Fantasy Cataclysm

[MidnightSun]

The snow fell at early dawn, the sun barely rising over the mountains as hues of purple and grey painted the clouded sky. It was another day, like any other for most of humanity and even so, they risked strokes with death upon waking.


Alone in the chilled winds, Esra stood before the open sky in his thick black cloak as if there was something in the distance calling him; however all there had been was the stillness of dawn dawn and the flurries of general winter. If his brother had seen him standing with his hood absent from him head, there would be an earful about keeping warm as if he was too stupid to know the cold season was upon them.

He drank from a wine skin that had been filled with water and the call of a crow had called him from naked trees.


“I know,” he whispered, tongue running over chapped lips and frost bitting at his nose. No matter how much water he drank, he couldn't get the taste of ashes out of his mouth. His dreams were ruled with fire, an inferno raining from the sky over the very village and kingdom that had been waking and tending to their own. It was so early, and he was still out of it regardless of the hours he had been awake.


A strong wind blew through the streets below and up his hill, tussling his white hair with with a bone chill unforgiving down his spine. He was quick to bundle himself to keep the cold at bay, but it did nothing once the snow flakes had wetted his tunic and skin. He swore, knowing it was time to go back to his fire and back to the dog who was starting to whine now that he had been awakened by either rolling around In the bed, or sensing his absence once he had awoken.


Esra looked back to the skyline again, this time it was lighter, releasing gold on the edges of the earth. A feeling of stone dropped into his stomach, knowing that if there really was an inferno, the sky would be black and there would be nothing for the sun to see.

His sickly body shivered in the cold once again, the small dewy snowflakes kissed his cheeks and chin when he turned back. The snow crunched below his feet, one step at a time he followed his path back through the snowy path. The hill had been relatively flat compared to the rocky paths below and for that he was thankful as he trekked his way back through the inches that had piled on before this.

Once to his home, he entered without so much as a sound, dropping his cloak by the hearth so it would get dry before he had to go out again. Waiting for him was his hound, large and long haired, with gray and black fur except for his white chin and the tips of his ears. The large dogs tail wagged wildly at the site of his owner, his butt reaching into the air and paws forward for a long stretch followed by a sneeze.


“Hush, you will wake up Neils…” Esra pressed his fingers to his lips, his eyes had darted to his sleeping brother. Like always, he was sleeping through everything he had done, but it would end too soon.


His dog’s tail wagged on, but the beast was quiet as he was strangely understanding when Esra spoke to him. They made eye contact for a moment, Esra wondered continuously if his hound was really a hound.

It was only a thought for a moment, but Esra shook his head, there was more to worry about.


It wasn't long before there were eggs cooking over some coals that he was able to pull away from the thick of the fire about and some stale bread to go with it too. There had been no coldren put over the flames, which only told him that Neils had no energy last night to practice some sort of magik that made him wonder what was happening. For someone who knew so much, Esra knew so little about his own blood’s doing, but in a way he was glad because the last potion he made smelt awful and it lingered for a fortnight. It was only a matter matter of time before that happened again, he flipped the eggs, broke one of the yokes and swore again as the frying continued.


The morning had already been hours long for him when two wooden plates were set and his dog once again was by his side, sniffing and begging for his own meal. A snout was on the table and then the floor with a small piece of apple had fallen from being peeled.


“You have a dish, go,” Esra was not going to let him beg, but when he felt a wet nose against his arm, he flicked a small apple peel over.


The dog dove, sniffed, ignored. A whine followed.


“That is all you get, apple peels. Go to your own food.” His voice was more stern this time, and his dog huffed as if a human and went to his own dish. Very quickly there was chomping.


Esra placed his peeled apples onto the plates, it was one of the last that Neils had preserved with his own power. The apples were as fresh as the day they had come off the tree, the smell of summer was on them, but nothing could chase away the cold.


“You aught to name him one of these days,” Neils joined Esra at the table, pulling him from his thoughts of spring and the days before disaster had been, “he isn't a puppy anymore and Dog isn't a good name for any.”


----


Lana’s eyes opened suddenly, she was awake and alone in her chamber, or so she would have liked to think she was. Her golden hair had been tied in a braid for sleeping, her night gown had been warm from the trapped heat under her covers, and yet a cool sweat had been on her forehead. This had been the first time she had slept a full night in months, and yet it left her feeling more shaken then when the nightmares had stirred her from sleep.

A goblet, plain as stone had been at her bed side, and she knew immediately that she had been drugged by her concerned maids that attended her daily. Her hand came forth and slapped it right off her bed side, not that she was angry, but that they did such a thing without saying one word.


It had been four months since her husband, the king had been murdered; murdered in the coldest of blood by a would be successful assassin that had been tortured in the dungeon. The assassin was silent for a long time, telling no one of why they did it or who sent them to do it and it gave no peace to the widowed queen. All it did was make her more paranoid, and rightfully so in these darker times.

Skal was a kingdom getting over many things, the death of the king and the sickness that had run rampant through through the streets outside of her own walls. She had held herself in her chamber and her walls where she tried to meet with the old council who had been kind in the time, but untrustworthy to her. Pointing fingers would not make things easier for her or prove anything wrong, but the death had left a scar on her heart and mind which made everything that more difficult.


She rose, tossing the blankets off of herself, her feet touching down on the soft skin of a slain animal from a while ago to keep her feet warm. She was still a young woman, but her eyes held the gaze of a wizened crone that seemed to be endless in age. It was past dawn now, and soon there would be the usual to attend to after breakfast. The council would want to meet, meaning her treasure, her spymaster, and her now right hand who her late husband would have approved of because they were his own. There was no need for more, maybe a need for less in this time of sorrow.


The Queen dressed herself, she called on no soul as she picked her mourning dress and the attire to match the occasion. Though months had passed, she would not let go so easily and expected the same of others who had been in her presences. Today was a new day, but not a new situation or era to close in scrolls and books to be forgotten.

Lana was sure of this fact as she finally called upon her servants and handmaids,

“bring me my letters and breakfast, there is no time to waste.”


She left no room for question.

 

[-Q-]

The world was changing.

It might not have been noticeable to a lot of people; busying about with their average day to day lives.

Most of the common folk were completely and utterly unaware of the politics of kings and queens and court jesters. They were unaware, not because it did not matter to them, but because they were not educated in such things.

In honesty, neither was Will, but being a thief; Will had learned a good few things growing up in the shadows of towering buildings and dank hovels where the rich folk and their kin pretended they did not attend.

Nimble fingers had indulged more than once or twice in the coffers of the crown while some lord or lady was caught literally with their pants down.

Will didn’t care. He’d get as close as he had to get in order to pay for his next meal. He wasn’t a fan of stealing from those who were as poor as he always had been; and many of the market traders were not rich folk by any means. In fact, they were simply trading legitimately in order to get the same things he needed and wanted and got for himself illegitimately.

When you grew up living on the streets, doing anything and everything to survive as Will had, it was difficult to break those habits which others frowned upon. Townsfolk frowned upon him, as they did with all the other homeless vagabonds who took what they wanted without asking and had never done an honest day’s work.

Will wasn’t ashamed. He’d grown something of a thick skin over the course of the years which had more or less armoured him against the filthy looks sent his way and the eye rolling and tutting and whispered words which came when he was nearby; the telling tales of hands shifting ever so slightly to protect coin bags and purses.

In honesty, he was old for a thief within the castle walls. Many didn’t make it past their teen years. What with the cold which bit at his skin and bones every winter and the guards which were always on the lookout for the deviances of his kind; it wasn’t exactly an easy game to play, nor was it the most fruitful during the winter months, when travellers frequented the city less and less.

But Will wasn’t a normal thief. He had noticed some time ago that things he stole had begun to whisper to him.

At first, he had thought he might be going mad; like those philosophers he saw on the precipices of castle walls, who talked to themselves as they looked through their telescopes, trying to divine from the stars themselves; writing nonsense onto scraps of yellowed paper. Or like those poor bastards he frequently saw swinging from the cages; their eyes pecked hollow by ravenous ravens and their skin burned by the mid-day sun. Shivers went through Will with the very thought of being parched of water and space as the sun bore down between metal bars which swung slightly in whatever breeze was found day to day.

But… never the less… he’d come to the conclusion that it could be that he had gone mad.

It had begun only recently. He’d picked the pockets of some noble lord or lady – and he had remembered them being noble only by the rich fabrics and colourful clothing on their back. But as he had retreated into an alleyway to examine his treasure, to count the gold and work out whether he would need to pick another pocket that month, or if his belly would be full and he would be warm that night; he had been struck by a powerful shockwave that had frozen him in place.

The gold spoke to him then.

He could see, as clear as day; the tale of the coins in his hand. He almost dropped them as they spoke of blood and violence and kings who had died and soldiers who had bled upon them. He saw the whole history of the beaten gold played out before him as real as anything. If he’d have been able to reach out his hand into the visions which had befallen him, he was absolutely certain that he would have been able to feel the slickness of the blood, and the fibres of the cloth capes as they drifted past his vision.

Ever since then, picking pockets had become less easy. When everything he touched dared to tell him a wicked tale of its origin, Will had found himself becoming ever more skittish, ever more careful of whose pocket he picked and when he picked them.

The worst of it was, that the tall, slender brunette man hated wearing gloves with a passion. He hated the way nimble fingers felt confined and claustrophobic bound in leather or course wool.

As it was, Will knew there was something more than met the eye happening within the walls of this citadel. He knew there was something coming, though from the bits and pieces he had gathered from the whispered secrets of objects, he still wasn’t too sure what.

They would tell him their pasts, and simply stop when they got to present day, when he had them in his possession. There was nothing of the future. There was nothing of what may happen next.

But whatever it was, Will doubted it was anything good.

~

King Magnus was an imposing figure. Blonde hair was cut, as was the current fashion at his shoulders, tied neatly into a small ponytail behind his head.

He was surveying the city below in a somewhat thoughtful manner.

He was well aware of the corruption still within his city. He knew that there were still thieves and beggars blighting the alleyways. There was just no getting rid of them.

He was a fair and just king; or so he liked to believe. But there was a sickness outside and inside of his castle walls which threatened to monopolise and destroy the population which was of far greater worry and importance than a few measly thieves.

Though the thieves did bother him immensely. They were not good for trade, nor for the promises of safety in his city.

His lips were taut as he pondered.

Winter would soon be coming, and that would only make the sickness worse. There would be an epidemic and he was glad that the crops had been good this year; and that his city boasted of its wealth of well-practiced healers.

Perhaps… just perhaps, they would survive and the city could get over this dark infestation before it had even truly begun, as it had in his sister’s kingdom; if the rumours were anything to go by.

 

[MidnightSun]

Breakfast had no taste to him, the yolk was runny and the ripped piece of bread softened the longer it had sit in it, but there was no satisfying taste. Esra was silent, he knew a dog was as good as his name, but no name seemed to fit and his pet didn't answer to anything he tried. It was almost futile to name the thick furred beast, he was half wild as it was.

Hound, was his official name, since he wasn't all wolf and wasn't all dog. Neils found his half dead in the wood, rejected by the owners. The story had been that their female went hunting and had run off and came back a month later and had been pregnant. When the puppies were born, the hunter had seen what they were as they grew, angered by the results of his companions folly. No one wanted to buy half wolf pups, no one wanted the worry that they would go wild and turn on their owners, or perhaps they didn't want to take the chance that nature would overrule them.
Neils had found Hound after the slaughter, he must have taken off once the whining started and even the mother was killed because she was tainted. Neils had went to the hunter and asked for a price and that is all Esra knew. Neils did not give him many details, but Hound was the only survivor of the half breed killings.

Hound ate as if he was starved, which he wasn't, but he was always growing. It had been a year, and he was still growing, he was almost taller than the table.

"Esra?" Neils snapped him to reality, he shook his head,
"What is it?" Esra asked.

Neils was quiet, his blond hair falling into his cool blue eyes as he contemplated. Esra knew those watching eyes, he was going to start worrying again, he was going to start asking again.

But, he didn't.

"We have to pack up the wagon and get the horses ready if we are going to beat the bad weather." He had already planned to go into the city since they received the invitation. It was however for only Esra.
"I don't know about visiting, why would they want us there? They only know that we live here and we have a small farm just for us and we don't bother anyone." Esra no longer wanted the eggs, they were cold, gooey and ruined by the trip that hadn't even happened yet. He already knew that Neils hid so much from him.
"We have been invited because of something important, and we need to go because if we do not it is an insult. You do not reject a letter from the court. Especially in a time of mourning." There was no arguing about it. The fire crackled as it died down, popping with the last efforts to stay alive. It seemed like they would be that fire if they were not careful, especially in the cut throat streets below the castle.

This would mean that they would have to dress and bring their best and that they would be gawked at for being strangers. Strangers near a court and strangers that had no business in a court.

"I am not helping. I do not want to go." Esra pushed his chair out, ignoring Neils when he spoke.
"All the girls think you are so handsome and you have a way with words, but I am your brother and I know you." With that, Esra was out of the door, Hound suddenly bounding out after him, knocking over whatever had been by the door way and was at his side without needing to be called.
"You are being unreasonable!" Neils called out, but Esra did not hear him.


The wind had been picking up compared to the slow early morning from before. Esra had not snow flakes kissing his cheeks though, so it was only the cold biting wind that forced him to pull up his hood. The brown fur had kept him warm, but it was only for so long before he knew his brother expected him back. If they waited to leave any longer than the days to come would be too bad to let them go and Esra knew that. Winter was harsh and unforgiving, neither was a insulted and disgruntled Queen.
He kept pace, looking out to the field that stretched out until he saw another little house in the distance with smoke coming from the chimney. Frederik would hear about this and he would insist that Esra listen. He had no idea what he would be talking about, that the young man was sure about. No one knew about his site besides Neils, and now they were strangely wanted which made him wonder, what did his brother do? The purpose for living out in the wilderness was to hide from others who wanted to know too much.
Hound sniffed, licking Esra's cold fingers, Esra scratched his large furry head, he knew hound would be a spectacle too...

The young man had skin pale as the snow, and hair to match. His eyes were almost purple and his albinism had made him a spectacle form time and time again and everyone seemed to think or know that with the condition came special abilities, such as people with red hair but they were vampires.
The cold air had hurt his lungs when he breathed in too deep, but it was better than breathing in whatever was coming out of the mountain from time to time. His dreams swept into his mind again and he stopped where the grass was growing long, and Hound stopped momentarily, tilting his head and looking with those large yellow eyes as if knowing.

"If only I didn't live this life," Esra sighed, it was foolish to wish to be someone else according to Neils, but it didn't stop him from wishing anyway.

From the distance he could see a figure on a horse, riding up and down the field, trotting and galloping away. Where could they possibly be going in this weather? They grew smaller the father they went, blending into the distant line that separated earth from sky and eventually into the woods that protected the field.

After a while of his pouting, he called Hound who had bounded in the grass after some rabbit and started to walk back. It wasn't going to be long before the weather had gotten bad, just like Neils had said and it was time he had helped pack up for the trip. Their carriage was small, but it held enough in the back and if they carried enough blankets and kept close to Hound they would be warm enough. On the way, he picked up some stick and leaves that were dry enough to toss into the fire at home, just to help keep it going a little longer. There was probably wood on it already, Neils was only human after all.


By the time Esra returned, he had known he was right. The door was opened and the wagon already had a few items inside of it that were wrapped. Mostly it was grain and food for the two horses that would pull them. The house was nothing fancy, it was a basic wood and stone house with wood and stone fences kept their animals in and the land around it was flat for the gardens in the spring time. He had grabbed one of the lanterns from on top of a post and blew out the burning candle that had been lit through out the night. He then moved on to the next since it was his job to keep track of them and to make sure they didn't burn out when they were needed. One by one, he used a long curved stick to pull down the lights and then blow them out, and while he did this, he heard Neils shooing Hound out of his way while the wagon was loaded more and more with just enough to travel with. He could smell the dried beef which is what Hound was in the way about.

"Hound, no!" Esra yelled over, but that didn't always stop the wolf-dog.

Neils grunted, throwing a sack of something across the front, Esra came to join him when all the candles had been out and the two had been quiet besides talking about what needed to be put where and what wasn't to be forgotten.