Rough Writing

With every breath Ryel felt a sharp pain reach up and stab his heart. “This can’t be happening” flashed fearfully through his mind. He stumbled as he walked towards Ilena and gripped his dark jacket above his breast as lightning struck his heart over and over again with each beat. His stumble turned into a full collapse placing his crumpled form at her feet.

Ilena knelt by Ryle’s side with sorrow filling her but unable to overcome the resolve her heart. She would not, could not fail in her task she reminded herself. Betrayal was not common to her life and Ryel’s death would stay with her until her own ended. Ilena leaned over Ryel’s cooling corpse while reaching down into his inner pocket and retrieved a small paper and twine package. Anticipation quickened her movements as she raised the package past her short grey coat and up before her heart shaped face and dark eyes. She quickly pulled out one of her many small knives and cut through the twine. In the palm of her dark riding gloves nestled in plain brown paper lay a small but very powerful stone. The stone was made of dark black granite with grooves swirling around it that let the flecks of silver within catch and reflect the light as if playing with it. With this stone she might be able to heal her son. Ryel’s death would burden her but her son should live. The stone seemed to be calling to her and pulled her mind deeper and deeper into its depths the longer she looked at it.

A creak from downstairs pierced her obsession and with a slight shake of her head she placed the stone into her inner coat pocket. Mild concern filled her movements as she glanced over the room once last time, gathered her grey wool divided skirts and began moving cautiously downstairs. There was nothing there but Ryel’s empty dusty store. She moved to the doorway and paused a moment before going through it. She walked out of Ryel’s squat home onto familiar cobblestoned streets in the poorer part of Kettrel, the north continent’s major sea port. Walking through the narrow streets towards the harbor she unobtrusively scanned the street from side to side looking for danger. A woman alone was never safe in the poorer sections of the city.

Trying to stay with the flow of traffic Ilena made her way towards her ship home. She turned onto a larger road that after several twists and turns began to develop into a bazaar. Merchants hugged the sides of the street and crowded out any traffic other than those on foot. While tightly packed with pedestrians the street should take her home quicker she decided. Brushing off her moment of hesitation she pressed forward through the different booths. Ignoring the cries and crowd she moved through the throng of people. While entering the largest and noisiest portion of the sprawling ragged marketplace cold seized her soul as her eyes caught the tattoo of a stylized eye on the back of a shaven man’s head through the hanging tattered carpets of a merchant in the distance. “Curses, a will watcher” she thought to herself. She tried to judge how close she was. It had been under an hour since she had weaved at Ryle’s so she would still be giving off the subtle resonance the watcher had been trained to sense.

Attempting to not appear frightened by the watcher Ilena started searching for either a path around the man or the quickest path out of the bazaar and away from the watcher. However, the crowd was pulling her towards him and if she immediately turned and left so close to a watcher it would be suspicious. An alley two stalls down and next to a cabbage merchant appeared to be her best choice. She made her way to the alley and prayed in her heart that the sisters would protect her. As she began walking past the fringes of the bazaar down the alley a horn sounded behind her. “Sweet Moons, he sensed me” she cursed in a low voice as she broke into a run deeper into the unknown snarl of streets before her, hiding was no longer an option.

Raising her eyes above the rooftops she tracked the setting sun to try and guide her out of the rat’s nest she was now in. While having grown up in Kettrel much had changed in her absence. She needed to reach her ship before the night grew too deep or the ship would be unable to leave with the tide. She had to return home. Thoughts of her sweet son Akim filled her heart as she rushed through the slums. With determination welling up from within as sharp and strong as steel she vowed again she would save him and kept running despite her growing fear.

The horns of the watchers sounded all around her as she made her way swiftly through the streets. She was running as fast as she could but judging by the horns they appeared to be encircling her. The streets were now deserted. No-one would want to be mistaken as a Will Weaver. Turning a corner she hoped led towards the pier she skidded to a halt. Directly in her path stood a Will Watcher. He was tall with a shaven head and a grim face covered in tattoos that declared to all his blessing, his curse, and his calling.

Standing at the ready he spoke in a low threatening voice. “You may choose the eternal blessing, a death swift and by my hand, or resist and suffer death by a thousand tears” His voice was filled with fervor and his eyes with devotion. It was so twisted that the male children of will weavers were turned into such tortured souls after their mothers were branded, tortured for their state declared sins and then summarily executed. The Kettrelyns both relied on the male watchers to protect them from supposed darkness and yet despised the very power that gave birth to their protectors.

Ilena had left Kettrel for the southern islands the moment she had first weaved to escape the fate she confronted now. She had to get past this dogma infused soul and save her son. Without hesitation she broke into a run and sheathed herself in a pale grey intricate weave around her head and arms forming armor that covered her most vital areas. She’d have to be careful with how much will she wove. It was not yet night and her strength would be less in the sun. As she neared the Watcher she suddenly charged forward to attack him. The fact this poor tortured man enforced the religion that brutally took his mother did not even enter her mind. He was in her way and she had to save her son.

The Watcher reacted to her charge with trained precision and raised his sword to strike as she tried to slam past him. His overhead sweeping blade failed to harm her as she mid-charge wove an arc into her gauntlet that carried the Watcher’s blade away from her and used the blade’s force to push her to the watcher’s side. As she landed inside his reach she threw her weight expertly into a blow to his waist. With air rushing from his lungs the watcher tried to grapple her but she spun free and used his momentum to spin her into a solid kick that knocked the Watcher to the ground and drove his consciousness from him. Horns sounded again, even closer than before, so without a pause Ilena released her armor and ran like a deer fleeing the hounds.

The dust from her brief struggle had not yet settled as Ilena furiously considered her next move. Randomly running through the back streets was not viable now as she was resonating even stronger than before.  She needed to get off the streets and not let them corner her in. Darting into an alley she quickly wove a ladder to help her reach the roof of a nearby home. She vaulted up the ladder onto the dark grey slate and took off heading directly towards the pier. The sun had almost set behind the far mountains. After a few minutes of leaping from roof to roof it appeared the sounds of the horns were beginning to fall mostly behind her. With confidence stirring in her heart she continued her path towards the pier as the sun’s last light finally turned to darkness.

As she jumped across another alley she heard the small slap of a bow string being released. Summoning the will within in an instant she wove a small buckler on her right hand. The arrow hit the light grey barrier that was stronger than steel and slipped right through. The arrow slammed into her lower torso and shock filled her. The arrowhead must have been will woven Ilena thought as the pain brought her to her knees. Frantically looking for her attacker while pressing her wound to stay the bleeding she grabbed a nearby awning and hauled herself to her feet. She had to move if she wanted to live. Stumbling along the darkened roof top no more arrows flew and she was left with the sounds of her own struggle, her pain and confusion.

With her vision fading Ilena fumbled for the stone. With the stone she’d be able to heal herself. With the stone she’d be able to live. If she lived, Akim still might live. She reached into her coat with blood stained hands and fingers trembling to try and pull out the stone. As she removed the stone an agony filled spasm wracked her body and it flew from her hand to the street below. She didn’t even have breath left to cry out before the blackness and pain took her. Her last thoughts were “my son, he will die” and anguish filled her heart as her will ended.

Jerrin woke that morning the same way he’d woken for the past 15 years stiff, tired and covered with sores. Bleary eyed he struggled to pull himself upright next to the bakery wall he’d fallen asleep by. It was a difficult task to sit up as his left leg ended above the knee and his right arm below his elbow. He grunted and grimaced as he silently thought to himself  “Another day, another chance to maybe finally summon the courage to end my miserable existence”. Most of his days he spent what little he had trying to silence the memories of the war with spirits. Today he was not so lucky. Head pounding he checked himself to see if he had any coin left. Patting around his makeshift bed his hand settled on a cold pebble. Curious, he brought it to his eyes. It was a dark color and covered in dried brown blood, a color he knew well. He tentatively tried to scrape some of the blood from it with a dirty fingernail. Jerrin began thrashing and screaming in his refuse pile he’d called home for that night.

Pain beyond words filled him as his flesh writhed even as it grew and stretched around slivers of bone slowly forming his missing limbs. His left fist clamped down on the stone and embedded it into the palm of his hand. The agony seemed to last forever but soon he found himself lying face down in a street emptied by his howls but whole of body. Panting and trembling he pushed himself up and stood for the first time since the Rynian blades had taken his limbs. Unspeakable joy filled him but clarity of purpose consumed him even as horns sounded all around him. He had to save Akim, his son. He took off running for the harbor. He had a ship to catch.