowly and looked around.  Fear gripped him when he saw the father man.  Saker scurried away on hands and knees, afraid he would be punished for leaving the hole.  Fairly quickly, the boy realized the father man would never punish him again.  The father man was dead.  Beside him, lay the corpse of the mother woman, who Saker knew had not been the man’s wife. 

 

“We found them like that.”  A gruff voice spoke from behind Saker, and he jumped, twisting around to find the speaker.  “We never expected to find a young boy stashed quietly underground though.”  The large man didn’t smile, as adults had before.  He didn’t comfort Saker at all, just stood there, staring thoughtfully at the bloody and twisted corpses.  “I wonder what happened.”  The man had the same accent as Nye, but it sounded much prettier when the woman spoke.

 

Saker tried not to look at the parents.

 

Nye returned then, carrying a long and thin black cloth in her hand.  There was no wind, and the cloth lay flat, reaching for the ash-colored dirt.  “I’m sorry Saker,” she said, kneeling down to bring her eyes level with his, “But there is something I must ask you before we leave this place.”  When he nodded, she continued.  “Do you owe allegiance to Kihraleth?”

 

The mother woman’s words echoed in his mind, screaming of Kihraleth, who she called God.  He remembered something else that told him Kihraleth was bad, but he couldn’t remember.  It was too long ago, too far gone.  He shook he head.  No, Kihraleth was not his God.

 

Relief flooded her lovely eyes, but her mouth remained set, her eyebrows serious.  “You will still have to wear this.”  She held up the black cloth.  “We cannot let you know where Lawltun is.”  Even though he didn’t understand, Saker nodded and let her tie the blindfold over his eyes.

 

The cloth made him nervous, but it couldn’t be as bad as the hole.  Saker tried to walk at first, but the ground was too uneven.  He kept falling and hurting his hands and knees.  Eventually the large man with the gruff voice lifted Saker and carried him.  The boy fell asleep.

 

When he woke, they were standing still, but he could hear someone speaking quietly.  Someone grabbed at his face, and Saker flinched.  Nye’s soft voice soothed him, assuring him they meant no harm.  Then they were moving again.  After a few minutes’ walking, the large man set Saker down.  They removed his blindfold.

 

“Welcome to Lawltun.”  The man said.  His mouth was straight, though Saker thought he should have smiled.

 

Turning, Saker found himself in a vast cavern.  It extended so far in every direction that he could convince himself he was not underground, so long as he focused only on what lay close at hand.  Beneath his feet, the ground was stone, and many of the buildings seemed to have been carved from stone as well.  The streets were lined with stalls, which were really just stone tables set side-by-side with a few feet between each one.  There would be a wider gap in front of the doors to the buildings behind the stalls.  The stalls held merchants, and they all shouted, danced, and waved to gain a passer-by’s attention and sell their wares. 

 

Most of the people had fair complexions, even lighter than Saker’s.  He remembered vaguely that he had light skin, apt to burn rather than tan, and dirty blond hair.  It was probably all brown from the hole’s dirt by now though.  The people of Lawltun wore bright colors, which looked strange next to Nye’s brown and faded blue clothes.  None of them smiled.

 

“We noticed you’ve lost your Sign.”  Nye said, gently placing her hand on Saker’s shoulder.  He flinched, but she did not let go.  “We’ll get you a new one, okay?”  Her voice was gentle; her eyes were gentle; her expression was hard.

 

Saker wondered what she meant by “Sign.”  He knew people had asked “What’s your sign?” in the place that was before.  He had answered “Sagittarius” because his mother told him that was the right one.  There were stop signs too, but he never owned one.

 

“Here we are.”  Nye approached one of the stalls as she spoke.  It had a number of pendants, charms, rings, bracelets, earrings—“jewelry” was a good enough word, Saker decided.  They each bore a symbol, and he saw the same ones repeated over and over again.  “Go ahead and choose whichever style you want.  A necklace is probably preferable though.  They are easier to keep track of.”

 

The necklaces were on a sort of stand, so they all dangled down.  He reached forward, to examine the designs more closely.  When his fingers touched the first one, the backing turned purple behind the design.  The next one turned red and—

 

A force slammed against him from all sides.  It threatened to suffocate him, to crush him.  Screaming reached his ears, but Saker couldn’t turn his head to find it.  The force held him firmly.  His eyes adjusted, and he saw a bloody man at his feet.  The man could not stand and reached desperately towards Saker.  His legs had been torn off.  Saker gasped, and the force faded.  He raised his arm.  When his arm fell, the man died.  Uncaring, Saker stepped forward.  Someone clutched his ankle, and he killed them too.  No one would stop him.  A corpse lay in his path, so he stepped over it.  A woman stood before him, crying and holding a young child.  He killed them both.  No one could stop him.  He had to save the world.

 

With a jerk, Saker wrenched his hand away from the necklaces.  His breath came in short, heavy gasps.  His mind spun.  The vision hadn’t been real, but something told Saker that one day, it could be.  He stared at the necklaces, wondering what they were, really.  Why did he need one?

 

“Hurry up there, Saker.  If you can’t choose a style, just take the closest one.  I like the octagons myself.”  Nye prattled, pulling out a few coins to pay for Saker’s Sign.  He reached again, and grabbed a round one.  The squiggly design on it reminded Saker of an eight.  The backing turned white as soon as Saker touched it, and he gently pulled the necklace from the stand.  It caused him no nightmare.

 

Nye paid, and Saker tried to put on the necklace.  He had trouble with the small metal clasp, and she had to help him.  As soon as the Sign hung around his neck, Saker felt something... pulling at him.  Or maybe pushing.

 

He raised his arm, to motion something was wrong, but his mouth opened instead.  Something rushed through his mind and body, overwhelming him completely.  He saw only a bright light.  When it faded, Nye was holding him.

 

“Are you alright?”  She asked, and Saker could tell she was shaken.  He nodded.  “Do you... do you know what just happened?”  He shook his head, and for some reason she seemed relieved.  She helped him stand on his own.  “Well, now we need to get you some decent clothes.  Those are filthy and tattered.”  She did not smile encouragingly, only turned briskly to walk farther down the street. 

 

Saker followed.  She was right, his clothes were ruined.  The jeans—he mostly remembered what those were—were worn through in many places.  Thick brown strings dangled from the holes, though he knew they’d once been white.  His t-shirt barely stayed on his back, and the material was so thin it may as well not have.  He wondered briefly what the unintelligible words on it meant, but forgot when Nye turned into one of the stone buildings. 

 

It didn’t have a door, just a doorway, and Saker walked timidly through it.  Inside, Nye spoke with an older woman whose hair had turned a shocking white, though the creases in her face seemed too shallow for it.  She turned to Saker with a tisk.  “I say!  He definitely needs a bath, eh?  You were correct on that one, girl.  Come now, come now, wot?  I’ll get you cleaned swift as... well, actually it might take a bit of time, eh?”

 

“It’s safe, Saker.”  Nye encouraged, motioning for Saker to follow the tailor.  He didn’t want to leave her though: she was the only person he knew. 

 

“Oh, what a bother, eh?”  The woman grumbled, grabbing Saker’s wrist.  When he jerked back, she only tightened her grip and dragged him along.  “My name’s Jaydu, see.” 

 

Jaydu dragged him into another room, shoved him into a tub of cold water and scrubbed his skin off.  No matter how hard he tried, Saker could not shake her.  She always grabbed him and continued cleaning.  The entire time, Jaydu rambled on about absolutely nothing, and Saker considered telling her to shut up.  He didn’t.

 

Finally, she pulled him from the water and dried him with a coarse towel.  She threw a robe at him, and began digging through a pile of maroon pants while he pulled it on.  “I say, here we are!”  She exclaimed, pulling out a pair.  “Try these on, now, boy.” 

 

After he pulled the pants on under his robe, Jaydu messed with them a bit before telling him to give them back.  Then she did something or other with a needle for a while (her hands moved so fast!), and told him to put them back on.  She nodded, and repeated the process with a dark blue shirt.  She gave him a pair of socks too but told him to wait until he had shoes to put them on.

 

Satisfied, but in a frowning sort of way, Jaydu led Saker into the main room.  “So, girl, is Strife taking in kids now?  It’s a bit odd, I say.”  Saker wondered who Strife was, but he didn’t want to ask.

 

“I could not just leave him out there.  He was alone and would have died not long after we abandoned him.”  Nye handed over a small pile of coins as she spoke, but Jaydu shook her head.

 

“Keep your money, child.  I help so we can fight another day, least ways ‘til we reach the one what ends ‘em, eh?”

 

Nye nodded, returning the coins to the pouch at her waist.  She reached her hand down to Saker.  “Come on, you still need something for your feet.”  Before they left, she turned back to Jaydu.  “Do you still have a Caller around?”

 

“Yeah, though I say, the lazy brat’s been off who knows where for who knows how long.  You’ll need a Com then, eh?”  She had already seated herself with a half-finished jacket.

 

“Yes.  We’ll return soon.”

 

Why doesn’t she say “Thank you”? Saker wondered, as she led him to a cobbler’s shop.  That was polite, he remembered.

 

Nye bought him a pair of dark grey boots made from thin leather so he could move in them easily.  They were only a little stiff, so he didn’t think he’d get blisters.  The boots made the walk back to Jaydu’s shop far more comfortable than when he’d made the trek barefoot.  The man who had carried Saker before waited outside.

 

“Ah, you’ve returned then.”  He said in his deep voice.  “Rather quickly as well.”

 

“Yes, Vuergeld.  Did you doubt I could buy shoes?”  She brushed past him familiarly before he could answer.

 

Vuergeld shrugged as though this were normal and motioned for Saker to enter before him.  Jaydu was working on a dress, but she looked up as he entered.  “Ah, you’re back boy.  I say, Nye there told me you’ve not been fed a bit yet, so I’ve got my apprentice whipping you something right up.”  She turned the dress over, but Saker couldn’t tell why.  “Go ahead and sit yourself, wot?”

 

A few minutes later, Nye came into the room, followed by a pale young man.  She nodded to Saker, but walked over to where Jaydu and Vuergeld sat, talking quietly.  She spoke with them, all in hushed voices.

 

Saker didn’t care to listen because at that moment, a young woman walked in carrying a tray of food.  His stomach very suddenly realized how empty it was and complained loudly.  It hurt too.

 

“I say, eat slow now, wot?”  The girl said as she placed the tray at a table. 

 

He did his best to follow her advice, but... he was hungry.  By the time Nye walked over to let him know they were leaving, Saker had finished the whole tray and was trying the pick up the crumbs left by his bread.

 

“Come, Saker.  We must go to our base in Tebriemn.  There are some people who need to see you.” 

 

He didn’t understand, but Saker followed Nye anyway.  They walked into one of the back rooms, where Vuergeld already sat on the floor.  Nye instructed him to sit with his hand touching the large man’s. 

 

I thought we were leaving.  Saker looked at Nye, hoping she would explain.

 

As he stared, Saker felt a... shift.  Everything seemed for a moment to spin around him with dizzying speed.  It all stopped with a lurch, and Saker found himself in a different room from before, but it swam before his eyes with aftereffects of the trip.  Turning his head, Saker saw a smiling face for the first time.  It was covered in blood, and its eyes were a brilliant blue, like the sky should be.

 

“Think he fancies me, wot?”  The smile’s owner said, grinning broadly.  “Or mayhap it’s all this...”  He poked at the blood on his face and laughed.

 

Saker passed out.