HEY I WROTE A BOOK
here’s chapter 1. i assume no one will read this BUT if you do, pls tell me what you think
Two-Thirds Blue
Chapter 1: Ruins
Dusk had learned a long time ago that if he couldn’t smile while wearing a sword, he’d probably never smile again.
He remembered the first time he held a sword. Gravid with the promise of violence, the weight at his side was a constant reminder of its necessity. He also remembered the moment he realized he’d gotten used to it, less than a week later.
“How much farther?” Dusk asked. “It’s almost curfew.”
Rade patted his shoulder. “You’ll know when we get there. Only a little ways to go, I promise.”
“I don’t see why we can’t do this when we’re on patrol or something.”
“Because then you’d complain that we’re supposed to be on patrol instead of sightseeing.” Rade jumped onto the side of a fallen tree that lay half-submerged in leaves and soil. He slowly turned and scanned the woods, surefooted despite the rotting bark. “Right. Syk should be here soon.”
Dusk started to climb onto the tree beside him, but his boot slipped and he collapsed against it.
Rade winced. “You alright?”
Dusk brushed himself off and readjusted his scabbard. “Yeah, I was gonna stay down here anyway.”
“Suit yourself.” Rade folded his hands behind his head and shut his eyes, leaning into a beam of sunlight that scored yellow streaks across his slim, pointed face. Dusk suspected he’d specifically positioned himself at the right angle for the breeze to snag the tails of his coat.
Footsteps crunched through the trees ahead. Dusk took a nervous step back, but Rade opened his eyes and raised one arm in greeting. “Syk! How’s it look?”
“We’re clear.” Syk’s broad silhouette emerged over an earthen mound. “Last patrol just came through. C’mon.” He waved them onward.
“That’s curfew,” Dusk grimaced, but he moved to catch up with Syk while Rade jumped down from the log.
“You’re upset about breaking the rules?” Syk said. “I’m missing dinner for this.”
“What exactly is ‘this,’ though?” Dusk asked.
Syk raised his eyebrows. “You didn’t tell him?”
“He’s already agreed to come, hasn't he?” Rade said. “Plus it would ruin the surprise. Have some respect for presentation.”
“I don’t usually like surprises.” Dusk stumbled as his boot caught on a tangle of ivy. “And I don’t want to be out here any longer than necessary.”
“What, you got other plans?” Rade asked. “Some engagement you haven't told us about?”
Dusk shrugged. “No, I just don’t want to get caught.”
“Dax isn’t nearly attentive enough to catch us,” Rade said.
“What’s the penalty for sneaking out again?”
“‘Course you wouldn’t know. Suspension and cleaning duty for a week.” Syk splashed through a shallow stream, automatically extending an arm to help Dusk hop to the other side. His weight anchored them both to the shore.
Rade crossed the stream on a series of protruding stones without breaking stride. He moved like a branch in the wind, gliding over the uneven terrain. “They let me off after three days. I told them it was an accident.”
Syk gave a bark of laughter. “Oh, right. You accidentally snuck out and fell asleep in a tree for six hours?”
“You haven’t?”
“Never been caught.”
“You’re going to get kicked out at this rate,” Dusk reprimanded him.
“I doubt it,” Syk said. “The way things are going, we’re taking every soldier we can get.”
Any retort died in Dusk’s throat, sobered by the reminder of the impending warfront. The ancient forests of the Woodendale region teemed with life, a natural haven once insulated from the conflict at the eastern border. Wildflowers floated in pools of sunlight. Bronze leaves drifted earthward, shaken from their branches as birds fluttered from perch to perch. Dusk couldn’t stop himself from wondering how much longer the tranquility would last.
“I’m sorry,” Syk said at last. “That was thoughtless.”
“How many have we lost this month so far?” Dusk said quietly.
“Twelve,” Syk reminded him. “The last two were on patrol this week.”
Dusk’s hand automatically moved to his sword. Its weight returned to the forefront of his mind.
“Dax is slipping,” Syk said.
Rade jerked his head dismissively. “He’s never been particularly efficient.”
“No, I mean he’s been careless. Undermanned patrols. Ignoring rozkod sightings. It’s been going on for months.”
Dusk acknowledged the Arborguard commander’s skill as a warrior, but held little fondness for his leadership. Hallen Dax’s bravery in battle often verged into recklessness. Dusk suspected that the militia’s proximity to the Mallekhan warfront could have made them a valuable advance guard if not for Dax’s ego.
Rade came to a halt. “Ah, here we are.”
Dusk surveyed the scene before him. Several large boulders lay piled up against the base of a squat cliff, draped with a verdant waterfall of vines and ivy. It was a nice vista, Dusk decided, but hardly worth the risk of latrine duty.
“Oh, good. Rocks. My favorite.”
Rade shook his head. “If you like the rocks, wait until you see what’s behind them. Come along.” He took the lead, unhooking his sword from his belt and easing his wiry frame between the massive blocks of mossy stone that jutted out from the overgrown soil. Syk, the tallest of the three, grabbed hold of the top edge of the base rock and hoisted himself upward into a larger gap. Unhindered, he kept his sword at his side.
“Rade!” Syk peered down into the crevice. “Be careful with your coat. I’m not stitchin' that patch on again.”
Dusk allowed himself a moment of amusement as he watched the mismatched pair. Rade, narrow and dark; and Syk, broad, tanned, and stolid as the boulders he climbed. Despite Rade’s mischievous, darting eyes, he quickly befriended everyone he met. Meanwhile, Syk’s hard-edged features often made strangers nervous before they realized that his arms were more for hugging than punching.
Paler and shorter than the others, Dusk found himself generally unremarkable, apart from the unusual red color of his right iris. He kept his dark hair long and shaggy to help hide it, preferring to avoid the question he couldn’t answer.
“What’s in there?” Dusk called to them.
“Just come on,” Rade called back, concealed by the stone.
“Are there rats?”
“No rats. I swear it.”
Dusk sighed in resignation, but when he placed his sheathed sword on the ground next to Rade’s, the day warmed considerably.
“Coming,” he said, and squeezed himself between the boulders.
“Don’t get your amazing hair stuck in there,” Rade advised, still out of sight. “That would be a shame.”
The massive walls of stone constricted Dusk’s chest. His hair fell over his eyes, but fortunately didn’t catch on anything. “Do you speak from experience?” he grunted.
“Possibly.”
“He lost a loc,” Syk said proudly.
Dusk spilled out into a dusty cavern, nearly falling to the ground before Syk caught him.
“Shan't happen again,” Rade said, patting the surviving dreadlocks he’d knotted into a loose ponytail. “Did you lose anything on the way in?”
Dusk righted himself and stepped away from Syk. “Just my dignity.” The birdsong and rustling leaves of the forest came to a sharp end, replaced by a thin echo as he spoke. He turned to look at the interior of the chamber as his eyes adjusted to the darkness. “So, where have you brought me?”
The hill was hollow, its floor paved with concentric circles of inlaid stone. Broad pillars surrounded it on all sides, several having long since submitted to the ages and crumbled. Smaller rooms extended deeper into the walls between the pillars, and in the center of the chamber sat a raised stone plinth, illuminated by a shaft of light spilling in through a ragged hole in the ceiling.
“Well, wow,” he understated, walking around its circumference. “This is… this is ancient. What is it? Looks like a temple.”
Dusk had seen plenty of ruins in his time, but an unclaimed chamber such as this was a rare find. While Ralevior was littered with ruins, the thick forests had consumed many of them, sprouting between stone blocks and taking them into the earth. Some had been long since stripped bare by scavengers looking for enchanted relics, and some offered suitable conditions for narlacs to lay their eggs. Others remained intact and habitable, allowing locals to use them as foundations for further construction.
Rade hopped onto the central platform and adopted a heroic pose. “I don’t know, but this lighting makes me look great.” The evening sun cast his dark northern skin in bronze and drew shadows across his angular features. When he stood completely still, Dusk could almost mistake him for a statue.
“Yeah, we were thinking some kinda temple,” Syk said. “Figured you’d know whose.”
“Personally, I claim it as a temple to Rade Carstas.” Rade shifted into another pose. “Pretty great, right?”
Dusk nodded. “Beautiful.”
Rade tossed his hair back. “Much obliged.”
“I meant the ruins.”
“Oh, sure.”
“Don’t you think you’re being a bit sacrilegious?” Syk said.
Rade scoffed. “Are you suggesting I defile my own temple?”
“Rade, I don’t think it’s yours,” Dusk said. “That pedestal thing– First Tree temples usually had those for offerings and such.”
Rade made a loud gagging noise.
Syk frowned. “You got an issue with the First Tree?”
“You know how many alchemists those guys have killed?” Rade said.
“Wait, really?” Syk said. “Always thought they seemed nice.”
“No, it’s true,” Rade said. “They had this holy war with the alchemists a while ago. And the First Tree adherents are still forbidden from practicing it.”
Dusk inhaled deeply. The ruins smelled of old leaves and time, like the back room of a library. A pleasant kind of decay. Not a decomposing carcass, but fresh soil.
He waved at the surrounding structure. “Rade, what do you think of the stonework? Alchemy or handmade?”
“Handmade for sure,” Rade said. “Stone shaped by alchemy is much smoother.” He crouched and ran a hand across the surface of the pedestal. “See how uneven this thing is? Knocking bits off with a chisel, that’s not going to make a smooth surface. But alchemy changes the shape of the material without adding or removing any mass. It’s mathematically precise.”
Dusk raised an eyebrow. “Not that you would know.”
“Excuse you, my alchemy would be extremely precise, if I could actually get it to work.”
“But a lot of old temples like this were made using alchemy, yeah?” Syk said. “Why does the First Tree have a problem with it?”
“I don’t really get it, to be honest,” Dusk said. “The First Tree was all about nature, and a lot of them felt like alchemy was, y'know, unnatural.”
“That’s only half of it,” Rade said. “So one of the limitations of alchemy is that it’s impossible to transmute a living creature, right? The theory is that it’s because souls can’t be tampered with. The First Tree adherents believe that trees have souls, but since you can transmute wood, they take it as blasphemy.”
“Huh.” Syk rubbed the back of his neck. “And I thought they were just a bunch of well-meaning hermits who really liked nature.”
“Well, usually, yes,” Dusk said. “Orthodoxy tends to push things. So if it’s one of theirs–” He crouched and put a hand on the floor, brushing off a layer of dirt and dust. “Okay, see that? There’s kind of a root pattern carving here. It’s definitely the First Tree.”
Dusk continued tracing the carving on the cobblestone floor. It wrapped around the outer edge of the pillars. With some amusement, he found that the roots of the surrounding forest had begun to creep through the gaps in the stone, weaving their way through the carved channels. The suggestion of roots had become a template for the genuine variety.
Syk snorted. “Rade’s gonna get killed by a falling tree for defiling their temple.”
“I defile nothing!” Rade protested.
“I mean, you’re standing on the altar,” Dusk said. “If that’s not an act of defilement, then you’re offering yourself as a sacrifice.”
Rade frowned at the dias under his feet, then hopped onto solid ground. “Well, at least you’re having fun.”
Dusk nodded enthusiastically. “Yeah, this is great.”
“Worth the expedition?”
“You know what? Yes. Absolutely.”
“Of course. You really love your ancient mysteries.”
Dusk stood up straight and turned around slowly. “Y’know, if it’s a First Tree temple, there might be a vault somewhere.”
Rade’s head swiveled toward him, eyes alight. “Vault?” he repeated. “Vault as in treasure? As in Riches untold?”
“We haven’t looked at those other rooms,” Syk added. “Could be anything in there.”
Rade bounded toward the offshoot closest to the exit. “I lay first claim to whatever we find!”
Dusk hurried after him. “Rade, if you break anything, I’ll never forgive you.”
Rade vanished into the shadows of the offshoot seconds before Dusk and Syk joined him. The floor stretched barely ten feet before terminating at the base of the rear wall. Stone shelves lined the other two walls, populated by years of accumulated grit and the occasional dead insect.
“Ooh, this is nice.” Rade stooped down and pulled something off a low shelf with a clatter.
“What is it?” Syk asked.
“New sword,” Rade announced, turning around to show it off. The blade was snapped off, leaving only a foot of rusted steel above the handleguard. He flipped it downward and offered the handle to Dusk. “Riches untold in these ruins, indeed. What do you think, historian?”
Dusk accepted it gingerly. Nothing but metal remained intact, any wood or leather additions having long since crumbled to dust. Thick wire bound the grip, likely brass for balance. “Old,” he said.
“Old, got it,” Syk nodded. “Anything else?”
“Very old,” Dusk continued. “You don’t see swords with wire grips anymore unless they’re ceremonial. A few hundred years old, maybe.”
They moved on to the next room. On its identical shelves, Syk found an ancient, rusted helmet, half its faceplate lost to the ages.
“Here, try this on.” He slotted it over Rade’s head and leaned from side to side to consider his appearance.
Rade turned his head obligingly. The helmet wobbled, clearly made for someone much older than he. “Looks good?” he asked.
“Don’t match your coat,” Syk grimaced. “Green with rust? Not great.”
“Does it accentuate my cheekbones?”
“Can't even see 'em.”
“Oh, never mind, then.” Rade removed the helmet and placed it back on the shelf where Syk had found it, brushing debris from his locs. “It’s probably cursed, anyway.”
Dusk reached out and rotated the helmet to study the faceplate. “Really simple style,” he said. “Could be a trophy from the holy war.”
A cave-in rendered the next room inaccessible, moss and roots growing over the crumbling wreckage. At the base of the collapse, Dusk found a single fragment of what might have once been a clay jug or vase. He turned it over in his hands, but found nothing from which he could draw any history.
“See, typical First Tree impracticality,” Rade said, gesturing at the pile of rubble. “Alchemical architecture doesn’t collapse like that. It’s all one solid piece of stone.”
“There’s artistry in doing it this way, though,” Dusk said. “Imagine the work it took to build this place.”
“Yeah, and look what happened.” Rade kicked a hunk of fallen stone. “All that work for a pile of dirt.”
They searched the rest of the rooms in sequence, finding nothing but dust until they reached the last one. The rear shelf held a row of thick glass jars, each sealed tightly with resin to protect their contents from the centuries. One was missing from the row, dust marking the length of its absence.
“What’s in those?” Rade asked. “Looks like seeds.”
“Seeds?” Syk pushed past Rade to look closer.
“Gonna find some new additions to your herb garden?” Rade said.
Syk picked up one of the jars and inspected it, watching the deep red seeds tumble over one another as he rotated it. “Looks like lindwood. But the shape’s kinda– oh. Oh.” He hurriedly replaced it on the shelf. “Let’s not touch that, actually. That’s extremely poisonous.” His brows knit as he scanned the rest of the jars. “Yeah, that one’s carnivorous, that one’s a really aggressive weed– I don’t even recognize the others, but I doubt we’d wanna eat ’em.”
Rade sighed. “Well, as far as vaults go, this has been a bit of a disappointment. No treasure, nor riches untold.”
“Afraid not,” Syk said. “Unless you want to keep that sword.”
Rade looked down at the broken sword in his hand. “Yeah, kinda.” He left the offshoot and returned to the central chamber. “Do you think anything's to be done about that hole in the roof? I’d love to live in these haunted ruins, but rain might be an issue.”
Dusk smirked. “That would ruin your lighting.”
“We’ve got options. Torchlight really brings out my eyes.”
“How'd you even find this place?” Dusk asked. “I mean, it’s practically invisible from the outside.”
“Syk was foraging,” Rade said. “Thought he saw some herbs or something on one of the boulders. Climbed up to grab them and he fell right in.”
“I didn’t fall,” Syk corrected him. “It was a graceful descent.”
“You landed directly on your face.”
“Gracefully, yes. Don’t make fun of me for trying to make you a nice dinner.” He patted the brown leather satchel he kept over his shoulder, likely containing whatever new ingredients he’d found, then looked up at the light spilling in through the hole in the ceiling. “And speaking of falling, we’d better make sure this place ain't about to collapse on us.”
They followed him out of the hollow and through the rocks concealing the entrance. Dusk didn’t find the trip any more enjoyable the second time through. “Isn’t there an easier way in?” he lamented, wedged between the same two boulders.
Rade grabbed him by the arm and tugged him free. “Of course, we could fit better if we took out a rib or two.”
Dusk lost his balance as he emerged and collapsed messily on the forest floor.
“Oh, apologies.” Rade offered his hand and helped him to his feet. “I assume that means it’s getting late.”
“What?”
“Because Dusk has fallen.”
Dusk sighed wearily. “Unbelievable.”
Syk took several steps back and scanned the cliff wall. “I could probably climb up the boulders again and make it to the top.”
“Let’s go around,” Dusk said, retrieving his sword and handing the other to Rade. “I... don’t think Rade and I could reach that.”
Syk patted their heads. “It’s okay, you’ll hit that growth spurt someday.”
“I’m just glad I didn’t end up a gangly freak like you,” Rade countered.
“Gangly freak I may be, but at least I can do this.” He turned back around and pulled himself up, clambering over the stack of boulders towards the top of the cliff. “Meet you there!” he called over his shoulder.
Rade watched him scale the haphazard terrain. “We could just leave him.”
Dusk scratched his chin thoughtfully. “But what if we need to get something off a high shelf?”
“Ah, of course, I knew we kept him around for something.” Rade walked parallel to the cliff, scanning for a suitable route. “Look, it slopes down that way, see?”
Dusk followed him to the indicated section, picking his way through the twisted underbrush. Rade quickly clambered up the steep angle, using roots and protruding stones as handholds.
Syk had already reached the top when they crested its summit, crouched over the hole in the chamber’s ceiling. “Looks stable enough,” he reported. “The trees up here might be holding it all together with their roots.”
“What exactly are we going to do with this place?” Dusk said.
Rade shrugged. “Why wouldn't you want some ancient ruins all to yourself? Good place for a nap. Nice atmosphere.”
Dusk stood and looked around. “Great view, too.”
He could never see the full breadth of Ralevoir’s three regions from the valleys of Woodendale, but gaps in the trees granted view of the northern plains of Raemoare. To the east rose the Mallekhan highlands, their horizon stuttering with canyons and rivers, dominated by a solitary mountain. Woodendale’s vast forests continued behind him to the southwest, obscuring the distant sea he knew lay beyond them. Their western summits rose to a singular peak, the First Tree itself, visible even from such a vast distance.
The Woodendale region had been his whole world until the first time he’d seen a complete map of Ralevior. To see that his home occupied only a single corner of the continent, neighbored by far greater stretches of land to the north and east, initially filled him with vertigo. But wonder replaced his fear when he considered that Raemoare and Mallekhan were as rich with history and mythology as Woodendale, and he felt himself drawn to uncover what stories they held.
“I can see my house from here,” Rade said.
“Since when did any of us have a house?” Dusk asked.
“Look at it this way,” Syk said, still peering into the chamber from above. “We lived everywhere before the Arborguard. Our home’s everywhere. Any part of Ralevoir we’ve walked on.”
Rade laughed. “You sound like an old man.”
“I was born old.”
In a way, it was true. All three had been orphaned by the war. Syk had met Rade and Dusk years before, naturally falling into the role of their surrogate guardian. They’d drifted between villages in Woodendale for several years before deciding to join the Arborguard militia.
“As far as living quarters go, this place wouldn’t even be the worst we’ve had,” Rade said. “Remember when I worked for that smith?”
“Down south, right?” Dusk said. “Didn’t you have to sleep in the shop?”
“I always tried to find the softest bits of scrap metal to use as a pillow,” Rade nodded. “But at least I was never late for work in the morning.”
“Wait a minute.” Syk stood and scanned the forest around them. “D'you hear that?”
Dusk walked to his side and strained his ears. A faint droning sound came from the east. “What is that?”
“Don’t know. See anything?”
Dusk turned in a slow circle, searching for any irregularities. “Too many trees.”
“Let’s investigate,” Rade proposed. “I love mysterious noises.”
They continued away from the cliff, descending the hill on its opposite side. The low rumbling increased in volume as they neared its source. Soon they could hear distinct voices amidst the clamor.
“Don't sound human,” Syk remarked.
Dusk felt his stomach lurch. “This close to the Arborguard?”
They reached the top of a knoll overlooking a small valley, surrounded by trees and rocks on all sides, providing natural cover for the camp that lay within.
“Rozkod,” Syk spat.
Temporary structures and extinguished campfires dotted the camp while dozens of rozkod milled about inside. Several small teams worked to set up walls of uncut logs around its perimeter. They shouted as they sparred, they shouted as they ate, as they sharpened weapons, as they argued. Always shouting, always roaring.
The hulking, savage, humanoid creatures had plagued Ralevoir for over a decade. They stood as high as seven feet tall, bound in dense muscle and thick, slate-gray skin marbled with splashes of deep red. A ridged, angular horn protruded from each one’s forehead, adding several inches to their already imposing stature. Some rozkod bore jagged bone ridges across their faces or forearms, adding another weapon to their impressive natural arsenal. But their dull obsidian eyes betrayed their simple minds and brutish demeanor.
They had invaded the Mallekhan region first, armies marching without warning from an unknown land. Though once home to great wealth in precious metals and gemstones, Mallekhan fell in mere months, and the warfront spilled northwest to the borders of Raemoare. The open warfare lasted for years before dying down, but eastern Ralevoir belonged to the rozkod now. Only recently had the rozkod begun to mobilize again. If they planned to invade Woodendale next, the Arborguard would be the first to know.
Dusk, Rade, and Syk retreated into the treeline. “This is recent,” Rade said. “They weren’t here yesterday.”
“Do you think–” Dusk’s words caught in his throat. He swallowed and tried again. “Do you think this means Delrox is coming?”
At the sound of the name, Syk put a hand on the charm around his neck and muttered a prayer. Rade’s grin fell completely for the first time that evening.
“Dusk,” Syk said. “Delrox hasn’t shown himself in years. There’s no way.”
“But there’s– there’s too many.” Dusk’s voice rose with fear. “There’s never been this many.”
“If Delrox were coming, he’d bring more,” Rade said. “There were thousands in the army that destroyed Mallehkan.”
No human had set foot in Mallekhan for over ten years, but everyone had heard the stories. Legions of rozkod marching through cities, razing them to the ground, slaughtering thousands. And at their helm, Delrox. Neither human nor rozkod. Only a handful of survivors had ever seen him, and few were still sane enough to describe him.
“How many did you see?” Rade asked.
“Counted thirty or forty,” Syk said. “Couldn’t tell exactly. Might be more in the area. Hunting parties or patrols.”
“Awful lot of weapons on those racks,” Rade remarked.
“This isn’t just a camp,” Syk said. “It’s an outpost.” He waved them on. “C’mon. Back to the ruins.”
Rade followed close behind. “So what are we gonna do about this?”
“We’ve got to tell Dax,” Dusk decided. “I mean, this is exactly what the Arborguard is for.”
Syk shook his head. “No way. We’d have to tell him we snuck out.”
“If we wait too long, they could even attack us first,” Dusk said.
“There weren’t enough of them for that,” Syk said. “Fifty at most, versus how many Arborguard soldiers? Three hundred?”
When they arrived at the ruins, Dusk and Rade retrieved their swords. Its weight settled back on Dusk’s belt. It had grown colder in his absence.
“They were still building,” Rade said. “Could be setting up for more troops. And this might not be the only outpost.”
Syk crossed his arms and fixed Rade with a narrow stare. “Don’t tell me you’re considering turning yourself in.”
“Hey, I’m not that stupid.”
“I’ll tell them it was me,” Dusk offered. “Won’t mention either of you.”
“That won’t be necessary,” Rade said. “There are other ways. An anonymous note, for instance.”
Syk relaxed, his shoulders falling. “That’d work,” he nodded. “So long as no one sees us delivering it.”
“I’ll do it,” Dusk said. “I’ve got a clean record so far.”
Rade laughed and patted his shoulder fondly. “Why does that not surprise me?”
“I take a certain pride in my behavior.”
“Oh, I know, but I take pride in my misbehavior.”
“Why don’t you take your pride back to the Arborguard,” Syk said. “We’re well past curfew.”
“Fine, dad,” Rade sighed, turning his back to the ruins and setting off into the woods.
“I’m no one’s dad.”
“No, you kind of are,” Dusk said.
“You’re both grounded.”
Their laughter was warm and genuine, but it wasn’t enough to block out the sound of the rozkod behind them.
