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| Jaran Seramis, "The Champion" |
Part 1
"The Storm"
Thunder crashed as the billowing black clouds poured rain in stinging sheets. The water streaked over the smooth stone surfaces.
Inside
the foremost turret, a lean young man sat at a glossy cherry-wood
table. He leaned on his elbows, resting the tips of his steepled fingers
against his chin. His thin lips twitched with each crash. The candle in
front of him melted slowly, and he watched the liquefied wax overflow
and dribble down. Dark hair shaded pale eyes, and his gaze trembled—the
only sign of the turmoil in his mind. His charcoal-grey waistcoat and
matching breeches were too tight and growing tighter, cutting off
circulation, stifling his breath—
"It is time."
He
had been anticipating and dreading the summons all evening. The young
man stood slowly, his lean, towering frame looming over the stoop-backed
servant. He tore his eyes away from the candle, but even then, he could
not look at the servant. He fixed his eyes on the toes of his boots,
and then on the dark hallway stretching before him.
Glowlamps
lit the way down this hall—small glass globes only he could light. He
kept his gaze fixed ahead, just barely aware of the short man keeping in
step beside him, steering him by his presence as a sheepdog does the
cattle.
He entered the dark room, wondering what little experiment they had for him this time.
"Hold
this, please." The voice issued from the darkness as a smooth, round
knob nestled in his hand. A second knob rested in the other hand, and he
felt the old familiar thrill over his skin.
"Administer the charges when you are ready, Master Jaran."
Master, they said—offering him feigned respect rather than the honor he was due by right of his true title.
The
anger fueled his power. He gripped the knobs and released the pent-up
energy. Sparks like small lightning bolts lit his fingertips. He watched
the current travel down wires stretching out toward the walls. When
they connected with the glowlamps mounted there, he dampened the
current, watching with satisfaction as the charge fizzled out, but the
glowlamp still gleamed.
"Is there something wrong?" The voice
came from everywhere, a pet trick of the Scientific Councilor. Jaran
could never quite understand how it worked, so the effect was rather
more annoying to him than intimidating.
"Nothing's wrong, Bezzer," he replied. "I lit the lamp, isn't that what you wanted me to do?"
"Go further, if you please, Master Jaran," came the voice.
Jaran
held the knobs; releasing his charge always made his hands stiff and
numb. He could already feel the deadness creeping over his fingers. Any
further, and he probably wouldn't be able to unclench his hands for a
while.
But he had never been one to shy away from pushing the
boundaries of the mystery that was his unnatural ability. He sent a
stronger pulse down the wires, one that flared the glowlamp and kept
going, stretching down the length of wire, seeming to travel toward each
other. At the point of convergence, he saw the pulse widen and envelop
an elongated shape of some sort.
"What is that?" He asked Bezzer.
"Merely
a test beacon, my prince," came the silky reply. "Do not worry. That
last effort was admirable. Could you send just one pulse of your full
power?"
The test environment excited him; he almost missed the
sudden use of "prince" as opposed to "master." He would show that
stuffy robe what he could do. He unleashed the full flare, watching the blue
lightning streak down the wires, blow out the glowlamp, and keep right
on going to the beacon at the middle.
He never expected the beacon to scream.
As
the energy coursed over its length, the object in the middle of the
room suddenly writhed and let out a pained wail. When Jaran stopped the
current in surprise, a small object fell away from underneath the
"beacon."
A hand; a woman's hand.
"What
have you made me do?" The knobs slipped out of his hands and crashed to
the floor, but he could still feel the current flowing. He clenched his
fists in an attempt to curtail the energy. His worst fears were coming
true. "Who is she?"
"That is none of your concern—"
"I
said WHO IS SHE?" Abruptly, the lightning flared out of his knuckles,
searching for a place to land, and finding the exposed glowlamp sockets.
The force of the current jerked his arm outwards as this pulse seemed
to come from his very core. It crackled down the wires and enveloped the
body on the table in a white, ethereal glow. Jaran and the "test
subject" both screamed.
When Jaran finally pulled away, his
hands would not stop flaring. He knew as long as he remained in this
lab, he would be a danger to this innocent woman.
He ran out of the room, and the guards quickly stood aside when they saw the unnatural, crackling, white spark in his hands.
"Go to the harbor, find the Dragon Mark."
Jaran
swung around to see who had spoken, but there was no one there. The
Science Councilor's knights were still in pursuit. He resumed running.
"Dragon Mark... Harbor," the voice reached him faintly now. "Healer... Help you."
Jaran
reached the outer gate and finally released the energy that had been
burning his palms. He watched the streaks shoot upward, to disappear
among the clouds with a mighty crash. The same electrical current from
his hands now circulated through the entire sky, slamming to the ground
in brilliant flashes. The former Prince continued his journey east,
toward the Harbor. He would need to find this Mark of the Dragon.
Perhaps it would take away this curse he carried.
~<>~<>~<>~<>~
The father turned and swung his foot with
all his strength against the wall behind him. He kicked again and again
until he had cleared a tiny space at the bottom of the wall. Pulling his
daughter, he directed her to the hole. It was barely large enough for
her to wriggle through.
"Daddy!" She cried, grabbing, flailing for his hand.
"Go
now, Velora!" He commanded. "Run! Do not let the flames touch you! Be
safe!" He was pushing her now, as more of the hut sank in on itself.
The
girl scrambled forward into the cold, furious night. She saw more of
the villagers pouring into the trees, deeper into the treacherous
forest, heading westward. She stopped to take one last look at her
home—but all she could see was a burning pile of rubble.
"I will survive, Father," she whispered, and vanished into the night.
~<>~<>~<>~<>~<>~
He had weathered many storms inside his cave, but none quite like this
one. His gleaming eyes watched the streaks of lightning streaming from
the sky. Something stirred in the air, something beyond the storm; it
was a feeling he had been waiting for since his exile began.
The old man smiled to himself and released the spells concealing his location.
It was time to make the first move.
~<>~<>~<>~<>~<>~
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