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Paradigm Shift
I'm Ren. Paradigm Shift is the name of a series I've been writing. This is a blog dedicated to that story.
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Chapter 2
Nye startled awake, head bumping on the top bunk and hand grasping at his galloping heart. With a small curse, he rubbed the developing knot on his head and slouched over, kicking the thin, tangled blankets off his legs. The nightmare which plagued him faded into his subconscious, its only reminder being his labored breathing and the ghost of a scream lodged in the back of his throat. He grasped at the shadows of his mind, wondering if he had forgotten something important with the nightmare. As the bitter cold air of the cell filled his lungs, the patient-turned-prisoner started to calm down. Though, the whisper of panic never left entirely. They knew he was Norrian. The best he could hope for at this point was a quick death and give up on any further attempts at salvation.
He almost felt like laughing. He had woken up in the hospital bay four months ago with blood-caked bandages around his head and ribs and a giddy relief as he looked around for his comrades. In his drugged haze, he only barely registered the cuff securing his wrist to the gurney. Only barely registered the nurse, eyes filled with unveiled disdain, saying that his comrades all perished. That they had drawn his blood. Already found the subtle genetic differences which distinguished a Surlian from a Norrian. If anyone ever asked, he planned on blaming his pointy Norrian ears on a birth deformity. The Surlians beat him to the punch. After a decade of hiding in this country, of being mocked for his fear of needles and refusal to part with his hat, he had been discovered.
It seemed a cruel twist of fate that he had escaped one death just to experience another far harsher end. Today, he thought, I will finally leave this cell for good. He looked around, taking in the dull, windowless cube, its solitary exit a magnetically sealed door. Unescapable, something Nye had never understood until now. He swung his bare feet over the edge of his cot and onto the chilled floor. Suppressing a cringe from the contact, he launched diagonally, a careful trajectory to avoid hitting his head again.
After the doctors released Nye with the blessing that he healed enough to die, the guards took no time moving him to his current confinement in Lapa Prison. The capitol’s penitentiary held some of the most dangerous criminals. As they shuffled him through the gloomy corridors that starkly juxtaposed the glittering white city outside, Nye had some hope. The wealth of the Surlians surely reflected in their prisons, right? And the sacrifice for beauty was functionality. He could escape. When that solid metallic door slid open with the whir of magnets, Nye’s hope faded. The cell contained two bunks, an unconcealed toilet, a sink, and an obscured overhead light. He didn’t find any vents and could only assume the walls were porous. The pipes wouldn’t be large enough to squeeze into; though Nye swore that crawling through sewage would be worse than death. No, for three months Nye had been mocked by an unescapable room.
He shuffled to the tarnished mirror which stood over the sink and took a deep breath before he faced the slightly distorted reflection. Months in a hospital and then months again in this cell had done nothing good for his appearance. Bones which should not be seen were poking out of places he didn’t realize they could poke out of, and his skin had taken on a pallor that was almost translucent. Even the golden ring that pierced his earlobe – which, to the annoyance of the guards, could only be removed if they cut off Nye’s ear – seemed dull in this surrounding. Rustling his dark red hair and poking the dark bags under his green eyes – once vibrant – he sighed. How is one supposed to look for their death day? At this rate they’re more likely to think me a chupacabra, forget a Norrian. He chuckled at the idea of them sticking an iron stake into his chest.
He wondered who would come to his final sentencing. He worried that someone else would go down with him. He could picture them dragging in a girl with raven black hair, her caramel skin contrasted by one of those flowered sundresses she always wore. ‘No! She didn’t know anything!’ He would yell valiantly. ‘I tricked her into everything!’, and she would look up at him with big brown eyes filled with tears and gratitude. He knew his fantasy would never come true. She would have shown up at the trials or the endless questionings. Even if they did find out how she helped him become a Surlian, her father was much too rich and too powerful to ever let her take the fall for it. And to be fair, she never realized he was Norrian, she just thought he was your average orphan.
“Nye.”
Nye studiously avoided the soft call which interrupted his self-pitying. It was his death day, after all. He wished he had been moved into solitary. He was undeniably a Norrian. Didn’t the Surlians believe we could read thoughts or something? Wouldn’t they respect a Surlian prisoner’s rights in the face of a Norrian? The hatred between the two countries ran deeper than any other tradition held by either, but Blare didn’t seem to care.
Nye didn’t know how to handle his cellmate. At first, he couldn’t get the boy to talk. Now, he couldn’t get him to shut up. His behaviors were erratic at best: Sometimes smugger than the Norrian King and sometimes as uncertain as a kitten. Proud but incredibly shy, he insisted Nye never look whenever he removed even the most innocent of clothing. At fifteen, he must have had some powerful magic to have gone to the Battlefield. From what Nye gathered, it appeared to have something to do with speed. Surlians and their magic, he cursed. He knew there had to be an explanation to everything they did, but the Surlians insisted it would insult the Gods to reveal the secrets of their powers.
“Nye,” the voice was annoyed now. The young boy had a face like a doll’s and his voice had that bitter snap in it that reminded Nye of a tiny yapping dog. He could see him in the reflection of the mirror; sitting up, with an alertness which told Nye he had been awake for hours. Good, Nye thought, I didn’t wake him when I hit the top bunk. Not that he cared. He was miffed that Blare’s appearance didn’t seem affected by imprisonment, especially on a day like today. His flawless skin had paled from its original light brown, but his straight black hair never appeared greasy.
“What is it, Blare? I’m trying to celebrate my death day in peace.” He returned to poking the skin under his eyes, as if that would revive it. He wished they wouldn’t let him die looking like the grave. Though, he supposed it wouldn’t matter in a few hours.
“You’re not going to die today.”
“Yes, I am. It’s the first day of the fifth week of the season. My last trial. I’ve finally outlived my use for Surl.” Nye sighed, as he had grudgingly repeated his fate. “I just hope they wait until we leave the courts to carry out my sentence. It would be a shame to get blood on the tiles.”
“You’re being interrogated again.” A shiver slid down Nye’s spine. ‘Interrogation’ and ‘torture’ mostly meant the same thing when applied to a Norrian. He spun around to face the boy, irritated at the younger one’s nonchalance. His eyes narrowed on the thin screen in his hands. For some inexplicable reason, his cellmate had managed to convince the guards to give him a datab. He deduced that he couldn’t have smuggled it in, since Nye himself had been forced to strip upon first arriving at the prison. And how the device functioned in this escapeless room, Nye could only imagine. No matter how much he goaded, Blare refused to part with it or explain why he had it.
“Is there a report about it somewhere?” Nye inquired cautiously. Information in Surl was a privilege on a need-to-know basis. Receiving unauthorized, classified reports involved exchanges of favors and having friends in the right places. Neither of which a convicted murder had access to.
But if he learned anything about the boy, it was that his information gathering techniques were unorthodox. He could hack any system he wanted; Nye suspected he could even find his way into the Norrian databases. Apparently the guards didn’t know about his skills, or they would have had some reservations before giving him the tablet. Either that, or they underestimated his resourcefulness. His teammates certainly did and that got them murdered in their sleep. The only common ground between the two was their death sentences and their claims of innocence.
Blare smiled. “Something might have popped up. Enjoy the outside.” An evil grin stretched wide and he leaned forward. “Or an even more painful death.”
Nye let out a guttural yowl and wrung the air in front of him with his fists, picturing what it would be like to strangle the boy. He couldn’t have been more than five feet. Easy, right? He did get some satisfaction about the startled jump that rattled the top bunk. “By the Gods Blare, do you ever get tired of being such an ass?”
“You tell me.” Blare said, composed from his original wave of shock. “Are we talking the Gods of Surl or the gods of Norr?”
“What do you think?” Nye said through gritted teeth, already knowing the answer. Not that he wanted to talk to the brat, but he didn’t have much else as forms of entertainment. And he seemed endlessly curious about the ways of Norr.
Blare cocked his head to the side. “Norrians want to kill every Surlian. If you worship the Norrian gods, you are a Norrian.”
“Norrian, Surlian, does it matter what Gods someone worships?” Nye shook his head. “I already told you. They all say the same thing when you get down to it. And you have yet to murder me in the name of your Surlian gods.”
“So you admit to being a Norrian spy?”
“I didn’t admit to anything!” Nye threw his hands up, never knowing why what remained of his Norrian beliefs always incriminated him when it came to Blare. “I don’t need this from someone who murdered their comrades in cold blood!”
Blare’s arrogant smirk washed off his face, replaced by complete misery. Nye felt tempted to take back what he said. He remembered what it felt like when they had first tried to throw the blame for the death of his teammates on him. Instead, he huffed and spun back to his reflection. He didn’t renounce his Norrian Gods. That’s all he had to do. Worship the Surlian Gods. Then they would not doubt his intentions. Why couldn’t I just pretend? If I praised the Surlian Gods, they might have some doubt about loping off my head.
The fuming silence carried on for what seemed like hours. Until that quiet voice spoke again, all hints of pride washed away with uncertainty. “I never thought you were a spy or a murderer.”
Before Nye could react, the magnetic whirring of the door started. The mirroring click of the magnetic braces that chained the two inmates sounded. The light from the corridor spilled into the cell temporarily blinding the inhabitants. After several moments, Nye found himself staring at three guards: They were part of the group in charge of his war crimes. The foremost man cleared his throat:
“Nye Bohr. You are accused of being a Norrian spy.” Nye snorted. As if that needed repeating every time. “New information has been acquired. You are to follow me to the interrogation room.”
Nye blinked in surprise. He didn’t notice stepping out of the cell until he was already in the hall. As the whirring of the door signaled its close, Nye spun around to face his cellmate, ignoring the cries of dismay from the guards. Instead of a last glimpse, all Nye heard was a tittering laughter that normally made him grit his teeth. However, when he turned to face the impatient guards, a wide grin was on his face. “And I was so ready for my execution.”
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Malik Dias
Age: 21
Mal was my first character. His appearance may or may not be influenced by a pretty boy who lived in my dorm. Dark chocolate skin and amber eyes. He’s fairly tall at 6′4″ with a slender build. So the epitome of tall, dark, and handsome.
He is Surlian. On top of being born into a politically powerful family, he has a magic called “command”. If he tells someone to do something, that person will be compelled to follow in almost all cases. Despite his magic, he rarely uses it. He prefers people to follow him by their own will, which isn’t that difficult with his leadership skills.
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Chapter 1
Not a cloud perturbed the sunny sky, but that barely dissuaded the chilly spring air from constantly whipping through the southernmost city of Surl. The coastal capitol swirled along the precipices of the sheer cliffs with the wealthiest and most powerful overlooking the horizon. The marble mansions glistened with their balconies daring gravity as they jutted out over the sea, and the government buildings defiantly clung against the cliff faces with their proud flags snatching and stiffening in the winds. The grandeur diminished as the city expanded further and further away from the coast until all that remained was the rail lines and beaten down paths which led into the forests. Everything about the architecture was meant to draw attention to the sea and the gods that the inhabitants worshiped. Nothing could compare to the blinding dome which protected the temple port nor to the extravagant pulley system to supply it.
When the majestic unmanned ships left every midday to send tributes to the Gods, observation decks were filled with the devout and the simply respectful. With the twelve chimes on the clock tower, the riches of the Surlians – vibrant fruits, thick wools, wondrous ballads – sailed gracefully towards the edge of the world on the tail of prayers. Only rarely would the ship contain humans, as rarely would a human be considered worthy to join the Gods.
It was considered the greatest honor to be chosen to join the Gods in Athua. An ornate envelope laden with accolades, along with a protective charm for the journey, sent from the Gods themselves would be presented in a grand ceremony in the Parliament building. The most recent the receive such honor was the unit which had won the war against the Norrians six months ago. It was the least bloody conflict in years; of the 10,000 soldiers sent, only 2,000 Surlians perished in the fighting. Five brave warriors secured the decided victory only a month into the fighting when their swordsman removed the head of the Fifth Prince of Norr, the condition for winning the conflict. Surl would now enjoy favorable trading and a war tribute. The peace would last four years, until the next war would occur and Surl would once again fight against the Norrian heathens.
Outside one of the larger mansions, two men stood on a white marble balcony, neither saying a word as they watched the tiniest fleck on the horizon disappear over the edge of the world. One leaned with his arms seemingly relaxed over the banister. The other stood stoically by his side mindlessly turning over a rectangle in his hands. They kept that comfortable silence for several minutes afterward, a silence that only comes after knowing one for many years. The breeze that tugged at their loose clothing would have tousled their hair as well – if not for the short buzz which just gave tell to black, curly hair on one and the slicked down blonde locks of the other. These styles, as well as the relaxed-but-not-relaxed postures revealed their military status to most Surlians. Of course, all Surlians knew this pair – for they were the dark, lean leader and the pale, stocky second of the team which had boarded the ship that morning.
Very few realized that the ship which should contain five passengers only contained three, nor did the two remain in disagreement with the others. Indeed, they celebrated victoriously with their teammates the night before. Drinks, laughter, and reminiscences filled the bar in the third underground layer of Lapa, known for its superior food. The past six months had been similar, with party after party, dinner after dinner, and blessing after blessing. When the three left the other two in the early hours of the dawn, it felt as if there were nothing left to say. But now, when the reality of splitting up had become unavoidable, the tiniest hints of remorse flickered in the men’s eyes.
“Do you think they’ve reached the Land of the Gods?” The blonde asked, twirling a well-read envelope by its corners between his thumbs.
Malik snorted. “They’ll be falling for at least two days, if the tales are correct.” The corner of his mouth twitched up. “Do you think Esteban started to squeal when the ship began to tilt?”
Wilhelm roared with laughter. “Without a doubt, Captain. Adrian probably pissed himself once the free fall started.”
“And I’ll bet Yessenia is already fed up with the both of them and wondering if she’d still be welcome amongst the Gods if she threw them over the side.”
“Or just questioning why she went in the first place. Though I doubt those thoughts will last long when she remembers the luxury and riches waiting for her.” Wilhelm took on a tone of nostalgia. “She never could resist the idea of idleness and pampering. You would have thought she was a Norrian princess reborn. Remember when she broke up with one of her boys, and she made us serve her for a solid week? All because he called her a masculine brute. She made me massage her feet for hours. I don’t know why I just didn’t say ‘no.’”
“Probably because she would have murdered you otherwise; though when she finally snapped out of it, she did try to make up for it. Remember her cooking? It was atrocious, but we managed to get through quite a good deal of it. I think I might have ‘accidently’ dumped my plate on the floor.” Malik reminisced, shaking his head. “I keep telling myself that saying goodbye is something we must be prepared to do, but I always thought we’d part through death.”
“Agreed. I always thought Yessenia’s axe would find my skull.”
“Nonsense; surely Adrian would have poisoned you first.” Mal shot Wil the lopsided grin he so dearly loved, before turning his attention back to the sea. “Sometimes I think we were more at war against each other instead of with the Norrians. I thought that those times would make this easier. And yet now that they are gone, I feel like we could still have a dozen more years to say goodbye, but it still wouldn’t be enough.”
“I wish we were still on the Battleground. As horrible as that might be. Actually, I still remember how easily the Fifth Prince parted with his head. I am perfectly fine waiting four more years to experience that again. I think I would rather go back to the First Academy.” Wil sighed. “I feel like a piece of me is missing. How are we supposed to just forget that and replace our comrades? They became our best friends. Closer than family.” Mal looked at loss for words. His dark chiseled face filled with the rarest of uncertainty. Wilhelm stiffened, and asked a pointless question. For what is done is done. “Do you think we should have went with them?”
Malik shook his head, bronze eyes focused on what they couldn’t see in the horizon. His resolution had met protests when he first brought it up, Wil included. His teammates tried so hard to persuade him otherwise. When it was clear he wouldn’t accept the invitation of the gods, and that such an outlandish act was not unprecedented, Wilhelm decided to join his captain. ‘Down with the ship,’ he would joke to the others. But unlike Malik, he had yet to discard of his envelope and charm. He still remembered the calculating glare of Malik’s father when they announced their plans.
“Then do you think we should have convinced them to stay?”
Malik once more shook his head. “I think what we did was right. There’s more I’m meant to do for Surl; I can’t leave the military just yet.”
“Even if it means you can’t join the Gods ever again?”
“Fate seems cruel like that.” Mal smiled sadly. He took in a deep breath of salty air. “Are you sure you should’ve stayed with me?”
Wilhelm rolled his eyes and punched his leader’s shoulder, the later only giving way for show. “Without me you’re a flailing mess. I can’t morally justify leaving you to your own devices. Who else will keep you from blowing up our allies?”
“In my defense, it was a very poorly made map.” Wil raised an eyebrow. Mal threw up his arms up in exasperation. “Fine. Thank you, Wilhelm. I would probably blow up my allies without my Second, and only the great Wilhelm is able to stop me from my own idiocy.”
Wilhelm gave a self-satisfied smirk. “Now. You have your own merits, I suppose. You said you’ve reviewed the files of eligible team members. Have you narrowed down candidates? I personally believe that Ulises of the 5th group would be a good addition – oh, give it up. What’s that look for, Mal?”
Mal cringed. “Well, ‘eligible’ might be a bit of a stretch. I’ve decided on a rather… unorthodox collection of individuals.” Wilhelm narrowed his eyes, looking just about ready to lecture Mal until sunset. “Here, it’s probably best if I show you the files myself.”
He pushed off the balcony and swiveled to face Wilhelm, revealing himself to be almost half a foot taller than his already tall companion. As he stood, Mal focused on the worn envelope in Wilhelm’s hands. Smirking, Wil crushed the paper between his fists and pitched it into the sea. He had made his choice. “I guess there is no better tribute to the Gods than returning their favor.” Wilhelm shook his head. “We’ll be cursed in rebirth.”
Mal laughed freely as he flung open the doors to his bedroom. The room spoke of wealth, but also of an occupant who was very little present. In all fairness, the only times Malik returned to Lapa prior to the war was for the four festivals. The insulated walls let no sound in or out, but the open balcony door let in the sound of crashing waves, muffled by elevation. Wilhelm’s eyes traveled to the bed unconsciously before berating himself and returning his attention to the Captain. Malik strode to a simple desk, on which rested a disturbingly thin pile of folders and a data tablet.
Wil groaned. “I’m not going to get a say in any of them, am I?”
Mal’s eyes flashed wickedly. “No; but don’t worry, you’ll have work enough to do.” He scooped up the top folder, quickly skimmed its contents, and grinned. He placed it into Wil’s waiting hand. “I want this one.”
“Nye Bohr, age 18. Team: 17th of the 5th Academy of the 1131st class. Magic: Telekinesis (potentially disproved).” Wil raised a questioning eyebrow, but Mal gestured to continue reading. “Weapon: Knives. Teammates: Deceased. Current Location: Lapa Prison, convicted of war crimes/suspected of Norrian origin – Gods Mal, are you insane? This is a criminal! A Norrian? Our enemy?” He slammed the folder on the ground, papers dislodged and spilled onto the floor. Mal looked mildly annoyed at the mess, but instead focused his energy on Wil. “How did he even get into Surl?”
“Who knows? We know that he passed as a Surlian for at least five years. He even entered an academy. Everyone thought he possessed the magic of telekinesis.”
“Yes, so the Norrians chose one of their most talented to infiltrate our military and spy on us. He’ll be executed.”
“Exactly.”
“So why are you showing me a dead man’s folder?” Wil asked through gritted teeth, though he expected he knew the answer. “Have you been in bed with a necromancer?”
Mal smiled secretively, as if Wil had just touched on a topic that could be the potential of a future conversation. Wil groaned internally: He hated anything that toyed with death, as any Surlian should. “He was found half-dead, unconscious on Battlefield. His teammates were dead around him. They found out he was Norrian… well obviously once they saw his ears. They did bloodwork to confirm it.” Wil glared impatiently and without understanding. “If he were a Norrian spy, why would they leave him for us to find, especially while he lived?”
“Easy. They thought they killed him.”
“But wouldn’t they have taken him alive? It would seem taking on such a dangerous position would yield reward.”
“Perhaps they told him he would be blessed in the afterlife. They might not have wanted him to contaminate Norr with stories of Surl. Don’t underestimate the cruelty and cleverness of the Norrians.”
“But then wouldn’t they make sure he was all-dead? Since he could potentially give away all their secrets?” Mal paused, letting this sink in for Wil. It did seem rather careless to leave someone with that kind of information alive. “I don’t think they knew he was Norrian. Wouldn’t they have disguised him better? It wouldn’t have been that difficult to change his appearance to be more Surlian. Or maybe they did and he’s a traitor to Norr, and they hoped we would torture and kill him. He claims he is a criminal in Norr from his testimonies, after all. I think the Norrians accused him for the same reason we accepted him: telekinesis.”
“Maybe they’re just mocking us. You know how superior they think their intelligence is because of their technology. Besides, the file says they disproved his magic. You can’t possibly think that a Norrian would have Surlian magic?”
“Of course not.”
“So why do you want him so badly?!” Wil struggled to control his already livid temper.
Mal grabbed the data tablet from his desk, his fingers flipping through who-knew-what. “He passed as a telekinetic in the Academy. You know how rigorously they’re tested. Even going through some records multiple times, I had trouble figuring out what exactly he did to get away with it. You can’t let that kind of raw talent die.”
“You can if that ‘raw talent’ has aligned with the enemy. How can you assume his loyalties lie with Surl?”
“Think of the bond our team shared – how could he go four years without feeling anything for at least his comrades?”
“Maybe he just festered in anger. All of his teammates were found dead, some from knife wounds. His file says that’s his chosen weapon. Maybe he killed them.”
Mal dismissed this with a wave of his hand. “The medics determined that Bohr was unconscious before the fatal blows to his comrades. They concluded he did not play a physical role in their deaths.”
Wil considered this. Then grudgingly threw his hands up. “Okay. Fine. I clearly can’t change your mind, so I’ll play along. But what are we supposed to do? He’ll get tortured and executed any day, it’s been six months.”
Mal’s lopsided grin stretched wide, and with a mischievous glint in his eyes he knelt and gathered the contents of the folder. Stuffing it and his tablet into his messenger bag, he strode to his bedroom door. “It just so happens his conviction is being dealt in half an hour. I think they finally realized they wouldn’t be getting any information about Norr from him. Want to stop an execution, War Hero?” Mal winked, and Wil knew perfectly well that his captain could convince the entire court to release the potential enemy. But even his magic of command had its limits, and if the judge had no doubt that this Nye was guilty, he could do nothing. And, in the surge of nationalism that always followed winning a war, Wil had little doubt himself that the Norrian was doomed if Mal took that approach. With a final sigh, he let Mal usher him out the door.
“If this is the first one, I can’t wait to see the other two you’ve chosen.” Mal laughed and Wil couldn’t help but join him. “I suppose we’ve already challenged the Gods. Well, let’s go save a Norrian.”
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Religion in Surl
There is only one religion in Surl: Surlians are very religious. Even if someone doesn’t believe in the religion they won’t dare show it publicly. Although a democracy, most of the government’s power comes directly from scriptures. This leads to a lot of... er... corruption. For example, if someone was laundering money. Even if the entire city knew about it they wouldn’t act, believing if the Gods truly disapproved they would smite the criminal.
As mentioned previously, their religion focuses on the “physicality of humanity”. Your physical body, given by the Gods, determines your purpose in life. There are several consequences to this:
A woman’s responsibility is to bear and raise the next generation. This creates a sexist ideology. This is perpetuated by the fact that a lower percentage of females posses magic; women are seen as less worthy than men.
Similarly, homosexuality serves no purpose.
To be a transgender individual is unheard of. The body is the only factor of a person’s being.
Self-harm and suicide are grave sins. Surlians believe in reincarnation, and a soul that commits suicide is doomed to roam Naza, the area between Eteos and Athua, forever.
There are of course many additional aspects to the Surlian religion, but the aspects mentioned are the most prominent in the story.
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Welcome to Eteos
Eteos has two known continents: Norr and Surl. The first book, A Matter of Perspective, takes place in Surl. I mentioned this is a story about magic and science, right?
Surl == Magic
Norr == Science
Surl is the southern continent. It is, for the most part, a representative democracy. The culture is heavily focused on literature, arts, and music. A small fraction of the society even have magical abilities - super strength, telekinesis, etc. These individuals are held in high esteem. The Surlian religion is polytheistic and emphasizes the physicality of humanity.
Norr is [big surprise] the northern continent. It is a monarchy. The culture is heavily focused on STEM. Norrians are known for superior intellect. They too have a polytheistic religion but their beliefs emphasize the mentality of humanity.
Norr hates Surl and Surl hates Norr. So much in fact that their religions have stipulations for the two countries fighting each other every four years to reestablish trade agreements. This happens on an island between the two continents called Battleground. This is the only time that Norrians and Surlians interact directly with each other, as travel between the continents is banned.
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Prologue
In a small alley off the streets of Caraz, a middle-aged woman prepared to throw away yet another perfectly good bucket of kitchen slop. A blanket of flour covered her head to toe; it clung to her skin with the aid of a glistening coat of perspiration. Regrettably, when she adjusted her grip, the pail slipped from those sweaty palms. It clattered heavily onto her foot and rolled slightly before finally coming to a rest at the edge of the light, contents barely spilled, but damage already done. She muttered a curse to the Gods and limped back to her kitchen, leaving the annoyance behind. The person observing the woman suppressed a smile; that suppression became a lot harder when the young orphans edged out from the shadows like rats towards the abandoned food. The whispers that became cheerful jeers finally drove the young woman away from the poorly lit alleyway with a flip of her long braids.
She sucked in a deep breath of fall air; one saturated with humidity and salt and warmth. Even at night the northern city sweltered. She couldn’t idle about though. She had work to do. She made her way to the east factory sector where she should find her two companions; unfortunately, their actual presence could be influenced by almost anything under the sun. Or moon, as it would stand. However, the men did not disappoint her this time; she could see her fellow gang members’ large silhouettes casually chatting amidst a cloud of smoke. Somehow her jovial mood from before faded into the constant irritation that always lurked somewhere in her mind.
“Cockroach, Razor,” she greeted.
“Girl,” Razor growled back generically; she could not grow angry, for she hadn’t had a name for many years. She refused to let the gangs give her a new calling. “Good times are coming.”
“So Surl actually won this war?” She shook her head. “I can’t believe that’s not a rumor.”
“You’ll change your disbelief as soon as the troops disembark the trains from Battleground.” Cockroach laughed gutturally. “More food for the rich means more scraps for the poor.”
“Why must we always live only on scraps?” She lamented. The other two grunted; she recognized the response. They thought her too young, too idealistic. Even after so many years of living in the streets forgotten by everything else. Of watching the smaller ones dig out of trash bins. She clenched her fist. “Why must we fight so hard to survive while those with magic have everything handed to them?”
“Good question,” a clipped voice answered from the shadows.
The other three swiveled towards it; knives appearing in every hand as cigarettes tumbled to the ground. The cloaked newcomer leaned casually against a wall, inspecting a gloved hand. She could not tell anything of his appearance; but as far as she could see, he held no weapon. She clutched her own knives tighter.
“Good manners would be to introduce yourself, boy.” Razor warned sharply.
“Ah, yes.” He reached up and removed the hood. A pale face with startling green eyes framed with straight, jet black hair grinned maniacally. He tilted his head to the side and she could see it, even in the dim light; pointed ears. She hissed. “My name is of no consequence.”
“How did you get here?” Cockroach snarled, echoing the thoughts of the other two. “Why shouldn’t we kill you? I assume you don’t have a death wish. Though we would happily accommodate if you do.”
The man smiled, unperturbed. “I come to offer you power.”
“Why would you want to give power to Surl?”
“Oh. Not to Surl: To individuals who happen to be Surlian. You see, I don’t quite fancy the Surlian or the Norrian governments. Apparently, my lady, you don’t either?”
She gasped when those vivid eyes met hers. She let her hand fall a fraction of a centimeter before increasing her grip and strengthening her stance. She narrowed her eyes. “What sort of power?”
“One stolen from the Gods of Surl.”
Now she did drop her guard; as did the other two. “What game are you playing?!” Yelled Razor. “Did the Tigers send you?”
“That petty gang?” The stranger laughed and the woman balked. The Tigers held the most influence in all of Caraz; maybe all of Venezia. “No; they are too short sighted, too close minded. I wouldn’t work with them. However, after only hearing some of your conversation… I can tell that you are different.”
“How, exactly, did you steal power from the Gods?” She asked hesitantly.
That grin grew more sinister. “Would you believe me if I said I flew to Ruso… or as you call it, Athua and back?”
She frowned, knowing that the man’s answer told her that he wouldn’t tell them how he had come across… whatever he had come across. “Why offer it to Surl and not Norr?”
“As I said, Surlians, not Surl. It doesn’t work on Norrians.”
“Why?” She looked the man up and down, searching for any sign of deceit.
It was now the man’s turn to narrow his eyes. “You ask a lot of questions for a Surlian. Regardless, it destroys Norrians.”
“And not Surlians?” She crossed her arms.
“Theoretically.” The man surveyed her slyly. “Though I would love to have actual subjects. If it makes you feel better, you can take that as your reason for me approaching you; merely scientific curiosity.”
She exchanged a hard glance with her companions; but to no avail. The two of them eyed the drug greedily and without any trepidation. If he truly wanted to destroy Surl, this Norrian wouldn’t have approached individuals as inconsequential as she and her companions. She gritted her teeth. “You truly want nothing in return?”
“For now, just more data points. Promise.” He batted his eyes innocently at her.
She locked her glare on him. The echo of the orphans’ laughter rung in her head, as well as the screams of young women she sold off. Even if she knew it would happen eventually, if the transaction meant she alone could survive. She simply did not have the strength to change things, to make sure no one ate only scraps. But was it worth possible destruction of her own self? No price could be too high for what this man offered. She took a deep breath and stretched out her hand. “Fine. Give us power.”
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So I Wrote a Book
I wasn’t exactly in the best place a year and a half ago. Not that it’s exponentially better now, but I digress. I have rather strict standards for myself academically and I haven’t exactly reached those standards in college. Unfortunately, some semesters are much worse than others and I have the scars to prove it. I created the characters as sort of a therapy for myself - and their story grew from there. I can’t really explain what I felt while I wrote it or even when I finished it. I wanted to share it, but my anxiety prevented me from doing so. This is a blog dedicated to something only five people have read. This is a story about magic and science. A world full of wars, festivals, and gods. And a group of, quite frankly, sassy derps.
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