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Part Of The Narrative

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The Wandering Wizard

The Wandering Wizard

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3 minutes ago, Part Of The Narrative said:

 

hi guys! so this is a sketch I did that maybe turned into not a sketch anymore..idk, but I enjoyed making it ;)

IMG_0891.jpeg

873A135C-8A0B-439F-9A2B-961597839EDF.heic 1.6 MB · 1 download

Lightweaver? What's her name? 

It's a very very good drawing Narrator!! :D❤️

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Part Of The Narrative

Part Of The Narrative

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okkk this is a fantasy book I started a while ago...I've never finished a book so you guys have to motivate me! this is part one of the prologue; I'll probably post chapters periodically as I write them 

disclaimer!!! when I started this I DID NOT know Connection was already a thing, and now its too big a part of the story. if it starts growing I'll change the name later but don't come for me🥲

spoiler added for length loool😜

Spoiler

Prologue      

 

Coal hit the floor hard, stumbling on the stones as the hooded man roughly patted her down. Ashev was already in the room with the long table. What was to become of him? What was to become of Coal?

     “Clean.” The voice was scratchy and unpleasant, as if its owner didn’t use it much. “Except for this.” The man tossed a small stone on the ground before the other figure, who stood with a firm posture, arms behind his back.

     The second man waved a dismissive hand. “Leave it. We couldn’t take it if we tried.” 

     Coal sighed in relief as the first man returned her Connection stone. Of course, the second man was right. If separated from the rock, Coal would be able to call its essence back to her, which would drag its physical form along as well, reforming it in the pocket of her robe.

     Still, Coal hated being without her Stone. It made her feel helpless. Of course, the thing wouldn’t do her much good in this scenario–she doubted her power could fix anything right now. But it gave her strength to know that no matter what tyrants, sects, and cults came along, they could never tear apart her bond with the One.

     How had the man known of her stone? She looked up, standing uncertainly, studying her second captor more carefully.

     His face was shadowed by the cowl of his hood, which enveloped his features entirely, but he had a lean build and a tall frame. His cloak reached to the ground, but was a light gray color, unlike his lackey’s hoods, which were black.

     The bleak surroundings seemed to match him. Stone walls, metal doors, a black ceiling. Coal realized with a start that the large, but sparsely furnished room, was a sort of hub–six other doors led out of the strangely shaped space.

     Suddenly, the man made a foreign gesture, lifting his index finger and moving it from his chest outward in a sharp motion, as if cutting a thread with a dull knife. Two more figures approached from their places by the largest metal doors in the room. Their cloaks were shorter than the others, and they carried spears instead of swords.

     The newcomers put their hands to Coal’s back and led her away, not speaking a word. 

     They passed the room Ashev had entered. Through the half opened door, Coal glimpsed her brother’s body slumped on the floor, chest bloody. Needles pierced the skin of his arms, though Coal couldn’t see where the attaching tubes led.

     She gasped, freezing in place. As her eyes traced over the scene, she thought she saw . . . 

     Yes. A faint blue light hovered about him, before it was sucked into the tube. Then the color in Ashev’s face drained out. His body grew limp, as if the needles were siphoning his very life away. 

     A fitting metaphor, for a Raised like Ashev being robbed of his Connection.

     Coal rushed forward, throwing the door open the rest of the way. Her guards didn’t stop her, but remained behind in the hall. She knelt down beside her brother, whose breath came in ragged gasps. He wasn’t dead–not yet. But stealing a Raised’s soul in this way was like ripping a cold from the arms of her dying mother.

     “Ashev . . .” Coal whispered, gently shaking his arm. He offered no resistance. She checked his pulse. It was weak, beating faintly. His breathing became more labored, and sweat dampened his brow. “Come on, Ash.”

      Ashev was supposed to be the strong one. Two years older than her seventeen, he was always there. Reliable.  

     Ashev’s eyes suddenly opened, and Coal started, stumbling back. Her brother’s eyes, once deep blue, were now a dark gray. The life in them was almost nonexistent. Where was the sparkle of wit usually hidden behind those eyes? Where was the calm steadiness he displayed when she most needed it?

     “Coal,” he whispered. “Find . . . the Abstract. Don’t let them . . . your Connection . . .”

     Coal took his hand. “Get up. We can escape. Find . . . find our clan.” She stopped. Their clan was dead or in hiding. 

     She ripped the needles out of Ashev’s arm. He shivered, but subsided as he tugged her hand. 

     “Coal. Listen to me.” He spoke with surprising lucidity. “You have to run. They . . . they want to make more Raised. They took my Connection . . . they’ll take yours next. Find . . . find a Realm Stealer . . . go to . . .”

     “Ash, you’re coming with me.”

     “I can’t. I wish . . . But you . . . you have our blood. The last . . . the last Author of the Winds.”

     Coal felt at the mark on her neck. Wind and Words. 

     Words. 

     “Get out of here. Find a human clan. Hide . . . hide your mark.”

     Coal shook her head. “We are human, Ash.”

     “You know what I mean. And stay safe. When these people come looking for you–and they will, Coal– fight. Do you understand? You run once, now; but never again.

 “Never . . . again.”

     The light in his eyes died out, and Coal was alone with her tears.

 

     Vaner lowered his head, hearing the faint cries as the girl grieved in the next room. He pulled his hood down farther, wishing he could wrap himself in the cloak and join her, weeping for the people he’d lost. For her it was a brother. For him, it was . . .

     It was . . .

     “Vaner,” Sends snapped, causing Vaner to shake his head–hard–trying to banish all feelings of sympathy. The girl wasn’t even that much younger than him. Records indicated she was about seventeen; Vaner was a few months shy of twenty.

     “Vaner!”

     Vaner looked up. What was wrong with him? Coal wasn’t the first.

     Her brother though . . . he’d been about Vaner’s age. It still felt wrong, even after–

     Not the time. 

     “Sends?” he asked.

     Sends nodded toward the doorway. “Get her. It’s time to get her Connection.”

     Vaner shook his head “We killed her brother. We can at least give her a few minutes to mourn. It’s about honor.”

      It was just . . . this last group had been from a direct line of Raised. His people, even if he’d become a Raised through unusual circumstances.

Standing there, he was forced to confront what he’d been thinking ever since the Visor’s men had taken him. Hearing a member of one of the only pure lines left on Navar crying over the brother that Vaner had helped kill, his hand went to the mark on his neck that branded him as a Seer.

     It was very hard not to feel like a traitor.

     “It’s not your place to talk of honor, Razed,” Sends said in his dangerous tone. “Get her. Now.”

 

     Coal was led into the hallway, down to a room identical to the one she had just left, and was forced to slump on the cold stone floor before she thought to offer any resistance. The two men didn’t speak as they hooked up machines to tubes like they’d done to Ashev.

     Ashev . . . 

     She didn’t look at them. At least, not until the taller one crossed in front of her to connect a wire to the wall, and fabric shifted at the base of his neck.

     And she saw the mark there. 

     A Seer.

     “Traitor,” she hissed through gritted teeth, her anger and pain and fear channeling to that one word so full of venom.

     The man’s breath caught, and he stepped back. Then he covered the brand with his cloak, lowered his head, and kept working.

 

     “This is your job. I don’t even know why I’m here. Finish this. I have an . . . appointment.”

     Sends strode out of the room, leaving Vaner alone with the girl. Coal. He didn’t know why he’d bothered to learn her name.

     I could do it, he thought. Help her escape. Get away, finally.

     He almost laughed at himself. Nothing got past the Visor.

     Coal stared straight ahead, looking at the wall. Though there were tears on her cheeks, they were the only indication that she’d just watched her brother’s death. She didn’t tremble or cry anymore. Just stayed silent as Vaner finished hooking up the tubes and electrodes.

     Vaner stood, his hand over the machine that would steal Coal’s essence. Her life.

     He felt a sudden sense of overwhelming shame. He was proving the old legends right, wasn’t he? That the Seers would betray the Raised? That they would join the tyrants and seek the blood of the pure clans? She was right to call him a traitor. 

     And even as he had this thought, he felt the mark on his neck searing hot against his skin. 

     Every time he killed one of his own, he killed one Rahlen had chosen. And while he didn’t think about God much, it was impossible not to when murdering his people. 

     He shook his head, hard, blinking back to the present. Perhaps seeing Vaner’s head move from the corner of her eye, Coal looked up. Vaner thought she would look him in the eyes, accusing him, but instead her gaze fixed on Vaner’s hands.

     They were shaking.

     I can’t, he thought.  Almighty help me, I can’t do things like this anymore. He breathed shallowly as he stared into nothing. Then he thought of his mother’s voice, telling him that no matter what, he was one of the Raised.

     Even if he didn’t deserve to be.

     Even if he died because of it.

 

     Coal watched the man stand there, eyes on hers, his face conflicted. He took in a sharp breath, closed his eyes, and seemed to come to a decision.

     “I can help you,” he said quietly, eyes still shut. Then, a rush of words, like he had to get them out before they consumed him “There’s a door at the end of this hallway. Turn right. Always turn right. Then, when you get to a long rectangular room, turn left at the fork. There’s a ladder. Keep your head down and don’t talk to anyone.” He dropped his hooded cloak beside her and she took it, wrapping it around herself and shadowing her face. The man started removing wires, his movements quick but controlled. By the time she studied herself enough to get to her feet, he was facing her again. 

     “Once you get out to the street, go to the Dead sector. There’s a clan of Shatterers living on the outskirts. They’re harsh, but you’ll survive long enough to locate your old clan. Right?” 

     His voice was deep and strong, though there was an edge to it, an underlying sense of desperation. He couldn’t be much older than her either. What was his story? How did a Raised end up serving the enemy? He didn’t seem very loyal to them.

     “My clan is dead,” she said shortly. Whatever the cause, here he was, in a tyrant’s base of operations.

     And here he is, helping you anyway.

     Her calling as an author of the winds was to write. To write about God, about life. But mostly, to write about people. Their lives, their thoughts, feelings, backstories, to add to the Wind Clan’s collection of All. Coal still thought it a funny name, since their calling was to go out and build onto that collection, so of course it couldn’t be all.

     Stop getting distracted. I can’t write this guard’s story right now. I have to . . . she shivered as a thought occurred to her. Bricks . . . I have to write Ashev’s story. She immediately pushed the thought away. To say that was to admit that he was gone.

     The man’s face grew distant at her words, and the way he glanced down when he saw her looking made her feel that he had lost people too. Then the moment was gone and he was slipping her a long knife that fit into her waistband.

     He nodded and made as if to duck out of the room. Coal stopped him, saying, “Wait.”

     He paused.

     “Your name. Please.”

     “Why does it matter?” he asked warily.

     “When my story gets told someday,” Coal whispered. “I won’t leave the man who’s the reason I’m still alive out of the narrative.”

     He looked at her for a moment. Then he gave a small, bitter smile. “Vaner.”

     She knew he knew it was an apology.


 

 

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