Introduction

Please feel free to comment, critique and ask questions.

Welcome to the Blog for my Work-In-Progress Novel "This Rising Darkness."

While reading, I would like you to keep in mind that this is a first draft. this means that it is un-edited and un-revised. There are going to be errors, plot-holes, and horrible dialogue. Most writers will tell you that stories really come out in revision, at least any that I've talked to have said that.

That being said, I hope you enjoy the story I have written and feel free to comment. Feel free to give constructive criticism in any responses you have

Thursday, April 15, 2010

Chapter 18 - Visions

The scene around Matthew was hectic, but it always was as his family prepared for a feast. This one would be no different. A tall woman stood on the raised platform of the small banquet hall, directing servants. Meda, the mistress of servants, echoed her orders, pointing at specific servants who ran off to their duties. Matthew smiled as he approached his mother, leaping from the floor to the platform.
The woman was beautiful in her flowing green dress, Matthew’s father’s favorite color. Her dark brown hair almost seemed black in the shadows cast from not having all the torches and chandeliers lit. Her deep green eyes took everything in. There was not a servant that escaped her critical eye.
His mother turned to him, smiling, “It is good to see you son, how was your hunting trip?”
Matthew placed a light kiss on her cheek before speaking, “We didn’t see anything, but it was enjoyable all the same.”
“I am glad you enjoyed yourself,” she said, she began to look back out into the room before looking back, “Your father wants to speak with you, though I’m not sure what for. He should be in the library.”
“Thank you mother, I will see you at dinner?” he asked, already knowing the answer.
“Of course,” she said, her smile causing him to smile back, “I would not miss it.”
Matthew turned from his mother, jogging away. He steadied the sword bouncing on his hip. He had never really been comfortable with the weapon, finding it unruly, but nobles wearing swords was the way things were done in Garlin. He took a door and continued jogging down the hall on the other side.
The manor his family lived in was not large by the standards of the other nobles in the city, and it was dwarfed by the keeps the high nobles lived in. Even though it was not large, Matthew liked it. It seemed right for his family. The estates of the other nobles seemed gaudy to him, with the exception of the Kensly estate. He found the Kensly estate to be similar to their own, not flaunting their wealth, but simply living in comfort.
Matthew made a mental note that he should invite Jaron on his next hunting trip. The younger boy was always going on about being stuck in his manor, too busy for anything else. A hunting trip would do him well, and would teach him more than his books ever did.
Stopping before the door of the library, Matthew arranged his clothes, insuring everything was as it was suppose to be. When he was satisfied he opened the door and stepped through. Examining the scene, he found his father and Miktan sitting across from one another, each sitting in one of the many high backed chairs found in the room. Between them sat a table with a board set up on it for a game of Runes.
Matthew had never been a fan of the game, not having a mind for strategy. He had managed to beat his father a few times, but it was no where near that amount of times he had lost. Matthew relied more on his wit and quick mind to get out of situations. His father had often commented that he would do as well as a thief as he would a noble.
“Matthew,” his father said, waving him over to join them, “I see you managed to survive your hunt. How was it?”
Matthew chuckled as he pulled a chair up to the table, “I afraid we didn’t see a thing. Next time though, I’m sure of it.”
“Of course,” Miktan said, examining the board.
The older man, older than his father by a good ten years at least, chewed on the stem of a hand carved pipe. Smoke curled from the bowl. From its scent, Matthew figured it to be a Uganan blend.
“Mother said you wanted to see me?” Matthew said, forming the statement into a question.
“Yes,” his father said, placing a carved tile of wood on the board before standing, “I was thinking about the trip you are so adamant to take.”
Matthew’s curiousity rose. He had mentioned the idea to his father on multiple occasions. Miktan often told Matthew tales of the travels he had taken with Matthew’s father before the men decided to settle in Garlin. The stories and intrigued Matthew. The intrigued him so much that he had requested that he be allowed to travel as well. He thought that he had phrased the requests quite well, stating that he wanted to see the world and that his travels would better prepare him for any obstacles he may face later in his life.
Matthew’s father picked up a small carved chest and brought it back to the table, setting it down before speaking again, “I have spoken with your mother and have agreed to allow you to take your trip,” Matthew’s excitement was held back at his father’s raised hand, “We have rules that we want to lay down, but we will go over them at dinner. However, I know that you have never really taken to the sword,” Matthew’s father pointed at the blade at his hip as if Matthew did not realize it was there.
“As such,” his father opened the chest, “I wanted to give you these,” from the chest he pulled two daggers.
The twin blades were each about the length of Matthew’s forearm. They were unlike anything he had ever seen before. The metal was black as night and the light from the lamps set around the room seemed to dance off them. Only one edge was sharpened, with a slight curved. Worn leather wrapped the hilts, a dark brown, though it almost looked black against the metal.
“These served me well in my travels during my youth,” he looked up at Miktan before continuing, “I want you to take them. They are excellent weapons, but, as with any weapon, its usefullness…”
“Depends on whether you need to use it or not,” Matthew said finishing the quote.
“You’ve taught the boy well,” Miktan said around his pipe, arching an eyebrow at his old friend.
“I just hope I’ve taught him well enough,” his father said as he handed the blades over to Matthew.
Matthew carefully took the daggers, turning them in the light to examine them more closely, “Thank you father, they are magnificent.”
“You’re welcome, I only hope you never have to use them,” his father said, a look in his eye that seemed to say more than his words.
“Well Braas, do you have any more gifts for the boy, or can we get back to our game?” Miktan asked, sounding irritated as he motioned at the runes board with his pipe.
“Very well, run along Matthew, I’m sure there is some young girl who’s heart needs breaking or something,” Braas said with a laugh.
Matthew chuckled as he stood, sliding the dagger into his belt. He noticed a small stone chest setting in the corner of the library. Paying it no mind he left the room.

Flash.

Matthew stared at the man who had just killed his father. He had just been brought into the family business. They had decided to rob House Danar, to take from the man that had stolen from the people of Garlin for years. Someone must have gone to Lord Danar and told him of their plan. It was the only explanation. There was no reason for Lord Danar himself to be waiting for them in his vault, along with six of his personal guards, each one with blades bared as Matthew and his father had come through the door. His father had managed to kill one and injure another before a sword pierced him through completely.
Lord Danar laughed, “What will you do now boy? You’re father, Braas the Shadow-Walker lies dead at my feet. Before long you will join him. A pity that your mother could not have joined us this night. I suppose I will have to send a messenger to her to inform her of your demise. Or perhaps I will just send an assassin, so that she can join you in the afterlife.”
Matthew threw the knife in his right had straight at the man. One of the guards threw himself in front of it, taking the blade hilt deep in the neck. He gasped as he fell to the ground, writhing as he suffocated. Matthew paid the man no attention as he threw two more knives, making a mental note of how many he had left. The two knives sailed through the air, catching one guard in the shoulder and another in the chest, just above his heart.
The guard with a knife in his shoulder dropped the sword he held, the arm now useless. The second guard pulled the knife from his chest, glancing at it before throwing it to the ground. Matthew smiled, knowing what was about to happen. One man jerked violently, falling to the ground. The other guard looked at the now fallen guard, confused, but he too jerked and fell.
Lord Danar looked at the two men in surprise before looking to stare at Matthew who drew two more daggers from his belt, “Poison,” Matthew explained, “I coat some of my knives with it. It’s rather painless, or so I’ve been told, but extremely effective.”
Lord Danar and his guards looked at him, not entirely sure what kind of situation they were in. Lord Danar threw up an arm to point at him, “Kill him! Now!” He shouted.
The two remaining guard charged at him, one’s arm limp at his side. Blood flowed from the deep wound Matthew’s father had managed to land, cutting the man’s upper arm almost to the bone. Matthew let another dagger fly, straight at the injured man, not even watching to see if it hit. It was the last of his poisoned daggers. He drew a new blade, his last, from his belt and readied for the charging guard.
The guard was rigid, rehearsed in his sword forms. That would be his downfall. One on one against a swordsman, Matthew had never lost. It was too ease to read a sword. The man swung, the blade coming straight down. Matthew easily sidestepped the blade and struck out. He stabbed into the man’s left thigh. Not waiting, Matthew spun around to the guard’s back. A quick cut along the man’s lower back caused him to fall. Matthew reached around the man’s neck and cut his throat, never stopping his motion. He finally came to a stop right next to his father’s lifeless body, glaring at Lord Danar.
The man stood, eyes wide, mouth gaping at the scene before him. He had watched as a young man, only barely not a boy, killed five of his elite guard, leaving him standing alone in the room with him. His mouth worked as if he meant to say something, but no sound came out.
Matthew knelt down, shutting the glazed eyes of his father. He picked up the black blades his father had always kept with him. A good luck charm he called them. Not tonight. His knuckles went white as he gripped the hilts. The worn leather creaked in his hands. He stood, glaring at Lord Danar.
The man put up his hands, his sword dropping to the floor, “Wait, wait! Please, don’t kill me, I can give you money, power, whatever you could want!”
Matthew charged, leaping into the air, blades ready to strike. The man tripped on something and fell to the ground. At the man’s feet sat a small stone chest. Matthew began to descend, ignoring the chest, ready to kill.

Flash

Matthew and his father stood before the gravestone. Matthew had read the inscription hundreds of times since his mother’s death, but no matter how many times he read it, tears always came. His father placed a hand on his shoulder, hoping to comfort him.
Every year on the day of his mother’s death, he and his father came together to mourn. It was the only day that Matthew saw his father. He still blamed that man for her death. His father just could not let go. He could not give up the life of stealing, and it had cost them her life. Braas the Shadow-Walker could not bring himself to give up the glory he had made for himself. Not until that day. It was a day too late in Matthew’s eyes.
The twin blades, the Shadow-Blades his father always called them, sat set into the stone monument. They shone in the bright sunlight. Matthew’s father ran a finger along one of the blades, a look of longing in his eyes. Matthew could not tell if he longed to have the blades again or if he longed to have his wife back, but he did not care. Either one would be too much for the man.
Matthew turned to leave and noticed something sitting off to the right of the monument. It was a small stone chest. Something about it seemed familiar to Matthew, but he could not tell what it was. Not wanting to spend another moment at his mother’s grave.

Flash

The warehouse was empty, the rest of the crew gone. All of them had been arrested, the last ones caught trying to rob Lord Danar’s vault. Matthew was the only one left. He walked around the large, empty space, taking note of all the little things left behind. A small blanket one of them had managed to take from the orphanage when they were kicked out. A poorly sewn doll. A single copper fang, a hole punched through it and placed on a cord, kept by one of them to remember how little they had started out with.
He walked into the old office, hoping to find more memories in there. Inside the room he found little. An old desk that had been left behind before they ever purchased the building, along with the simple wooden chair that sat behind it. Matthew moved behind the desk and pulled the chair back, sitting down. As he stretched his legs out underneath the desk, he kicked something.
Moving out of the chair and dropping to his knees, he climbed into the small area under the desk. He found something that felt like a stone cube, though in the absence of light he could not make anything out. He pulled the cube out from under the desk. In the light he could see that it was a stone chest.
He reached for the latch and slowly pulled it open. The lid was heavy, and did not have any hinges he could make out, but it swung open and a bright light engulfed him.

Matthew’s vision cleared and he was not sure what was before him. It looked almost like a map. He had seen maps before, merchants often sold them, thinking that someone might like to buy one to hang in their home. Their maps were different, just lines drawn on paper to show mountain ranges, rivers, lakes and cities; or sometimes it laid out the different countries of the world and roads from city to city.
This map was different. It seemed almost real, as if it were truly living. He could make out mountains that looked like mountains, great pieces of earth jutting into the sky, some gray, others brown, and some topped with white. He could make out the rivers, seeming to flow into lakes and oceans. He could see roads leading from city to city.
There was a flash of light from one of the cities and it began to burn. From its location, Matthew thought it was Garlin. The flames spread out, consuming everything they touched. The ring of flame continued to spread, in its wake, nothing was left behind. There was only darkness. No, not darkness; emptiness.
Suddenly eight streams of color shot out from Matthew; red, blue, brown, green, yellow, gray, black and white. He was not sure what the colors represented, but there was a sense of familiarity when he looked at them. The streams broke away from his body, all but one. The black stream seemed to linger, as if caught on something. Finally it too broke away and merged with the others.
As the streams came together, they seemed to make something. It was as if they were part of a weaving of sorts. They wrapped around one another, again and again. Colors began to blend together, the original lost in something new. Slowly a new image came into being. It was a new map.
This new map was not unlike the original. It shared mountains and rivers, lakes and oceans. Matthew could make out rolling plains and harsh deserts. However, the placement of things were different. The land masses did not look like the previous ones. Mountains were not where they were suppose to be, nor were the rivers, lakes and oceans.
It suddenly hit Matthew, something that was in the original by not in the new; Cities. There were no cities. What he looked at now was similar to what he had seen, but now it was as if all signs of civilization were gone. It was as if the races of the world had completely disappeared.
Then the image began to fade into the distance. It was as if Matthew was falling away from it. Falling towards what he did not know. He did not feel the sensation of falling. He felt nothing at all. Then there was darkness. True darkness.

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