Chapter peek at Book 2: Into the Sunlits
Here is a sneak peek at Followers of Torments: Book 2 - Into the Sunlits. This picks up just slightly before the end of Book 1.
Returning to the scene of the previous day’s battle, Nameless with Jarlean in tow crept across the scarred, desolate charnel house that had been struggling to evolve into a place of safety for those exiled from the City. The gentle puffs of ash that was stirred up with each footfall gave evidence to the unusual number of belongings that had been destroyed when the area was burned to the solid bedrock of the City’s cavern. Reaching the niche he had called home, he felt a sense of dissolution settle over him. More than he realized, he had come to feel as if he belonged some where during the lunar cycles he had slept and cared for the people of this section of the Exiled Fringe. A sense of acceptance for himself, not just his fighting prowess, a sense that there might be something more to honoring Her than just ensuring her Children had a living meal every evening. He had carried to this place some of the civilizing rules and regulations forced upon him from working with the guards, and in return the people living here had brought to him their need for his protection and guidance.
Now, with everything burned to ashes, a death threat hanging over his head should he be recaptured, and a collared Silk in tow, Nameless discovered his personal war had a higher price than he could have envisioned. That the City created him, he did not consider. That the Arenas had shaped him for this, he could not conceive. That he was committed to a path to honor Her, he knew with a bone-deep knowledge he could not doubt. But, first, he had to ensure his survival, and that meant eluding the hunting parties he was sure soon would be chasing after him. Unless the sergeant had been able to hide his departure. Something he had serious doubts about. Though he had only been free for less than one full seasonal cycle, he did know that Champions did not disappear without a cause. And, with a Silk in tow, he was forced to disappear without leaving a trail.
With his grief weighing him down, he made his way to where his nest had been. The niche now contained nothing except a mound of wet ash and lye where the small spring had welled up. Though he had owned few items that were not currently on his person, he began working through the morass to discover what remained. Kneeling as he worked his hands through the wet ash, he encountered only three of the keepsakes given to him. One, a stone painted with the Web Mother by a local child was so soot stained he could no longer identify the image. The second, a rough carving of the local rock done in the Web Mother’s semblance by another local family, he kept because it was done to honor Her. The third piece he found, he left in the ashes. It was a large black quartz given to him by the Temple district for breaking up a riot – the same district that had decreed him an exile.
Dropping his two remaining keepsakes into one of his pouches, he pushed himself to his feet and turned to look for his captive. Jarlean had been conducting his own survey of the surrounding devastation. Though his Clan had been the ones responsible for the atrocities visited upon these people, though he had known of their unrest with Nameless, though he had done nothing to mitigate the over reaction, he still felt betrayed about Nameless’ collar being around his neck. When he felt Nameless’ gaze on him, he turned to return it. Anger, hatred, and betrayal burned in his eyes, giving a silent challenge to his captor. Nameless returned the challenge with one of his own, daring Jarlean to show just how dangerous he was.
With one last turn, Nameless felt the sights and smells of the desolation solidly anchor into his memory along side the lessons he had learned so well in the Sands. Nodding briefly, his eyes tracked the route his feet had learned during the lunar cycles he had been free, yet accepted. His heart thudded in his chest with the foreboding of the unknown. His mind quailed at the concept of learning how to not be a stranger again. Knowing that to Honor Her, he must survive, live and prosper, Nameless listened for any sounds from the distant City that indicated an alarm had been given. The only sounds he heard were the chimes tolling the glasses as they turned.
Nodding to himself once more, he stepped off into the unknown. He did not think much about Jarlean’s actions, remembering only that by following his Master, he had been given the gift of unlimited freedom in the Sands, brief though it had been each time. When he did not hear Jarlean’s foot steps following close behind, he stopped to look back. Jarlean remained still, his bearing stating louder than words, “I am not a slave. You cannot order me.”
Snarling, Nameless returned to his captive, “Come, Silk. Move time now. Long too stayed have. Follow.” His voice pitched to carry only as far as Jarlean’s ears, growled through the syntax he had not yet mastered. “Repeat not I will. Will you me obey, you survive will.”
Jarlean snorted, but remained silently planted where he stood.
Nameless quirked an eyebrow briefly, then his hands lashed out to strike Jarlean heavily – one on the shoulder, one on the hip. Doubling over from the strike, Jarlean began to crumple to the ground. Refusing to let him fall, Nameless moved around behind the crumpling form and gave him a harsh shove in the correct direction.
Staggering from the extra force, his body trying to fold in upon itself, Jarlean stumbled into a slow jog. Nameless easily paced behind him, driving him on and pushing him faster when he attempted to stop. “Silk run, run! Leave must given alarm is. Run!”
As the sharp pain of the double blow faded, Jarlean was able to pull his body straighter and smooth out his stride. Under Nameless’ incessant demands for more speed, he picked up the pace to a slow run. However, he could not maintain the pace. Within a half glass his breathing had become ragged as he began to develop a stitch in his side and his speed began to decrease. Still Nameless demanded more speed.
Pushed to utter exhaustion, Jarlean finally collapsed and could not be forced back to his feet. Nameless tried cuffing him severely, landing half strength blows along the body that would have been lethal at full strength. Jarlean could not respond, even when Nameless punched or kicked the most painful of possible targets. Over the sobbing breaths of Jarlean’s exhaustion, Nameless heard the City chimes begin to toll a warning. They were warning the City of an escaped prisoner; warning the prisoner that his time before capture was limited. Feeling a sense of desperation, Nameless checked his current location against where he knew they needed to reach. The result gave him cause to truly fear for his life. Jarlean’s slower pace had only allowed them to cover one eighth of the distance necessary to ensure their freedom.
“Up! Up get!” Nameless demanded, not yet willing to give up on his plans for using Jarlean in his vengeance. He kicked the fallen man twice, the second blow eliciting a weak groan followed by a bout of dry hacking coughs from the inhaled ash thinly covering the ground. Nameless reached to the mug on his belt so he could give his captive a sip of water, but where his mug should have been he found a broken strap. Patting through his bag and pouch, he rapidly discovered a second issue that would have prevented Jarlean from receiving any relief – he had no water skin. With a derisive grunt at himself, he looked around the area, not as familiar with it as that around his nest because it was in a new section of the Fringe.
He spotted a likely looking pile of rocks not far off his chosen line of march that did not look to have been disturbed recently. Leaving Jarlean where he lay, he loped up to the pile. Pausing only long enough to for his silence adapted ears to filter the sounds of the City out of the input, he began looking for the entrance. A largish hole was located on the broad side of the pile approximately waist high. Checking to ensure the pile was hollow, Nameless worked his way in. About halfway through the short tunnel, Nameless found himself becoming stuck as his belt and pouches tried to snag on every protrusion. In frustration, he backed out of the hole and stripped down to his undergarments. Trying again, he easily scraped through to the oblong interior. Stepping carefully, so as not to step on something steel, iron, or breakable, he eased to one side and let his dark adapted eyes pick over what items remained within the crude dwelling.
What he found was a treasure trove indeed! The residents must have been the region’s toughest inhabitants. He saw two piles of blankets cobbled into a pair of makeshift beds, two water skins of differing sizes, and a small stash of dried meat. He also found a few other personal belongings with unknown uses. Quickly gathering up the immediately useful items and working them into a bundle, he worked his way back out of the pile. Back with his other belongings; he looked over the various piles. He made short work of sorting the items into three broad categories: things he knew he could use immediately, things he might find a use for soon, and things that had no use. Everything except for the two stone keepsakes from his nest fell into one of the first two categories. Including the uniform he had worn leaving headquarters, the shredded uniform he had been captured in, and the heavily silk patched trews he had worn in the Sands. Once he had the items classified, he used one blanket to bundle the “immediately useful” items, and a second blanket to bundle the “may be useful in the future” items. Then, with the help of his belt and baldric, he hung the bundles from his shoulders and headed back to where Jarlean was beginning to weakly stir.
As he approached the supine form, Nameless dug the small water skin, about the size of a large canteen, out from the top of its bundle, and dropped it beside Jarlean’s head with a soft splat. Jarlean flopped his head over to see what had fallen beside him, and groaned in exhausted anticipation before weakly reaching for it. Nameless continued to scan the surrounding area while he waited for Jarlean to manage the feat of unstoppering the skin and drinking his fill. When the skin was lowered, Nameless did not give him a chance to get a second drink. He scooped up the skin and stopper, plugging the neck after taking a long drink himself. Stuffing the almost empty skin back into the pack it came out of, he pointed in the direction they needed to go.
“Now up! Stop not, capture will if. Live not captured if. Up! Fast move. Rang alarm glass two ago. Soon sweep will Fringe. Make must night by to tunnel escape.”
Jarlean nodded, a spike of fear giving him the strength to push himself back to his feet. Thinking he understood why Nameless had been driving him for more speed, he did not question whether or not to resume the trek. He set off at what he thought was the best speed he could maintain. Once again, Nameless proved he had depths of endurance he had not found before. With the time lost from Jarlean’s collapse, Nameless became ruthless in propelling his captive on. He used cuffs, kicks, curses, and insults to keep him on the move. When these methods failed, Nameless resorted to his weapon of last choice. He pulled the hank of Silk out of its bag, and worked it into a long, whip-like length. The next time Jarlean tried to slow, Nameless whipped the Silk across his back, searing through the cloth in at least one place with every strike. Before Jarlean could resume his staggering, exhausted run the back of his tunic hung in tattered shreds crisscrossed with chunks of missing material that had fallen out as the searing Silk cut through the material at different angles.
Pushing beyond what he thought possible, Jarlean passed through the state where his physical body caused him difficulties into a somnambulant state where he was putting one foot in front of the other without thinking. If he needed to change direction, Nameless had to physically nudge or push him onto the new bearing. Then he would continue in a straight line. Nameless, after the third such correction, felt there had to be a better way. He paused just long enough to work up a small, thin string from his own webbing, then hurried to catch up to Jarlean’s shambling form. Working as carefully as he could on the move, he carefully tied the string around Jarlean’s waist, then attached the other end to his own bundles. With a better guidance system in place, Nameless then took the lead in the mad flight across the desolate landscape. His faster speed caused Jarlean to stumble at first, but each stumble caused him to run faster so as not to fall. Eventually, Nameless managed to accelerate into his effortless lope. Jarlean did not settle into the same steady pace, however, he continued to lurch forward each step jarring his frame. Without the benefit of the smoother pace he was draining what physical resources he had even faster. Finally, after two glass of the increased pace Jarlean’s ability to continue staggering after Nameless failed him completely. Despite the cord connecting the two, Jarlean stumbled one last time, and collapsed. The bundle he was tied to was ripped off of Nameless’ shoulder, causing him to spin from the sudden jerk. When Nameless came to a halt to look back at the cause, Jarlean’s crumpled form was sprawled in an unnatural position. Nameless, barely breathing hard, walked back and checked for life signs. Feeling a breath against his hand held before Jarlean’s face, Nameless felt a small sense of relief.
Looking up, he oriented himself to his destination. Not able to see the black on stone that indicated the tunnel mouth, he turned his attention to the City. Using the opalescent glow of the mingled amethysts, citrines, emeralds, sapphires and jets making up the different Clan Ascenden Oligarma Matron homes, he realized the two of them had been gong the wrong way. However, with the distance he had managed to put behind them, it was now shorter for them to continue on that it would be for them to reverse course and pass through territory they had already covered. When he started out on the mad flight, he had taken the same direction used for his daily runs. At the pace he had been able to maintain with Jarlean in tow, it would be several more glass before he could reach the tunnel leading from the City. It would be several more glass before he could attain the necessary safety to ensure his survival.
Sighing, he picked up the bundle that had been jerked from his shoulder. Hearing the water skins slosh gently, he nods once. Jarlean may not have properly earned a reward, but even he could see the man needed something more than a short rest if he were to continue. Fishing out the almost empty skin, Nameless carefully props Jarlean’s head up, and dribbles the remaining water into the parched mouth. Jarlean choked at first, but soon was gulping down the meager water allotment. When the skin was empty, Nameless dug back into the bundle, and pulled out a large chunk of meat. Leaving Jarlean to struggle into a sitting position on his own, he tore off two pieces – a large one for himself, and a smaller one for his captive. He handed the piece to Jarlean and began worrying at his own while returning the remainder to the bundle.
Waiting on Jarlean to recover enough to go on, Nameless’ thoughts turned inward. He knew what he needed to do, but he did not know how to achieve the results. As he thought, he dug through is memory for anything he could recall about his early training. Just as he was able to start recalling actual events, movement from Jarlean recalled him to the present. Nodding once, he pushed to his feet, then bodily hauled his captive to a standing position.
With an ungentle push, Nameless got Jarlean moving again, then once more surged ahead to the lead. The meat had the same flavor as what Nameless knew from his days in the Arenas. He felt the same surge of strength, and unquenchable thirst as well. With a small grin playing over his mouth, he pushed the pace until he had settled into his ground eating lope, towing Jarlean along behind him like a toy ball that bumbled along at the rope’s end. Jarlean, feeling the surge of strength himself, managed to find the same type of ground eating pace after a few jerky false starts. Watching Nameless ahead of him, he felt amazement that someone so slight was able to keep the pace so fluid. Usually, the only people he had known with such grace were the trained courtesans he had seen working their trade at the few Clan dinners his family had managed to gain acceptance to.
Nameless kept his attention sweeping the surrounding terrain, his senses on heightened alert, as if he were still in the Sands. With the alarm in the City, and the regulations he had memorized while working in the guards, he knew it was only a matter of time until the City had been declared clear, and sweeps began searching the sectors of the Fringe. He had every intention of being away from the City’s Fringe before those sweeps had covered more than a quarter of the circumference. It was up to luck as to which sector the sweeps began working over first. He had hopes that it would be the sector where he had lived, followed by the sectors in between that sector and the tunnel leading from the Tal Jas Arena into the unknown. With Jarlean’s ability to maintain the pace Nameless had selected, the pair made rapid progress, and were soon slowing to approach the tunnel entrance.
Jarlean, panting heavily, gratefully slowed his pace when the exhaustion blurred form of Nameless refused to remain a steady distance ahead of him. When Nameless dropped the bundle attached to the cord around his waist, he sank gracelessly to the ground, unmindful of his surroundings. His body was craving sleep, even as it craved water. He was uncertain which craving was dominant.
Nameless, shedding his burdens rapidly, stalked through the area in front of the tunnel entrance. He was looking for any sign he could recognize of an ambush. When he did not spot any overt signs, he began to notice details of the tunnel itself. The fact that the mouth had been finished with dressed stone, carved with glyphs of the harsh elfin language spoken in the Dark Under made him pause and verify what those glyphs werepurposed to. He was a little surprised in his ability to read them, and a small stir of gratitude filtered through his mind as he studied the writing. Once he had determined there were no spells set into the stone, he finished his immediate survey, then returned to Jarlean.
“Sleep will here. Morning leave will next Tonashss Spur Arena go.”
Without further speech, Nameless pulled the bundle containing the blankets to him, and shoved it under his head. While he waited for sleep to take him, he heard Jarlean’s small noises as he settled in for the night cycle. Then, just as sleep stole over his mind, Nameless let his thoughts wander once more into his past, plucking out details to examine. Each a bright gem in its own right, but together they made up a dazzling picture of his days in training, and laid the foundation upon solid bedrock for the training he would need to use for Jarlean. His sleeping mind did not question why the training method felt right, but accepted that it was correct.
I know there are probably a ton of grammatical and spelling errors in here that I have not caught yet. This is just a sneak peek. Feel free to leave a comment with your impressions!
