The Anarchian War: On Broken Wings 2

The sun shone down heavily on the Haeyan Marketplace. Stalls covered in bright cloth lined the streets and shopkeepers called out their wares to the passing common folk. Two Elite lounged against the side of a building, wearing the white uniform of Street Guards. The taller of the two, a male, watched each passerby warily while the sitting female, cleaned one of her shuriken lazily. The male flipped his dark red hair idly. “Come on Dair, let’s go somewhere,” he said impatiently. Dair glared up at him. “It’s to hot to do anything. I’m not moving. Besides, this is our post, Alantis.” “It’s Alan.” Alan reprimanded, looking out into the crowds. “And we’re supposed to be doing more than standing here!” Dair got up with a groan, shaking out her blue-black hair and putting her shuriken back into her belt. “Whatever Alantis.” She said, mocking his name on purpose and sticking her tongue out at him. The two stepped into the sunlight, moving in perfect symmetry to one another.
The marketplace was crowded on Sunsday; and this Sunsday was no exception. Alan watched his step as he made his way past stalls selling food, cloth and other wares. More Elites, also dressed in the Street Guard uniform, were patrolling the streets. Dair tugged on Alan’s red brocade scarf, directing his attention. “Look,” she whispered. Alan stopped looking around and instead, looked where she pointed. A thief stood at the edge of a stall, stealing jewelry as the owner talked to another customer. “I got him.” Alan said, creeping over. He laid a hand on the thief’s shoulder, drawing his blade carefully. “You should put that back.” Alan looked pointedly at the jewels in the thief’s hands. The thief dropped the jewels. “Come with me.”
The shopkeeper nodded thankfully at Alan as he passed, shackling the thief to a drainage pipe out of the way. “The Jailers will pick you up later.” Alan promised, winking at the thief, who spat at him.
Whistling his way back across the street, Alan didn’t see the charging horse until it was almost upon him. Ducking out of the way, Alan somersaulted across the street. The horse reared in fright and the nobleman yelled, trying to control his horse.
“Riffraff! Street garbage!” The nobleman lashed out with his whip, intending to strike Alan. Alan caught the blow around his arm, wincing as it bit into his unprotected arm. “I protect your streets and your homes.” Alan said softly and darkly, not looking into the nobleman’s eyes. “You best not attack me.” The nobleman drew back, startled, then fluffed up like an irate pigeon. He rode away, and Alan rejoined Dair, rubbing the welt on his arm. “Fool!” Dair hit him upside the head. “You could have been killed! I’m glad you weren’t, but still, you could be a little less stupid, yeah?”
“Thanks.” Alan replied sorely, looking at his feet.
The pair walked through the crowds, when a girl’s shouting reached their ears. “Sabrina! Sabrina!” A panting Verendian noblewoman reached them, tugging on Dair’s arm. “Sabrina! I found you! Oh, I’ve been so worried! What are you doing with an Elite?” Dair pulled her arm away and turned to face the girl, keeping her eyes down. “I believe you are mistaken, your nobleness,” Dair murmured. The girl looked shocked for a second, and then curtsied. “I’m so sorry,” she gasped. “I mistook you for my sister. Please forgive me.” Alan stared at the girl in amazement. A Verendian who didn’t think she was better than an Elite? That was a first! Dair bowed back, grinning. “No problem my Lady. Could you give me your sister’s description? I’ll look for her if I can, and I’ll give the results the Captain of the Guard.” The girl smiled back. “Thank you! She looks like you, a little taller maybe, and hazel eyes, not black. Same hair though, and… same smile. I’m Llewellyn Loemiras.” Dair looked into Llewellyn’s eyes. “I’m Dair Takari and this is Alantis Draymere. We’ll try to find her, Lady.” Llewellyn nodded, then headed off into the crowds, joining up with another lady, an Elite, most likely a servant.
“Well she was nice.” Alan said, leaning back against the wall of their post. “Yeah. Hope she finds her sister. It was weird seeing a Verendian that was nice though.” Dair murmured, closing her eyes and slumping on Alan’s legs. Alan looked over the marketplace, his eyes watching every movement of the crowd thoughtfully.
“She was nice.” He mused. “And kind of pretty.” “Don’t you go falling for a Verendian noble.” Dair cautioned. “That’s rule number one.” Alan ruffled Dair’s hair. “Don’t worry. I’m not falling for my captors.” He muttered. His fingers moved automatically to the locket hidden under his shirt. Michaela, he thought sadly. I’m sorry.

~*~

Alan joined the rest of the Street Guard in the Watch House. Cots lined the walls of the main room, and an adjoining room was also filled with beds. The healer’s room lay just beyond that. He sat down on his bed, pulling off his brocade scarf carefully and draping it over the metal backboard of the bed. More Elite joined him, sitting on their own cots and winding down after a long and hot day working in the streets. Rin flopped onto the bed next to him. “Tired?” Alan asked without cracking a smile. Rin glared at him. “What do you think?” he asked. “I’m guessing that to be a yes.” Alan said.
The older Elite put his hands behind his head and stared up at the ceiling. “What’s for food?” Rin asked, brushing his caramel bangs out of his face. “Whatever Captain says is for food.” Alan replied, picking up his worn book. “Still reading, I see.” Rin observed. “It’s better than fist fighting.” Alan retorted, gazing at a bruise on Rin’s bare stomach. “Aww, get over it! It doesn’t stop me from doing my job.” Rin groaned, covering his stomach with an arm. “Food’s here.” Gaira said, walking through the door of the Watch House. She carried two baskets of food.
Alan eyed his Captain from over the rim of his book. Gaira was a fairly young Elite at 24 years of age, with long auburn hair kept in a bun and burning black eyes. She was lean and dangerous; picking a fight with Gaira was most likely that last thing that many stupid Elites did. Alan wasn’t stupid, and he respected Gaira. He waited until she had passed out food to everyone else before going up to take his share. “Alan. I heard that you were whipped today.” Gaira said softly, her eyes glowing dully. “Yes. On the arm.” Alan replied, taking a piece of bread and a canteen of barley soup. “Go to see Yonah after you eat. She’ll fix it for you.’

~*~

The Shindroh scowled at Alan as he walked into the healer’s room. “You again,” she growled, motioning for him to hold out his arm. Alan did, bracing himself for the pain to come. Yonah placed her middle and forefinger over the welt and spoke the words of Power. Alan winced as the welt stung, then disappeared, leaving only a silvery scar. “You’re done.” Yonah spat at him. “If you keep getting yourself wounded, I won’t be able to patch you up. Send Rin in, will you? I know he’s been fist fighting again, and now he’s going to suffer the healing that comes along with it.” Alan nodded and bowed carefully, before almost sprinting out of the healer’s room. Yonah grinned after he was gone, brushing her graying hair out of her face. “Foolish Elite. His emotions will get the better of him, and that will be his downfall.”

~*~

Alan lay on his tiny bed, looking at the locket around his neck. His fingers traced the small, engraved ‘M’ on the front. It’s all my fault, he thought wearily. I should have protected you Michaela. All my fault, he thought again, letting his eyes drift shut.

~*~

The blue walls of the Second Water Temple were on fire. Burning debris crashed around him, as he stumbled through the wreckage. “Michaela!” His voice was hoarse from screaming. Had she made it out? Alan knocked aside a piece of enflamed timber, ignoring the searing pain in his right hand. “Michaela!” He screamed again, desperate to hear her voice, to know she was safe. Something on the floor blocked his path. Alan knelt down. It was a body, a plank of wood trapping the body to the ground. Long golden hair and….
“Michaela!” Alan scrabbled at the plank, trying to lift it, trying to save his love. She stirred, and turned to look at him. “It’s over,” she whispered. Slowly, her face changed to the sneering one of Emperor Ezar, brown eyes glinting triumphantly. “It’s over!” Michaela/ Ezar said in a loud mocking voice. Alan screamed, tears pouring down his face as he ran. Ran away from the body, from his love, from his home. He collapsed onto the ground outside, sobbing, his eyes clenched shut. When he opened them…

~*~

Alan awoke suddenly, his bed sheets soaked with sweat, and his chest heaving. It’s a dream, he thought, trying to catch his breath. A cool night wind blew across his face and Alan sighed. It had been eight years, since the burning of the Second Water Temple. Michaela Reinhold, his fiancée, and the love of his life, had died in the fire. Only a few months later, the Anarchian Wars had ended in the enslavement of the Elite.
“One day, I’m going to kill you.” Alan vowed, wiping his face on his shirt. “Emperor Ezar, you will die under my hand.” Then he stood, and began to get ready for work.

~*~

In the darkened hallways of Weiron Palace, the sound of footsteps was a common sound. One servant or another was always scurrying up and down the corridors, delivering messages or running errands. At this hour, however, the only footsteps heard were the ones of a child. Her footfalls were light and airy, and her balance was a dancer’s grace. Long silver strands of hair escaped her braid as she trotted down the hall, the shadows threatening to swallow her whole. When she finally stopped, it was at an ornate door, carved intricately and decorated with gold and jewels. She knocked three times and a deep male voice answered, “Enter.”
The werelights in the room were a crimson red, a color that always reminded the girl of blood. She shivered though a fire burned in the hearth. The man in front of her was reading a scroll, but Titania could still see his cold brown eyes, and his cruel smile.
“Your Imperial Majesty,” Titania bowed, her hair once again falling in her face. “Titania. I don’t believe I requested your presence.” He acknowledged, barely looking up from his scroll. Titania scowled and tugged at the golden slave bracelet. The bracelet marked her as a slave, she’d worn it since she was five. The Emperor held the key and he made it clear that she would not be getting out of slavery anytime soon.
The Emperor put down his scroll, his thin lips in a cruel smile. Titania felt hatred boil under her skin. “Control,” she whispered under her breath.
“Why are you here?” he asked, toying with one of the pendants around his neck. Titania stiffened. That was the pendant that held her magic, which kept her bound to Ezar. With it, Ezar controlled her life… or her death. She dropped to her knees, clasping her hands in front of her, not looking into those dark, soulless eyes.
“Majesty, I need a favor.” Ezar leaned back in his chair. “I don't give favors to slaves.” He said dismissively. Titania glared at him with her bright green eyes. "But Imperial Majesty-"
“I do not give favors to slaves.” He repeated, his tone colder and harsher. “Dismissed.”

~*~
Titania threw one of her books at the wall. Stupid Emperor! She thought, hefting a pitcher in her hands before throwing it.
It had been five years since she’d been free, five years since she’d last raised one of the dead. If those stupid dead half-demons hadn’t rebelled and killed half the Imperial Army, she might still be free. It’s not fair, she thought miserably. I want my power back. I want to be able to have magic. It’s not fair. The \ voice in her head answered back: Life isn’t fair. Stop whining.