I wrote this in grade 8. It’s only up here as a triviality. The oldest thing I wrote that I still have on my computer (after my novel and various other things were accidentally deleted by my brother, at some point in grade 8 evidently before I wrote this. I remember it was sunny when it was deleted and during school, so I will guess it was the fall, but that’s another story.)
This story was a ri… homage to Babylon 5, where I was going to take the plot of the show and put it as a fantasy story rather than science fiction. I don’t know if (and if, why) I thought I would actually finish the whole thing as what is here now is very much just a beginning. I read it at a coffee house we held to raise funds for our grade 8 trip to canoe at the Isle de Beau Soleil.
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A dry and lonesome and cold place. A sandy almost-desert with occasional clumps and tufts of various grasses and shrubs clinging to the windswept grey sand. The land is primarily flat, with only gentle curves; but there are small heaps of blackish rock spread evenly over the landscape, none closer than fifty yards.
The sky: flat dismal and depressing grey, layers of haze and soot blot out the sun’s light and warmth. Cold winds race across the land carrying dust and adding to the chill. In the east, billows of smoke rise from beyond a ridge.
There is a road, or rather what was a road; now it is only an uneven line of grey cobblestone barely distinguishable from the surrounding landscape. The “road” continues through the landscape and disappears over the northern and southern horizons.
To the North the road goes straight as an arrow over ridges and depressions and as we follow it farther and farther it becomes more a road and less a nondescript line of occasional bits of cobblestone.
Two horizons later, the road is a road and could be mistaken for nothing else. We see in the distance a shape which as we approach turns into a walled city. A hastily constructed and destructed wooden wall encircled the city; all that remains of the wall are blackened planks which indicate where the wall once stood. The road, also scorched, enters another area of destruction.
There are some small wooden huts spaced out in random, many are black with soot and scorch, or orange with flames that still burn. Where many should have stood there are only piles of ashes. Corpses lie strewn across the area, many of them wearing armour and with swords or axes lying beside them. From here the city seems to be deserted except for the flies and ants that cover the bodies.
The road continues through the huts until it comes to a stone wall. The wall however has crumbled and is streaked with black scorch marks. The road, also scorched, continues through an opening in the wall which was once a gate, but now the gate is gone and stones from the wall litter the road.
Beyond the stone wall. The small huts are gone and instead stand tall buildings made of stone which is now scorched. It is impossible for them to appear majestic as they once were. No glass remains in the windows and no doors remain in doorways. From inside them flames can be seen devouring what is left inside.
There are also a few people now, maybe twenty of them rooting through the ruins in search of something, anything. They are dressed in clothes appropriate to the condition of their city: torn and stained with blood and soot. The people shamble about slowly and disconsolately their eyes downcast. It is silent except for the crunch of worn and burnt out boots and the small moans of children with nothing to feed them.
In the centre of the town there is what was once a palace, it had five floors of grandeur and riches. Now the palace stands at most three floors above the ground and what is left is in shambles. Squared towers that once rose from the corners rise no more. A garden that once held flowers of great beauty and trees of equal beauty is now a pile of ash and ruined soil.
A room in the top remaining floor of the palace. It lies in complete disarray. There is a chair which in its former state would have been prized by nobles but now would be scoffed at by serfs. The chair however is occupied by a man who is probably much younger than his white scraggly hair, wrinkled skin and hacking cough seem to indicate. A golden chalice sits on a small table at his limp left hand; in the cup is the last clean water in the entire city, untainted by the soot and ash.
The old man is drowsing, and his breath comes in laboured gasps, there is a grimace on his face that has been there for a long time. A small fly lands on his hand, startling him, his hand jerks forward, the fly mounts to the air and the chalice is knocked the ground, the water pours out.
It wasn’t always like this. There was once food in this place. There was once water and drink in this place. There was once Laughter in this place. There were once not so long ago the bright smiles of children in this place. Now all that is left is nostalgia, memories and the reminder that some favours come at a price; a price too high for anyone to pay and still have any joy left.
And the man in the chair? I am he, he is me. I am the emperor of a dead empire that was once a great empire. Sometimes as I sit, hungry and parched, I wonder if this all isn’t some big joke on the universe’s part; for I have known for at least thirty years that the universe hates me. And how did the capital city of the greatest empire there ever was come to be like this? It is a long story, a story that providing I live long enough I will tell you.
Chapter One
It was a bright and cheerful day in the city of Ihra’don, the great capital of the Feza’an’adran Empire. The sun shone brightly over the whitewashed stone buildings which cast their shadows over the fountains and pools. Birds sang cheerfully from the trees in the gardens outside the palace. There was a feeling in the air that cannot be described in words, the day was perfect; well it could have been perfect.
In the late afternoon, a messenger arrived from the east with the news that one of our outposts on the border with the Da’rallan had fallen to a surprise attack in the night. Only a handful of the hundreds of soldiers garrisoned there survived. It was the next in a successive string of losses for my empire and nobody could see any wins except perhaps in the far distant future.
At this time I was a simple noble living in the royal palace of Ihra’don. My duties were to enjoy myself, scheme, plot to overthrow my enemies in the palace, and provide insight to the emperor on the rare occasions when he wanted me to. I was young and innocent then and I did not suspect at all that I would ever become emperor.
The emperor of the once great Feza’an’adran empire at that time was Emperor Tur’alh. He was a kind man, which was seen as a fault by too many including my arrogant self, although some saw it as much more than a fault. The emperor had ascended the throne when his father, Bey’alh, died.
Bey’alh was the opposite of his kind hearted son, they were opposite poles of the empire. Bey’alh conquered all of Da’rallan in his early life (only to see his conquest snatched back in his decline), but his chief concern had been with the Nan’avyn to the south. Long ago, his predecessors had procured the land of the Nan’avyn and they freed themselves and at the time I speak of were an great power, but Bey’alh worked carefully from the shadows attempting to weaken them from “inside.”
Tur’alh, however, went out of his way to return some of the land rightfully belonging to the Nan’avyn as well as working hard to undo his father’s work.
The people of Feza’an’adra had a long history with the Nan’avyn. About five hundred years before the time I speak of, the Feza’an’adrans had discovered the more primitive Nan’avyn and over the next fifty years worked to conquer them. When they accomplished this, the southern people were enslaved and lived in slavery, planning their eventual revenge for two hundred years. Two hundred fifty years before the reign of Tur’alh, the Nan’avyn broke free after a war that lasted two decades.
As I said, that day we received news one of our outposts had fallen. The emperor seemed little perturbed considering the magnitude of what happened, he was old and tired of war. The Lords in the palace had been caught off guard and needed to move quickly; they put on a pretence of concern and shock as they bustled about having speeches written that they thought would gain them power and giving special instructions to their many agents.
I did not have much interest in the scheming, I knew it was necessary for the palace economy to thrive but I took no part; I had the opinion that our emperor should rise to power through other ways than scheming. I think I knew, though, that anything above scheming and plotting was also above our once great empire.
It was late morning and I was on my way to the garden to cool off. I was walking down one of the many beautifully decorated, bustling hallways when I saw someone coming purposefully towards me. He was dressed simply but impeccably, he moved upright and he had a bounce to his step, and he smiled charmingly. There was something about him that made me nervous though, I didn’t and still don’t know what.
As he neared, I turned and began walking the other way.
“Tha’rall!” I heard my name called. I take the fact that that man chose me as more than coincidence, it is further evidence that the universe hates me, something I think I had known from the time of my birth.
I continued to hurry away; I heard my name called again and “I need to speak with you on a matter of utmost urgency. I had entered a part of the palace that had been deserted for a very long time the two of us were alone: Hunter and Prey.
“Please, I just need a moment of your time!”
I ducked into another corridor and began to run, I could feel him following me.
“I will talk to you,” he assured me, an edge to his voice.
A hiss. A sharp pain in my back. I fell to the cold stone floor my head ringing, and I lost consciousness.
bNh
I woke with a start. I was lying in my ornate bedroom, my covers were on top of me. The curtains were pulled shut, hiding the early morning light. It had all been a very disturbing dream. My people saw dreams as very important; they were prophecy, signs of the future, and that thought did not please me.
I pushed back the covers on my bed, stood up and began to dress myself. I could hear footsteps in the kitchen, my servant. “I would like my breakfast now,” I called.
As I finished buttoning my purple jacket, the footsteps turned into a man. He was dressed simply but impeccably, his dark hair was cut neatly and stood upright and would have appeared charming had he not been grinning, almost smirking, like that. “Breakfast? Wouldn’t you rather be, oh, the emperor?”
“You?!???” I yelled.
“Me? Yes you’re right, last time I checked anyway.” Totally ignoring my angry outburst he found a green cushioned chair by the wall, brought it to face me and sat down.
“What do you want?” I asked him.
“Not much, my dwelling is nice and cosy, I have the resources I need to survive and enjoy my life. All I want is to help other people who are not so happy with their lives. Like you.”
I began to say something but the man continued.
“You can call me Ran. You can also tell me what I can do for you.”
“I quite enjoy myself here thank you very much,” I said.
“No you don’t. Your life has no direction. You are just one other pointless scheming noble with no purpose watching the once great empire of Feza’an’adra crumble under its own weight. You will never be anything greater than you are now and you know this. And yet you say you enjoy yourself quite enough thank you and I like it here. I do have the substance up here,” he pointed to his head, “ to know that you are holding just a little something back or are just plain lying.
I wasn’t hungry anymore, but my stomach still felt hungry. “I would like my breakfast now please and thank you. I happen to be experiencing something people know as hunger. Where is Arune?”
“Your servant is occupied elsewhere at the moment, but your breakfast has been on the table in the kitchen for the past three hours.” I realised then that “Ran” was no longer sitting and had moved towards the kitchen and I was a few steps behind him.
“Yes that’s right. Keep going, keep going, through that door over there. I like to eat my breakfast alone.”
“And that’s all you like: to eat your breakfast at home?”
“Yes! Get out!!” I screamed.
“You want nothing? What must the Royal Court think of you?…”
“No. Because I do want something, yes I want something very much and getting rid of you is off the list because it seems quite impossible. I want this crumbling empire to rise up, to stretch out its great hand and grasp everything. I want to put down the Nan’avyn, enslave them, put them where they should be. I want to be part of a civilisation with power rather then memories of power! I want it all back the way it was! Does that satisfy you? Will you leave me alone and let me eat my breakfast?”
“Thank you very much, I do believe you can eat your breakfast. Be seeing you.” With that he walked out of the door.
There was no breakfast on the table, just a plate of crumbs and I never found my servant.
Chapter Two
Two years of scheming, politicking, contriving, the usual general living and at long last a rise through a few ranks had passed. And now I was in hell.
I’m not sure where our relationship started; who started hating who first; but the universe and I had a very poor relationship, as I have noted and will continue to note. At least the universe had the heart to put a pretty face on hell, because without that I would have been driven mad; although maybe the pretty hell was a contributing factor and I am already quite mad.
On the outside it was a beautiful day, and it was a beautiful day on the inside for many people. It was late spring. The trees bore lovely light green leaves and birds sang beautifully; a small stream sparkled as it made its way bubblingly through the small encampment. The encampment was made up of two large pavilions, one flying the banner of Feza’an’adra and the other that of the Nan’avyn. There were about ten people in two groups which stood away from each other, each discussing politics. It was a tragedy, this beautiful place being stained by politics. This place was my hell; or more accurately it was where my interminably long journey through hell began, my meeting in the royal palace being prologue.
The less advanced Nan’avyn, known at that time to me as ferocious animals with big mouths and little cranium capacity, held themselves taller as they discussed their arguments; they were unburdened by a faulty government that believed itself above all. Their people had lived in slavery for hundreds of years and in a strange way they were better for it and not better in the way that my prideful people would believe.
The Nan’avyn were here with the accusation that their scouts had seen armed Feza’an’adran troops encroaching on their territory, and they did not wish to solve the problem with violence. My job was to deny the truthful accusations and make it fact that the Feza’an’adrans had sent no such expedition, because it was possible for someone in my position to change the truth. Unfortunately, my truth was not their truth as is often the case and they believed their truth much more than I believed mine.
For days we argued and argued and for what little life of me remains I cannot remember about what. Looking back I cannot see what there was to argue about, but there is always something to argue about.
Later that day, a man came to the camp. I had met him before, as prologue. His name was Ran and he was annoying, terrifying and enticing. He strode into the clearing with no signs of wear on his simple and impeccable clothes. He seemed to come toward me without looking to see where I was.
I then decided that I would listen to what he had to say. He could not harm me or anybody else. I decided he was just a harmless madman who needed someone to talk to. I approached him.
“Hello Ran; it’s good to see you again.” The two thirds smirk and grin and one-third indescribable expression on his face was not that of a mad man. I suppose it could have been the expression of a very composed and sure-of-himself madman, but all it did for me was encourage me to wring his neck..
“It’s good to see you,” said Ran. “Is there anything I can do for you?”
I lowered my voice so no one but Ran could hear me. “Yes, as a matter of fact there is.” I had approached him with the intent of being kind and congenial, but there was something about this man that made that impossible. “I would like to have the negotiations here finished and have come out the winner. You see, the Nan’avyn can only claim the area because of a small town called Thar’senn; and I believe that if you went and single-handedly destroyed the village, the Nan’avyn would be afraid to pursue this matter further. That is something you can do for me.”
“Why thank you Tha’rall, that will indeed be a most interesting task.”
The general gentlemenly kindness he exhibited finally got to me and I became fed up. “Now if you could please go, I am quite busy.”
He left.
Two days later, a Nan’avyn messenger arrived and spoke to the Nan’avyn diplomat in his pavilion. After about half an hour, the Nan’avyn emerged and declared that they were not going to pursue the matter farther.
They took down their pavilion, saddled their horses, and left at a canter; all in a matter of half of an hour.
A few days later the rumours began. It was said that Thar’senn had been attacked by a mysterious force. The buildings had been erased from the world except in the form of very minor rubble and the one hundred fifty inhabitants had vanished from the face of the earth.
That was the beginning of my hell.