Dawn of Unity: Last of the Seekers, #1
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Beliefs shattered, two magically linked are called to seek truth.
Seventeen-year-old Will escapes from prison six years after his false conviction for murder. Found by a knight who lets Will serve as a squire, Will takes the knight's mercy and follows him to war. He'll protect against infidels, proving to the kingdom he's not the monster they assume he is, and be seen kindly again.
As a child, when he burned a souk, Ahmed was terrified. Now sixteen, Ahmed is confident he's improved. Seeking to become grand vizier and bring prestige to his family is everything he thought he wanted. The sultan's test remains: bring an enemy to the capital. He heads to war believing that an enemy's capture is a small price for the sultan's blessing. They're dangerous anyway.
Gems of powerful magic bring them together as kingdom and sultanate ravage each other over ignorance and religious zeal, nearing collapse. They're mortal enemies, their monarchs say, but when Will and Ahmed meet amid fear and mistrust they learn to like each other. Their actions no longer seem right and their gems show a resolution. But who are two boys to effect change when those more likely have failed?
Nitish Sharma
Nitish crafts a world where magic stirs, unlikely heroes rise, and kingdoms plunge into chaos. Drawing upon the deep wells of myth and history, his stories explore coming-of-age, mentorship, mercy, and resilience through vivid storytelling and compelling characters. His debut novel, Dawn of Unity, launches a sweeping saga following warriors, mages, and monarchs as they face an encroaching evil. Praised for its intricate world—a fusion of magical fantasy and early medieval steampunk—Dawn of Unity captivates readers with its emotional depth and humanity. When not storytelling, Nitish improves his illustration, cartography, and uses his background in the sciences to understand planet Earth. He's always searching, listening to the whisper of stories carried on the wind, for the next tale to tell.
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Dawn of Unity - Nitish Sharma
Published by Boundless Adventurer Publishing
Copyright © 2022 Nitish Sharma
All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced, distributed, stored or transmitted in any form or by any means, including photocopying, recording, scanning or other electronic or mechanical methods, without the prior written permission of the author.
This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, organizations, and incidents are either are the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, events, or locales is entirely coincidental.
Dawn of Unity (Last of the Seekers, Book 1)
First edition October 2022
ISBN 978-1-7782142-2-6 (Hardcover)
ISBN 978-1-7782142-1-9 (Paperback)
ISBN 978-1-7782142-0-2 (Ebook)
Cover design and illustration by Jeff Brown Graphics
Regional map by Karin Wittig
World map by Daniel Hasenbos
Distributed by Draft 2 Digital
nitishsharmabooks.com
For my family and friends.
No one achieves anything without guidance. A special thanks to these individuals who provided the following services:
Editors:
Ayesha Ghaffar (What Ayesha Reads)
Gabby D’Aloia (GCD Editorial)
Beta Readers:
Abirami Kirubarajan
Faizan Fahim (Bookaapi.com)
James Gordon
Meghalee Mitra
Mohammad Hamad (The Book Prescription)
The Book Gremlins
Please note that this novel contains scenes of violence, abuse, suicide ideation, torture, imprisonment, PTSD, and one scene involving violence within a place of worship.
This novel takes historical inspiration, but is not a historical novel. The reader should not make conclusions on any culture or religion by referencing this novel. Please seek the appropriate non-fiction sources or knowledgeable authorities to understand any historical period, culture, or religion fully.
Contents
Prologue
Part One: Empty Beginnings
Chapter One
Chapter Two
Chapter Three
Chapter Four
Chapter Five
Chapter Six
Chapter Seven
Chapter Eight
Part Two: A War Long Waged
Chapter Nine
Chapter Ten
Chapter Eleven
Chapter Twelve
Chapter Thirteen
Chapter Fourteen
Chapter Fifteen
Part Three: The Two Seekers
Chapter Sixteen
Chapter Seventeen
Chapter Eighteen
Chapter Nineteen
Chapter Twenty
Chapter Twenty-One
Chapter Twenty-Two
Chapter Twenty-Three
Part Four: The Gods of the World
Chapter Twenty-Four
Chapter Twenty-Five
Chapter Twenty-Six
Chapter Twenty-Seven
Chapter Twenty-Eight
Part Five: End of a Century
Chapter Twenty-Nine
Chapter Thirty
Chapter Thirty-One
Chapter Thirty-Two
Chapter Thirty-Three
Epilogue
Prologue
Do we not both believe in the Father? Is he not the one who created Erathas and all people?
the priest said. Whether within Manianity or Alhurahism this is true. We disagree on who, Manis or Alhurah, is the true essence of the Father but wouldn’t the Father prefer us to co-exist peacefully?
His long, robe-like alb billowed around him. He placed his hands over his chasuble and smiled at the grand imam in front of him, then offered him a sacred stole. Manis is a being of praise in Alhurahism after all.
But not one to be worshiped.
The grand imam accepted the stole, and examined its embroidery, oval and petal shapes layered over one another to create a golden flowering sun. This was the symbol of Manis. Tis a simple gift,
the grand imam said as he handed off the stole to a nearby assistant and arranged his kaftan.
To show my intentions are just that. Simple. Pure.
For one-hundred years have our countries fought start and stop. How will this gift excuse the blood on both sides?
It will not, but you can agree that it’s a start. Do I not stand before you, far from my home, standing in your Grand Mosque unarmed and without escort?
The priest gestured with arms spread wide at the massive, domed room. Huge pillars held it up decorated in colourful tessellations.
You have shown either great trust or foolishness.
The grand imam chuckled. Your king wishes us dead. He shows no intention of peace.
Your sultan is the same, is he not? Tell me, what does Alhurah say?
I only interpret what he wills. I cannot hear him. Such was… was for people of long ago.
The grand imam led the Manis priest towards the Eternal Flame behind him, burring within a massive brazier. A power emanated from it, a type of Godly Magic. Long ago the idols around it had been smashed and Alhurah instructed that all should turn in its direction, if they could, to pray to God. I am surprised the grand bishop did not come himself. Is there disagreement among you?
There is… tension. But all of us want peace. More than you know. The interests of the Church do not always align with that of the king.
Nor do our interests always align with the sultan’s. I do not represent all believers.
So maybe we can start to talk of pe—
An earth-shattering boom followed by the jolt of an aftershock ripped through the mosque. Dust fell from the roof and walls marring the patterned marble floors and carpets. Shrieks and shouts tore through the mosque door from outside. The priest almost fell into the grand imam. Inside the large space, imams and civilians looked around and mumbled while children clung uneasily to their mothers and fathers. The door to the Grand Mosque opened and a Saomardrim soldier stumbled in, his padded and chainmail armor stained with blood. Gurmians! They are here. They’ve snuck into the city an’ are slaughtering everyone!
His voice echoed through the space, then his head snapped back. Coughing up blood, he fell forward and laid still, an arrow sticking out of his back. Onlookers in the Grand Mosque screamed and the grand imam held up his hands.
Shut the doors. Quickly!
He glared at the Manis priest. You. Seize him!
Two imams leapt forward and grabbed hold of the Manis priest. The man’s eyes widened.
You have the wrong idea!
The priest struggled against the imams’ grip.
You were a distraction. Meant to trick me!
The grand imam pointed a shaking finger at the priest.
I had no knowledge of the attack! I was sent… I came to negotiate.
The priest’s face paled.
Lies!
It is the truth!
His pleading eyes focused on the grand imam.
A booming thud against the Grand Mosque doors shook the building. A few more and the door cracked, swinging open. A dozen Gurmian soldiers flooded into the space brandishing swords, their plate and mail armor stained in blood. The men rushed forward, slashing and stabbing the imams and civilians inside. One man walked ahead of them. His blue-gold robes billowed behind him and a black velvet chaperon sat wrapped around his head. A cape with the symbol of his domain, an impaled man, draped almost to the ground. He raised a flintlock pistol and fired, striking a nearby woman in the head causing her to fall on her side; smoke drifted from the muzzle. With the single shot used he tossed the pistol aside and drew another then strode towards the Eternal Flame, unmoved by the carnage around him.
Verräter,
he spat at the Manis priest. The grand imam looked at the priest, and seeing no subterfuge in his eyes, he was released.
Curse you, man of your king! Only a demon would do what you are doing now.
The grand imam glared at the Gurmian lord. The Manis priest trembled as he scanned the room with wide eyes. His insides threatened to spill. Saomardrim men, women, and children lay slaughtered around the floor of the Grand Mosque, staining the patterned walls, floor, and carpets with blood. The screams of pain and mourning amplified upwards into the wide domed ceiling.
All Saomardrim deserve to die.
The Gurmian lord smiled. He raised his pistol and pointed it at the grand imam. The grand imam raised his hand and gestured towards the Eternal Flame. His eyes widened, skin tightened, and the anger in his voice seemed to shake the air between them.
Those of the old days will come. Seekers who will end this war. They who can hear the voice of Alhurah. They who can contact him and travel to the godly realms alive. They will end this madness!
The Manis priest looked between the lord and the grand imam. His attention moved to the Eternal Flame. The power that emanated from it grew stronger, pulsing with unbridled energy.
And you!
The Manis priest shouted at the lord who had noticed the power in the Eternal Flame. The Gurmian lord raised an eyebrow, his grip on his pistol faltered, and the Manis priest continued, I curse you! Manis be by my side. One of those Seekers will kill you for what you’ve done here today. This massacre will be avenged!
He turned and looked at the grand imam. Despair painted his face, pain from the blood spilt in such a peaceful place. He flashed a drained smile. Their attempt at peace was over, and now they’d die together.
The Gurmian lord fired his pistol.
Part One:
Empty Beginnings
Chapter One
Launching from the crest of a mountain ledge he soared through star-lit sky, his wings stretched far outward resisting the glacial wind trying to shrivel his feathers. The bird of prey dived towards a grey castle nestled against the mountainside on an island in the Blue Mountains. It was surrounded by a deep almost circular ravine formed by the separation between the island and the mainland.
As he passed the light of the moon his shape shimmered a translucent pale blue. He made a mournful call, tilting his head at the castle. Mount Isen stretched tall in the northeast, a sentinel guarding the structure on its blue-grey slopes. All around him, a barren mountain landscape spread, covered in snow and ice. This remote corner of the world, frigid and empty, acted as a sanctuary for the beings the bird took the form of.
Gliding over a small chasm, only passable by a single icy stone bridge, he passed the two walls, the inner slightly higher than the second. Below in between the three keeps of the castle were crude gallows and a stockage where men and women hung, their chains dangling off their frozen bodies, their wrists bound behind them and wrapped in strips of leather.
He landed on a tower and hung his head for he knew what this place was and for whom he’d been sent. Watching a few unfortunate souls dragged towards wooden stakes, readied to be driven through, confirmed his knowledge of this place. It was Isen Prison, the most feared prison in Gurmanis, and it housed who he had come for. Despite the wind and snow, the prison stood, braving the elements, fulfilling its grim purpose as a place people were sent to die.
The bird flew high into the air. As he had done before with the other boy, he would do the same here. In an instant, he fizzled away, its form fading into specks of glowing blue.
***
Held by his arms, he stumbled up the set of stairs, shackles clanking around his ankles. Every muscle in his body throbbed with the echoes of recent pain and his vision blurred. The boy tripped and stumbled forward, prompting a grumble from the broad-shouldered guard who dragged him. The guard jerked him forwards from the top of the stairs into a long shadowy corridor carved through the rock deep underground, with barely two meters of space. The only visible light, a glow from a few blue-white crystals set into sconces.
The teenage prisoner, dressed in a short-sleeved tan-brown tunic and shorts with a thin vest overtop, had been securely bound. Shackles connected together by heavy chains hugged tightly around his neck, wrists, lower chest, waist and ankles, slowed his walk across the ragged stone floor, rattling with each step. Above the neck iron on his left side was a tattoo, half covered by the collar, that read 271. Fresh red stains covered parts of his frayed and torn prison uniform.
Again, he slipped, his fabric strip wrapped hands catching his fall, and his guard cursed.
If you’d walk right, I wouldn’t have to drag you,
the guard grunted. A frown cracked the dried grime on the boy’s face, through the shoulder-length strands of his dark brown hair hanging in his face and that partially covered his ears. He slid his strip wrapped feet attempting to stand properly, feeling the hard leather sole and vamp underneath the strips. He glared at a second guard approaching.
Night treating ya well?
the newcomer greeted, adjusting one of his metal bracers. The other guard nodded and shoved the boy into the damp wall. He slumped to the ground, scratching his cheeks against the surface, his chains clanking.
I’m outta here come morning. Could use the rest ahead of the trek down the mountains an’ to Blueshade. This filth’s cell is a little further down the hall, DOM-37B. Think you can take him there?
The newcomer’s green eyes scanned the sorry creature and he raised a bushy eyebrow.
Did ya take him to the mages first? Don’t want him crippled or diseased.
I did, don’t you worry.
He’s the one, one the warden likes. The boy, the youngest prisoner, ain’t he?
Yea he’s the one, killer of his own parents.
A flash of heat rushed through the boy and his eyes grew wide as numbing pain surged in him.
What happened?
Warden’s orders. Said today’s a special day for the boy.
An’ you? Gonna join the army?
The guard smiled. Ya. Infidel Saomardrim will fear my blade.
Leaving one hell, entering another.
The newcomer shook his head.
Better than this place.
The newcomer leaned close and whispered. Warden’s not right he is. He’s got something wrong in the head what with the things he does to the prisoners.
Quiet! If someone hears ya, we’ll both be in serious trouble. Look, the people in here deserve this, as intended by the gods.
The guard looked back down at the boy. They’re naught but murderers, thieves, rapists and madmen. Will you take him to his cell or not?
The guard gave the boy’s chains a jerk, sending searing pain into his raw wrists and ankles.
Yea, just keep your voice to yerself.
The newcomer yanked the boy off the ground, and led him down the corridor. Hunched over and arms sagging against the weight of his restraints, the boy hobbled forward into a cell block and a new hallway. Two sub-blocks, cages, the bars intertwined in chains, contained a row of cells. Everything was still, mute, and against the dim light stray dust drifted in the air. The guard pushed the boy against the bars of a sub-block and keys rattled as he unlocked the door. The boy slid his face against the mesh covered square spaces between the bars and coughed.
An echoing metal grinding preceded the sliding of two bars; the guard kicked open the lower bar, which was always jamming, and swung the door to the sub-block open. He pulled the boy inside. They walked down the hall passing several cells until they reached cell DOM-37B. The guard slid open the solid metal door to the cell then swung open a second barred mesh covered door behind the first with a ringing creak. He threw the boy inside the squat rectangular space whose curved roof ran lower towards the back. It was barely enough space for a grown adult. Securing the boy in chains attached to the cell’s walls, and with a last look of sickened disapproval, he slammed and locked the cell doors with a heavy echo. The banging of closing and locking doors did not faze the boy. He’d grown used to it. Left in complete darkness he could only whimper before he blacked out.
***
He woke to tortured screams echoing from somewhere under the cell block. Dim blue-white light illuminated the cell through the door’s cracks. The light revealed the stone walls, their surfaces coarse and bumpy, less one wall which had alternating patches of smooth, as if it had been plastered over. A foul stench came from a hole in one corner.
He tried to lift himself from the ground only to crumple back down into a shallow puddle of water. Burning pain radiated from him as he shifted to adjust to the weight of his chains.
The boy huddled himself together and squeezed himself tight. He closed his eyes and tears started to form. ‘Yea he’s the one, killer of his own parents.’ His parents came to mind, their faces ones of love and compassion he had once known. He saw his father’s weather worn skin, felt his firm touch. He saw his mother’s calming smile and heard her tender voice.
Halfway between sleep and wakefulness, he spotted a shadow creeping towards him. The shadow echoed his image, its shadowy hair cut so that it followed the curve of its head and came closer together behind its neck. The shadow’s round jawline stretched into a smile while the gash that was its mouth parted and it’s curved nostrils flared. Panicked, the boy scrambled to one corner of his cell. Red eyes emerged and the shadow growled at him.
No!
the boy cried. Go away.
Tears clouded his eyes. I thought you were gone.
Gone? How can I leave you? I am you!
the figure growled and its arms reached out towards the boy. Murderer!
No…no…
The boy shivered. Green fields, rolling hills, the forest on the cliff,
he whispered, attempting to rid himself of the familiar vision. He saw his young self, his long hair neatly shaped and side-parted, eager to go to market the next day, the day everything went wrong.
Memories of your home won’t make things right. You’ll ne’er make things right!
L-Laughter… children’s…
The shadow took hold of one of the boy’s arms. No longer king of your little treefort,
it teased.
William! William!
The boy lurched upwards, looking towards the cell door, his eyes wide. That was his mother, that was his name. Why did she have to die? Why could he not be with her? In here, he had time, time and little to do with it other than to work and think, but he’d not have to think of things, they’d just find him.
~~~
If that’s the case I won’t eat. I’ll feed my son first,
Will’s father said, standing resolutely before his wife. Will’s mother looked at her husband, teary-eyed. From the other room a ten-year-old Will hid by the side of the door frame listening carefully.
You don’t understand, Trent! It’s going to come; ya know that, then what? How’re we going to feed the baby? Will? How will we feed ourselves if you insist on not eating?
I know it’s gonna come.
Trent held his wife’s shoulders. An’ I told you I’ll figure it out,
he said tenderly. He touched his wife’s stomach, gently tracing the new slight swelling. The child is a blessing. Will deserves a brother or sister.
Hearing this, Will froze. A little brother? Sister? What would that be like?
Half a year ago the Smiths had to abandon their—
No, don’t say it. I won’t abandon my own blood.
Then how? We can’t make food out of thin air,
Will’s mother stressed.
We could take Will and run away; heard many serfs from other villages who ran from their lords to freedom.
But what kind of life will that be for Will and the baby? A life of fear? Where’d we run to? The cities wouldn’t let us in and the lord’s soldiers would hunt us. We’d die of starvation, sold into slavery or worse.
I s’pose so…
Will’s father reassured her, we’ll find a way.
~~~
Will shivered. He tried to remember the names of his friends, but they slipped from his memory except for one. The one friend who turned out to be traitorous. As fast as his image came it vanished from memory. The shadow knelt in-front of him.
You’d kill him too if you could,
it sneered. Will looked up at it. Like you did them.
An image passed through his mind. He stood over the bodies of his dead parents. His mother was still alive; she gasped as blood seeped out around her.
Wh-Why…
she’d groaned.
The shadow rushed at Will and put a ghostly blade to his neck. Murderer!
Th-That’s not true. Go away!
You can’t escape yourself and what you did, you never can.
~~~
Ten-year-old Will woke from his bed, nothing more than a raised straw mattress, in a room that doubled as storage. He turned in his bed and opened his eyes. A distant sound didn’t register to the half-asleep boy but he slid himself off and sat on the edge of the bed. His mother screamed. Will froze, fear making him hesitate. He rubbed his eyes. Someone shouted.
M-Ma… F-Father…
Will’s voice broke. His father screamed. He walked forward, trembling, and approached the door of his parent’s room which stood half-open. Candlelight flickered as he peeked inside. A cold flooded over him and his heart threatened to stop. The entire world muted and blurred. His parents laid at the foot of their bed with several stab wounds, blood pooling around them. Will ran over and fell to his knees. The sound of shifting feet barely registered in Will’s ears before he was thrown aside from behind. Will fell onto his back and looked into the face of the man who would haunt his dreams thereafter. A ragged black beard hung from the man’s dark face, highlighted by splatters of blood. The man pointed a dagger at the boy, his dark wide eyes barely blinking, his face devoid of any emotion, and thick age lines across his forehead.
He didn’t tell me they had a son,
he said flatly, his thin eyebrows pushing together. The man took a few steps forward. Will was too paralysed by fear to react. The man moved to strike, his bulky stature towering over Will, but as he raised his dagger he hesitated then sighed. He stowed his blade. Your ma and pa were in it bad, boy. You’ll join ‘em yourself if you know what’s good for ya.
The man’s eyes met Will’s eyes for a moment, then he turned around and walked towards a small linen sack filled with coin.
I’m not here to kill kids. Run off.
Will stood and lunged forward. He wailed, a sound somewhere between anger and despair, and attacked the murderer. The murderer stumbled forward before shoving Will off him and into his parents’ still bleeding bodies. The man huffed. He picked up the sack and fled from the room.
Will sobbed, knowing he had lost everything. A cold shaky hand touched Will’s cheek leaving some blood on his face. Will looked at his mother’s pale face; she struggled, barely alive.
Ma… wh-what do I do?
Will panicked. He looked around and tried to rush away to find water or linens or something to help her. Before he had the chance to go, Will’s mother touched his arm and he turned to look back at her.
Wi-Will… l-listen…
she said with an exhausted and hoarse voice.
Ma! Why…
She coughed, splattering blood over her son’s face. Will winced, but he couldn’t take his eyes off his ma."
Don’t leave me! Please no… I don’t know what to do…
Will.
She smiled, staggering on her words, Stay strong, Wi-William. He or she would have…
She placed a hand on her stomach, but lost her train of thought. Will looked over with watery eyes. She stared, lingering only a moment, then closed her eyes and lay still.
No! Ma wake-up! No. No. Moth… er!
Will screamed and lost himself in his sadness. He hugged her body and laid by his dead parents stained in their blood. The only thing that marred the smooth pool of crimson on the floor was the murderer’s knife. The world spun around him and blurred away along with the sound of his own cries.
~~~
Will sobbed, hugging himself against the bitter cold of his cell. He kept trying to remember the faces of his parents but they became obscured, blocked by some unseen veil. Instead, the face of the murderer sharpened. When Will was ten he remembered the man as a ghoulish looking monster, but he’d only been repressing the man’s true face. Recently, it had become more vivid. After that night, his life was never his own to live. Cold-hearted, stoic men were all he ever knew thereafter. Men who never listened to him, never believed him when he kept telling them he was innocent.
~~~
He was a shadow himself, hollow inside, and he watched his body dissipating into a black red mist. He stood in his parent’s room. Dizzy and confused, he stumbled towards the door. He was covered in blood. He fell. Tears filled his eyes. He crawled forwards, struggling to get up but crashed against the door frame. Struggling to stand straight, he looked back at his dead parents.
‘Wi-Will… l-listen…’ Will’s mother spoke, but it was only in his mind. Will walked out the front door into the light of early morning. The sounds of chirping birds and blowing wind seemed muted. Will ambled down the main path to his village’s center where the green rolling hills rose to the chapel upon them.
‘S-Stay strong…’ his mother whispered. Will reached the guardhouse and knocked on the door.
‘He didn’t tell me they had a son.’ The distant voice of the murderer spoke. A constable opened the door and stared in surprise and concern at the bloody ten-year-old who had come to them.
Home,
Will said. They followed him back home and inspected the horrifying scene. They examined the dagger and noticed it matched with a set of daggers belonging to Will’s father. They stared in disbelief at the boy.
The constables pinned Will’s arms behind his back, and cuffed him in irons; the cold metal clicked shut tight around his wrists. All Will could do was stare at his dead parents oblivious to the dismay of the adults. He stared at the face of his dad. His father’s eyes stared back, cold, lifeless and empty.
~~~
Will watched the shadow standing at the door of his cell. It looked outwards, away.
Where has your life gone?
it teased, saying each word slowly and with care. Bound to a small rectangular cell, the purpose of your life merely to sit and to work.
It turned back to face Will and smiled, a black jagged twist in its face. Will stood, arms sagging, pulling against his chains. Streams of black mist shot out, emanating from the shadow and clouded his cell. Will coughed and tried to advance, but the cloudy mist engulfed him.
A cold hand clamped his neck. His breathing grew strained and glowing amber eyes widened ahead of him. They glared at him as if admiring a trophy. Will’s insides tightened, his eyes stung, and his voice left him. He tried so hard to look away, but could not. Sweat broke out over his skin. Some unseen force made him stare into the eyes, the warden’s eyes. His vision blurred and his forehead throbbed in pain. It spoke with both the voice of the warden and that of the shadow.
‘You are guilty, you are dangerous, and you are a monster,’ it growled, every cold breath smelling of feces. Will’s eyes watered. Monster… monster… the word invaded his mind.
Isen Prison housed the worst of Gurmanis’ criminals, people like him. Its denizens were murders, rapists, traitors, terrorists, and those who slighted the royalty.
Night after night, the shadow tormented him when he was younger. Every night Will woke in his cell and cried. The other prisoners seemed lifeless and would not speak to him. The guards looked at him only with disdain and a desire to inflict pain. Slowly, his thoughts and self-perception deteriorated. He was a boy in a nightmare; he was afraid all the time. Will told himself no one cared about him and he deserved to be in here. He was alone and he was worthless. He slowly lost one emotion after the other and only despair, stress and detachment filled the void. He was wicked, evil even. Why else would he be here? He was the shadow, a demon of the worst kind. That was why, like the other prisoners, he also learned to be silent.
N-No…
Will spoke into the dark. NO!
he shouted, his voice bouncing off the walls of his cell. The shadow backed away. Go. Away.
Will growled, glaring. The shadow smiled, floated backward, and faded. Will collapsed to the floor and gripped his throbbing forehead.
He listened to his own breathing and the faint noise of guards shouting at someone. Several thuds, a rod hiding flesh, barely reached Will’s ears.
A filled wooden tray and cup slid through an open slit underneath the door. He looked at the hard, dark coloured bread and thin cold soup. Will pulled the meal forward and absent mindedly shoveled it in.
Laying back and looking at the grey floor, he caught sight of his scarred hands and ran them through his dirt filled, slimy hair hoping not to find any lice. They would clean the lice out when he got them. His hair fell back into the left side part it naturally kept.
A pain pierced Will from his left shoulder, his brand. He ran his fingers across the angry scar, traced its X surrounded by a circle, the mark that forever tied him to this dark place. Cuts had been opened over it from the torture he suffered hours before. He held his chest, feeling the other brand they had given him, slightly larger than the fist of an adult man, an M for murderer. Will squeezed his eyes tight, resisting his thoughts and the memory those scars elicited.
~~~
Bound by leather straps on a stone table, Will could only look up at the snowy sky. He’d met the warden for the first time. A guard fixed a strap in his mouth; it separated his teeth and pinned his head to the stone. It hovered over him, the red-hot branding iron. The blacksmith brought it close to his face and the heat dried his skin while the tangy sent of burning metal filled his nostrils. He stared wide-eyed at the sizzling prod.
I won’t lie… this will hurt a lot.
Tears clouded Will’s eyes, he struggled to no avail prompting three guards to hold him down on the slab. Another pulled up his prison uniform to expose his right arm and heaving chest. The guards wiped away grime and dust then the blacksmith lifted the branding iron and pushed it onto Will’s chest. A second later another, smaller branding iron was pushed into his right arm. Yet another moment later, they pulled back his head to expose the left surface of his neck, and a mage dripped ink onto his skin before burning it into his flesh, forcing the ink to take the shape of 271. The brands hissed upon his skin and the boy’s muffled screams were carried away by the wind.
~~~
Will exhaled. He trembled and held himself tight, chains clinking as he moved his arms. He squeezed his eyes shut and shook his head trying to push the memory away. His head pounded with a dull thud. Will pushed the palms of his hands against his forehead. He’d remember so much on days like today. Why? Why did his memories torment him? He exhaled again and opened his eyes. The sore feeling became apparent to Will again as he slumped against the cell wall and looked into the dark ceiling.
It was his sixteenth birthday today.
Alone in the dark, he cried.
Chapter Two
After Will had eaten, he pushed the empty tray towards the cell door and wiped any remaining tears. He crawled over to the corner of his cell and rose to his knees. Pushing lengths of chain out of his way and pulling up his tunic, Will urinated in the rancid hole. His cell grew thick with a nitrogenous stink before it thinned and dissipated. Will huddled against the back wall. He waited.
Shouting echoed outside as doors slid and swung open. A baton dragged against the sub-block bars, its clanging bounced off the walls, keeping in time with a hum. A hand reached in, grabbed the empty tray, and pulled it away. Will showed no reaction. He stared towards the grey ground ahead of him.
His cell door lock clicked. A guard slid the outer door open letting it hit the end with a ringing echo. Dim crystal light flooded Will’s cell. He sat stoic.
The guard looked through the inner door bars and huffed. Behind him, in the hallway space between both sub-blocks, the cell block commander walked by with his papers holding a thin scepter with an octahedral crystal set on one end. Around him other guards unlocked cells and lined up the prisoners, collecting them outside in the sub-block. It was a cacophony of clangs, clinks, and rattles.
Sun’s up 271. Get-up,
the guard ordered. He yawned and spat to the side. Bags sat under each of his grey eyes. Will touched the grainy floor and scraped up some dust as he stood. He pulled on one of the chains connecting him to his cell in order to hoist himself up. He hovered, taking a moment to steady himself. He blinked, face non-reactive, at the guard. The guard tapped on the inner cell door, signaling Will to shuffle forward and slide his shackled wrists through the upper tray slot. The guard was joined by another younger guard who leaned against the frame of the door and flicked dirt from under his nails. They acknowledged each other before the older guard adjusted Will’s shackles.
Cousins, uncles, brothers, sons, the men folk are nigh gone now from the countryside. All of em been conscripted into the war,
the older guard complained. I’m afeared they’ll take my son when he’s grown, they will. Back-up kid.
Will obeyed. The older guard unlocked the inner cell door and stepped towards Will to unlock the chains binding Will to the cell.
War needs men. Who are we to deny the king ‘is men?
the younger guard answered the first.
Cause erelong they’ll be none left on the farms. Army’s good n’ all, an’ a crusade’s redeemed a soul or two, but even the army can’t keep it up without no farmers to work the fields, smiths to smith, hunters to hunt, tanners to—
Yea yea. I gets it.
You just not got yer own family yet.
The older guard loosened Will’s leg irons and worked his way up to the other restraints. I got a wife n’ child to worry bout. Thing is, at the rate conscription is going, pretty soon they’ll conscript women too.
Ha! Come now, Fighters Guild given birth to plenty capable female fighters.
Right but once the men folk are dead, then the women folk follow, what’s gonna be left to fight for, eh? Children will be all that’s left and the Saomardrim will run o’er them like they were ants.
Yer fancy… what’s they call it… reasoning.
It ain’t fancy. Common sense, plain and simple.
The older guard huffed.
Well here’s some sense. We got prisons here and there with degenerates ready to fight. Men in here make up a few hundred, the women another hundred or so. Then we also got us.
Sure, you and plenty of others wanna fight. But the prisoners in here, they’re needed to get the crowdite and other metals. Still gotta supply the armies.
The older guard finished removing the restraints connecting Will to his cell. He raised Will’s arms and pressed hard on his wrist shackles, ensuring they were secure. Will flinched at the slight pain, and the guard examined his face.
Been crying, have you?
he huffed, I ‘d think you’d forget that kind of thing.
Will stared blankly at him. The younger guard stepped forward.
Remember this kid eh? 271? Six years ago, we took bets on if he would survive.
The younger guard nudged his partner.
That was ‘afore we knew the warden fancied him and wanted to keep him alive.
The older guard laughed. Boy’s still alive.
The guard looked Will in the face. You ought to die already ya know, no one grows old in this place, one way or another.
He’s sure as any to be run through with a Saomardrim blade, I think. Probably deserves it too.
Sure. Come on, let’s go.
The older guard gripped Will’s left arm and ushered him out of his cell. He pushed Will against the sub-block bars outside while the younger guard slid shut Will’s cell doors. Saomardrim prisoner camps are dotted around the country I hear. All supplying material for the war. I think with the amount of people supplying material and the army still not getting enough, means this war is in real bad shape.
Who says the army’s failing?
the younger guard huffed.
You’ve heard, haven’t you? King Duggan’s been hiring more mercenaries cause the levies ain’t providing.
You hear about Fritz from the infirmary? Poor sod killed himself. Found out his village was ravaged, razed to the ground. All the men young an’ old were dragged off to war and the women, children, and the elderly hanged. His wife, children, and father among them.
The king did that?
The older guard’s eyes widened.
Ordered it. Villages who won’t submit their share to the war will get it. Burdens eliminated. God be merciful to Fritz upon his judgement.
Suicides go to the Underworld.
The cell block commander walked down the space between the sub-blocks. He noticed Will pushed against the bars and strode up to him. From across the bars, he glared at Will.
271,
the commander barked. Will didn’t react, his eyes dead. To attention 271!
The older guard shoved Will and he blinked, looking at the commander. When I call you, you listen. A night ago, I got a right shouting from the warden. You know how it is boy. Warden takes you into his quarters and you gotta serve him well. If not, I get the flack for your idiocy. Got it?
Y-Yes,
Will croaked. The commander shoved his scepter between the bars and jabbed it into Will’s side. The crystal lit up, sparks jumping from it. Tendrils of pain shot through his muscles, tissues, and bones rendering him shaking in rhythmic shearing hurt. He stifled his shouts. The crystal fizzled out and Will gasped, panting. The commander took it away and grunted.
Lost its charge. When the warden wishes something for you to do, you do it. If I get yelled at again, I ain’t giving you a change of clothes when you come back, an’ you’ll just have to live naked, ya hear?
Will struggled to stand, echoes of pain subsiding, but he nodded. The commander moved onwards. Will was dragged to the prisoner line and attached to it. He stood there. He waited.
Will shuffled forward, chained together and flanked by two tall prisoners, watching the heavy connecting chain ahead of him swaying. The chains rattled taut, urging him along. Will lifted his feet against the pull of his chains and let his arms sag. The prisoners shuffled from the cell block through three barred doors and entered into a large rectangular cavern. Sharp tapered stalactites and stalagmites grew out from the corners, from the wrinkled and fractured grey-blue roof and floor, barely visible through dim blue-white spell crystal light.
Keep yer heads down till we get down, y’all hear an’ don’t you forget to pray to yer mistress if ya care for it,
a guard shouted.
Will stumbled forward, following the motion of his fellow prisoners. He looked up, hesitating a look. This complex, a system of mines, was carved deep into Mt. Isen and weaved itself in all directions leading through numerous tunnels and spaces. At the far end, three huge metal barred cages attached to giant chains, one large central one and two smaller flanking ones, acted as lifts
The thick air, hazy with visible dust, held a hint of rank mine water. Sounds bounced off the wall reaching every person in this enclosed place and the heat of every body multiplied to fight the cold. Some prisoners in front of Will started to mumble prayers, directed to the huge statue of a female standing on a step higher than the central lift, jutting out from the wall recessed to accommodate it. The goddess of slaves, criminals, and the imprisoned stared down at the prisoners with an expression of insanity, her hair pulled back into a ponytail. She was a young woman wrapped in a straightjacket and chains and small fangs protruded from her lips and horns from her head. Will didn’t understand this god because his parents had always taught him of Manis, the only inheritor of the Father’s essence, the one most worthy of devotion, and through whom was the only way to the Father. The goddess depicted before him, in between wooden cross-beams, looked nothing like the allegedly benevolent Manis. Will frowned; in his mind Manis was anything but benevolent. Without warning someone shoved him. Will grunted and fell a little forward.
Keep looking at the ground boy! You want to pray? Ya do so with your eyes on the floor!
a guard shouted behind him.
Will fixed his eyes on the ground. He shivered. Will and his fellow convicts shuffled towards the central lift and were locked inside. Will missed working in processing when he was younger because it was easier. The guards had initially put him there, where he would sort ore from rock, crush that ore with hammers and crushing machines, wash ore in troughs of running water with a brush, and roast ore in furnaces and pits.
The lift made a loud creak, and descended into the depths of Mt. Isen. They passed dozens of tunnels and caverns until they came to the lowest section. The air grew thicker and harder to breathe. They followed like sheep out and through a dim crystal lit tunnel, over a floor of wooden boards hiding drainage and ventilation pipes. Once they got to a larger, round cavern, not too far from the lift, they were pushed to their knees. The master miner, and his assistant approached and addressed the guards.
Poor wretches,
a guard teased. Ore veins are of the hardest type. Can’t put fire to it so you’ll have to force it out with wedges. Gonna need every minute to reach yer quotas. Time to get to work.
Guards systematically arranged prisoners along the length of the ore vein and linked each person to the other by chains adjusted to give the convicts room to maneuver. Escape by brute force was impossible in those restraints, besides, the convicts from Will’s cell block worked at the lowest level and the only escape was up, through lifts and guards.
Everyone received the tools they needed to work and were expected to mine all day. Any attempt at using the tools to attack a guard, prisoner or oneself was quickly thwarted. Guards roamed the interior of the mines whipping slow workers, assigning tasks or socialising with their fellow guardsmen. A mage, who could react fast to the efforts of any prisoner attempting to end their life, was stationed nearby. Prisoners dug, cleaned, and groaned.
As soon as a guard was satisfied with Will’s position along the vein, Will started chipping and digging a space to insert a wedge. Dust flew back over his face with every blow. The sounds of clanking chains and of metal on rock echoed through the chamber. Clink, tick, clink, tick. Time dragged almost to a standstill here.
Faster fool!
a guard shouted. Will froze and braced himself. The swish and crack of a whip hitting home broke the rhythm of their work and the prisoner beside him moaned. Will flinched. The prisoners worked in silence, without emotion. There were no fights, no socializing among prisoners, nor any other typical interaction another prison may have between inmates.
Will was chipping at a rock fold when a hand clasped his right shoulder and yanked him up. Will jerked, dropping his pick.
You, you’re coming with us.
the guard holding him commanded. He was from another cell block.
I didn’t do… wrong,
Will pleaded, his voice flat. The guard dragged Will out of the prisoner line. A second guard unlocked the chains connecting Will to the other prisoners then he took hold of Will’s left arm and both guards dragged him deeper into the mine. Panic overwhelmed him, but his face was blank, hiding it. They dragged Will past other lines of prisoners, their blank faces focused on their own tasks. They entered a lift and took it up. Will stood between the two guards, head down, limbs drooping from his chains. His chest heaved and sweat trailed down his back.
The boy stinks something awful.
He’s in his years of change, it makes it worse.
You think if we dump mine water onto him it’ll snuff out the smell?
I’m pretty sure that’ll kill the boy.
Maybe that’s for the best.
He’s due to bathe soon.
He’s all yours then. I’m not blindfolding him and dragging him across the bailey.
Will’s heart raced, wondering where they could be taking him. They approached a smaller newer section of the mine and here the prisoner lines began to disappear. Further they went, Will’s chains clanking, past rooms with wooden machines pumping water out of the slightly flooded tunnel they were wading through. They arrived at the entrance to a small round room where two guards and a sergeant crowded around, looking at the floor.
Please, finish… work,
Will begged, on the verge of delirium knowing the punishment that would come if he didn’t finish. One of the guards holding him punched Will. He fell forward and coughed, clasping his stomach. The sergeant turned to Will, pulling him up.
Be quiet, idiot!
he spat. A guard unshackled him.
I-I… ah…
Will stepped back as the chains fell away. He rubbed his wrists where the irons had bit him. He’d always been shackled. At first their sight, weight, and restraining nature always tormented him and made him feel like the monster the warden loved to call him as. Over time they had become a normal part of who he was. Having them removed simply reminded him that they had been there.
The sergeant spoke again, Climb down the ladder in this shaft.
He moved to reveal a hole in the floor. You’ll fit in there. Go down. Tell us what ya find, you have two minutes or we smoke you out.
Will nodded, choked down his nervousness, and shuffled towards the shaft. The rope ladder disappeared into darkness. A guard ahead of him, who wore a faded blue sash across his torso, held up a glowing blue-white crystal set in a sconce. It flickered, gaining Will’s attention, then darkened. The guard touched the crystal and blue-white light flickered back into existence, holding a steady dim glow.
Will hesitated, and the sergeant prodded him forwards. Will climbed into the abyss. He hit the floor with his feet, his grip-less leather soles almost slipping him; he could see nothing. Will took a few nervous steps, concentrating on not tripping, unable to walk as well unrestrained. A crystal torch was dropped down the shaft behind him. It flickered as it landed but was too thick to shatter. Will picked up the crystal torch and waved it in front of him to observe the walls. The space was no smaller than the cramped round room with the guards. They must have uncovered this room by accident as prisoners were mining. He searched for anything worth mentioning, feeling his way along the walls when his hand pushed against a hidden button. Stunned, Will retracted. The wall in front of him lowered making a soft grinding noise.
What’s going on in there?
a guard shouted. Any mineral veins of worth?
Will kept quiet. When the door opened fully, Will stumbled forward, unsure if he should enter. Inside the new chamber, a wide set of stairs led deeper into the earth. As Will left the last stair, his foot sunk into the ground, triggering a lose stone. The rumble of sliding earth echoed around him and he stared ahead as glowing blue lines and symbols swirled and formed on the walls. They took more shapes, images of warriors and creatures, and Will couldn’t make much sense of them. Their light overwhelmed the light of his crystal torch.
Drawn were longships, mail armored men, large round shields, and prominently, an armored warrior holding up a longsword as he rode on the back of a half-bird, half-lion creature; a griffin.
The blue light turned red further down the hall where a round object sat on a pedestal. Above it, the glowing light traced out an imposing griffin on the wall.
Will walked down the vaulted hall past degrading statues of people he had no knowledge of and past two sealed doors he tried to open but could not. He approached the pedestal; the round gem captured his attention. No, not a gem, something more perfect, even flawless. About the size of a pearl, its outside reflected his image like glass and inside whiffs of coloured mist floated around. Overall, it retained a red look. Will tugged the object free and held it in his palm. He rubbed his fingers over its smooth glass surface. Slowly the object grew to fit snugly in his hand. Warmth radiated from it and up his arms, penetrating him like veins of heat and revitalizing every tired muscle. Will looked at it cautiously. It must be magic. It was valuable, perhaps. He’d have to give it to the guards. The object cooled a little, pulling away the warmth and energy it had given. Will hesitated; he wanted that again. Both shot back up his arms and filled his body. Will stood there and reveled in it. A decision made, Will stuffed the item into a fold in his tunic; he would not give it to the guards. He turned and retraced his steps.
Upon coming to the first room the door closed itself behind him. The guards above laughed. They’d thrown something down the shaft and it was generating smoke. Thick grey clouds packed the room and invaded Will’s nose. He coughed, falling to the ground. He struggled to reach the rope, finding it hard to breathe. Then the world grew dark.
***
When Will woke, the five guards were crouching over him and the room he was in glowed with crystal light. The guards, out of necessity and maybe even sport, had blasted the cave to get to Will. He coughed violently as he woke and someone pushed a waterskin to his lips. Will drank the cool liquid greedily only to have the waterskin pulled away and a guard shove his face back.
Ahw, he didn’t die.
a guard grunted. Another guard re-shackled Will.
You half-wit!
The sergeant grabbed Will by his tunic and brought the boy’s face to his. Look what you did! You destroyed the cave. You won’t be getting any food for days. I will make sure of it. Back to your work boy, you’ve half a day to finish.
Will was surprised they didn’t find the door but he was not surprised they blamed him for failure. His heart sank when he realised he had less time to finish filling his bucket and he’d be left hungry. Will gave the sergeant a hopeless and empty stare and was rewarded for it by being shoved to the ground. Cold metal bracelets clicked tight around his wrists, ankles, and neck. Will spit, blinked, and stared.
As the day was ending, Will gathered his mineral pail then ambled towards the exit. After depositing his pick and allowing guards to tighten and shorten his shackles, he showed his pail to the stone-faced guard who waved him along. Another guard lifted Will’s arms and patted him all the way down to his toes and checked his hair and mouth. Will remembered the object he had found and held his panic back. Not noticing any reaction, the guard nodded him onwards chaining Will to the prisoner line in front of him and then passed the boy through. Before they could move Will was grabbed and jerked back. He was turned to look at who had interrupted the entire post-work process. It was the guard who wore the faded blue sash. The guard’s tan eyes regarded Will with a deep suspicion.
You didn’t find anything, did you?
the guard asked. His grip was accompanied by a slow burn, threatening to cast on Will. The man’s voice was calm and collected, not harsh or uninterested like the guards normally sounded. This suspicious tone confused Will and he didn’t know what to say. The other guard had missed the object and he was so close to leaving with it, but the sting of the burn reminded him of the rooms beneath the cell blocks, where men and women anguished, their existence known only by the screams.
The guard who had checked Will walked forward. Naught anything on him. You sense something?
Maybe… nay… nothing.
The guard pushed Will into the prisoner in front of him. Move em’ along.
Will was ushered to his cell, chained to it, and left alone.
He sat motionless against the back wall. In silence a weight pressed on his ears, the sound of stagnant air. Water plopped onto rock in a perfect rhythm, echoing through the cracks of his cell. It was a tapping he’d grown accustomed to.
Straightening himself, he took the pearl out and studied it. In the dim light within his cell the object emanated its own soft light, and a shifting mist swirled about its center. Will thought about his mother’s few charms; this was nothing like them. The pearl warmed him again, giving him energy. It was as if his muscles were tightening and expanding, allowing energy to flow. Will became suddenly aware of himself. He looked over his body. Why had he been born like this? Like a monster, like everyone saw him as? The thoughts of the shadow that had revisited him a day ago surfaced.
Will’s eyes followed the swirling of the mist inside the pearl. It drifted towards his cell door. A shape took form. In awe, Will watched his mother come closer and smile.
William.
She raised a cloudy hand to his cheek.
M-Ma…
Will spoke, looking up at her light translucent form, his locked emotions struggling to feel something.
You aren’t a monster. You aren’t worthless and beyond saving. You are my son. My able son. Your life is precious and worth living.
She hugged him and kissed his forehead. Her touch was like a soft feather barely touching his skin and her nose nestled next to the gradual curve of his own. He stared at her wide-eyed, trembling. The apparition faded. Will sobbed into his arms, making himself small. His heart sank and his breath thinned.
Then something changed in him, something shifted within his being. The feelings he was used to started to push back, as if they were fighting something else. A sense of loss, less painful than emptiness and despair, filled him. Remembering his mother’s fruity voice, her pleasant face, her tender touch forced him to smile. Maybe he did have some worth left.
Will looked up. He looked at the pearl. The source of his sudden comfort pulsed in his hand. He tossed it aside, huddling in the corner and feeling loneliness and despair surge back. What had he felt? Had he smiled again? He didn’t remember what a smile looked or felt like. He could not smile. What was that object? Will hesitated. He looked down at a finger on his right hand. It rested inside an unknown pocket between the vest and tunic of his prison uniform. His eyes grew wide, feeling the new well-hidden cavity. This object was magic! Will swore there was no pocket before. He stared at the faintly glowing object then looked away. He skulked into a corner of his cell. Will shrank back looking at the ground.
A distant shout of pain tore through the air making him shudder. What a stupid object. It was like the shadow readily teasing him with the things he could not have nor feel anymore. Manis must be punishing him. Wasn’t it enough that he was here? Why all the dreams and memories these past few days? He didn’t want to remember; it made everything worse.
The mysterious object still glowed in the corner of his cell. He crawled towards it and picked it up, hesitating as he did. He placed it securely in his new pocket then curled up in a corner, unable to go back to sleep. Fine then, he’d play along, torment after all was supposed to cleanse his sinful soul. The screaming intensified. He waited. His purpose was to be a person who sits in a cell.
Chapter Three
Will pushed a mine cart full of rock and ore towards a cargo lift. Sweat rolled down his face and his sticky, slimy hands slipped on the cart’s handle. He’d been